Shadows
All the lights were turned off. He didn't want reality to come back as he drifted off into a world he refused to leave, and turning off reality involved turning off the lights. His house was quiet, the faint moonlight streaming in through the one window he had not covered to fall in broken streams across the piano. The trees outside that blocked some of the moonlight rustled in a quiet breeze. Autumn was almost over and, if House looked up, he could see the shadow of leaved falling from the branches in the moonlight.
The silver light spread across the floor. As the leaves left their shadow on the piano, House left his shadow on the floor. His leg hurt him again, a throbbing pain that left his fingers shaking on the piano keys. He refused his painkillers, but he remembered exactly what pocket they were in and caught himself looking over at his jacket longingly. He wouldn't give into the pain. He had been numbing it for so long. He was sick of it. To get better, it would have have to get worse first. House only wondered if he could handle it.
He was picking out a tune with one hand, his other hand clenched in a fist over his thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. It was that song again.
He missed the sound of her voice. He was weak enough to admit it. He could remember the words, but it was not her voice that haunted him. It was her face. He was startled when, while at the hospital, he saw her face on other people. It was only for a split second, and then he realized who he was looking at, but it was shocking how many times it happened. There were times, too, when he was alone in his office and could see her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be flesh and blood and several times he had darted his hand toward her, seeing if he could touch her. But, it always turned out to be his imagination and, hopelessly frustrated, he would go back to work. She had been so vivid, though, she could have been real...
He noticed a bit of fabric sticking out from the side of his backpack he had dropped beside the piano; taking his fingers off the ivory keys, he took the item out. It was the shirt he had lent her. He still had not taken it out and washed it, like he had planned. The fabric was warm from being kept in the bad, and the texture was strangely comforting. She had worn this. While working with patients, while doing paperwork, while sleeping...
Angrily, he whipped it across the room and the shirt landed in a pile, rejected. House sighed sharply, wincing as his leg hurt even more with the movement he had made. Giving in, he stood up and, leaving his cane beside the piano, hobbled to his jacket, leaning on random items. Reaching into the pocket, he took out his pill bottle, opened it, and dumped the contents into his palm. To his dismay, there were only two there. That was enough for a regular person, but, after years of overdosing to achieve the desired effect, House needed more than two to block the pain.
For a moment, he almost put them in his mouth. He could almost taste the bitter pills and it was nearly too much to bear. But, with quick, firm movements, he dumped the pills back into the bottle, replaced the cap, and threw it all back into his pocket. Limping back across the room, one hand on the wall, he sat back down on the piano bench. He looked at the pearly keys and tried to find the onyx ones in the shadows. From his trip across he room, his leg hurt still, but it was no match for the pain that was in his head. If only there was a drug to keep her out of his thoughts... Would he take it, or throw that drug aside, too? If he could try to ignore the pain in his leg, he would ignore her, too.
His fingers stroked the keys and, as he picked the song out once more, the moon slid behind a dark cloud, blotting out the light, casting everything into shadow. The song faded away as he stopped playing; it was too dark to see the keys.
I really almost cried when I finished this one! Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! Thanks again!