Author's note: Again, like most of my other House MD fanfictions, I have submitted this onto DeviantART a long time ago. A little drabble...I suppose. Anyway, I do not own House MD.
He looks around and tries to find the first place he would be hiding. Wilson sighs and shakes his head with his eyes closed, walking steadily to House's office. "You idiot." he said, entering his office. Wilson raised his head and opens his eyes, seeing House on the chair. "Hey, wake up." he kicks his leg.
But there's something wrong here. House's chest isn't rising and falling. Wilson furrows his large eyebrows and walks around his friend. Syringes are scattered behind the chair. What had happened?
Wilson gulped hard, very nervous. "House." he shook his arm violently. House's body moves with Wilson's shake but nothing else happens. Wilson grabbed his arm, bumps were formed near the veins.
Now he knew what had happened. Wilson's eyes widen and steps back from him. The syringes, the bumps, paleness, it all makes sense. Methadone overdose by injection. House had tried Methadone before but Wilson never knew he would do it again after the risks his friend had taken. Wilson became breathless, his heart skipped a beat. He was on the verge of tears and questions ran around his head.
How could he do this?
Did he know what the consequences were if he had done this again?
Why didn't he consult with Wilson?
Everything just didn't go exactly as planned. He knew the world was being crappy but this was the most devastating thing that happened to him after Amber's death. The questions kept echoing and blurting out. But the question that intrigued Wilson more was:
Did you intend this to happen?
Suicide wasn't the thing House would do. He would never do that, no matter how crappy the world has become. Wilson didn't know for sure why on earth House would do this. It didn't make sense. It just didn't. Nothing makes sense now, the world's gone insane.
Wilson frowns, his eyes filled with tears and sits near his friend, hugging his legs together and burrowing his face into his sleeves. He thinks this was all his fault. The last time he had seen House was the night before, saying words that he would never say to him. Those words...three damn words:
I hate you.