A/N: Thanks go to Magie05 for her patience and all her help, through the months when I had given up on this story, she held on. I can't guarantee that this'll be updated nearly as often as I want it to, but if you review and let me know your thoughts, that would help motivate me greatly.
Addicts Never Lie
Chapter 37: Hopelessness
After he had kicked Cuddy out, he had lain in bed listening to her as she moved around the apartment. After he was sure she had left, he limped out into the living room and carefully lowered himself back down onto the couch, barely able to resist the urge to curl up into a ball as tightly as he could.
As the minutes passed by he was becoming incredibly restless and agitated, which was always something that happened to him when he went too long without pain medication. He struggled to concentrate on the television, having chosen a National Geographic's special on sharks as his main form of distraction.
When the show was over he happened to glance at the clock on the VCR below the TV and realized that it had been almost two hours since he had sent the page to his dealer and he still hadn't called back. He was beginning to worry that his dealer may have run into some trouble, considering that he usually returned his page within fifteen minutes or so.
He remained on the couch until he could no longer stand the pain and slowly, painfully, limped back to his bedroom, barely making it without collapsing in the hallway. He sighed with relief as he stretched out, lying on his back. His left hip was starting to ache from bearing most of his weight while he had been standing and despite the warm temperature, he shivered as the sweaty clamminess and nausea of withdrawal began to set in.
He was only in bed for a few minutes before he felt the nausea began to worsen. Mustering all the energy that he had left, he managed to make it into the bathroom, nearly tripping over the rug as he fell hard to his knees just in time to gag and bring up a little bile into the toilet.
He was breathing hard, exhausted from the exertion, and having forgotten his cane, it only magnified his pain. He leaned against the wall as he grabbed a piece of toilet paper from the back of the toilet, noticing his hand trembling. He could feel the sweat beading up, running down his face and his neck.
He slowly stood up and limped over to the medicine cabinet, yanking a towel from the towel bar and thrusting it under the faucet as he turned on the cold water. He brought the towel to his face and neck, shutting his eyes, trying to enjoy the coolness. After a few minutes he threw the towel at the clothes hamper, missing by several feet, and jerked open the medicine cabinet, hoping to find something to minimize the withdrawals.
His eyes got wide when he saw the syringe, vial of Fentynyl and the bottle of pills lying on the bottom shelf, instantly recognizing them as the ones that Wilson had claimed to have confiscated and destroyed.
Without hesitation, he frantically grabbed the bottle, fumbling with the lid before getting it off and dumping three pills into his palm. He put them in his mouth, and almost gagged as he chewed them up, the bitter, chalky tablets sticking to his teeth. He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the stream of water, bringing it to his mouth and swallowing.
He stood for a moment, shifting most of his weight on his left leg as he fought the urge to vomit. He could feel his hip throbbing, as he grabbed the Fentynyl and syringe from the medicine cabinet. He put down the toilet seat and sat down gingerly. With shaking hands he drew up a half-dose, wishing that he could take more, but not daring to, not knowing when or where he would be able to get more.
He examined his left wrist, finding the vein with ease. The sharp prick was worth it, as he slowly pushed the drug into his blood stream. He shuddered with relief, slouching forward, as he felt it began to work almost immediately. It only took a few moments before he was able to make his way back into the bedroom.
He took the drug paraphernalia with him, setting it next to his bed for when he needed it again. The lack of pain was a huge relief; normally when his pain level was this high he would lie there for hours, struggling until he was completely exhausted. With the stronger pain medication, he lay there, warm and comfortable. Slowly he felt his body relaxing, and before he even realized it, he was starting to fall asleep.
He thought about all that had happened recently as he drew in a slow breath, remembering the words Cuddy had spoken only a few hours earlier.
"What can I do…What do you want me to do?"
He thought about all that had happened within the last few months, his bike accident, his escalating drug use, and his denial of Wilson's strange behavior.
There's nothing you can do, he thought hopelessly as his eyes shut.