Hey Guys I hope you are enjoying my story…im not positive where the plot is actually going, but that's where I need your guys help. Please Read and Review and tell me what your likes and dislikes are because I will gladly make changes into my storyline. Tell me anything you want as long as it makes the story better I am happy with that. Thanks -isheebishee
He threw his tennis ball against the wall in his office, the rhythm, steadying his nerves. His eyes pierced through the glass door at anyone who walked passed… until someone in particular stood watching him back.
She opened the door and immediately started to speak, "Im not exactly like my mother you know…." She paused and looked up at the ceiling as if she was pondering just what to say next. "She let people push her around and tell her what to do…im nothing like her."
She paused again and caught his ball as he threw it.
"You do know why they put me in a foster home instead of with my real dad right?" Her eyes met up with his. Both blues glaring into each others souls.
"Yeah, your dad beat her to death and you were going to be next until he shot himself." He said it smoothly, without one hitch in his voice; you would never know it was his sister he was talking about.
"Your half right."
She tapped her bare feet against the floor and made her way to his desk, leaning enough that he could feel her breath on his face.
"He didn't shoot himself."
House for once in his life looked confused, questions played within his eyes.
She whispered. "I killed him; I snuck up behind him and held the gun in his own hands…" "He had it pointed at my head for a while, but I told you I don't give up." She spoke through clenched teeth, as tears made their way down her face.
"I held his hands tight and forced him to blow his own brains out." Her breath hitched as tears fell freely down her cheeks and onto her pouty lips. "I killed him."
House sat at home with a bottle of scotch and his piano idly thinking over the days events. He didn't think for one moment about his case; and not for one moment about himself… but about that little girl.
Rain poured again his apartment rooftop as he sat on his leather couch, the bottle of scotch half empty and his bottle of vicodin popped open ready for another fix. He stopped half way to his mouth with the pill when he reached for the phone instead.
In a gruff voice to the women on the phone he said, " I'll take care of her."
