Harsh words & violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows
Eyes are open, hands are fisted
Deep inside I'm warped & twisted
So many tricks & so many lies
Too many whens & too many whys
Nobody's special, nobody's gifted
I'm just me, warped & twisted
Sleeping awake & choking on a dream
Listening loudly to a silent scream
Call my mind, the number's unlisted
Lost in someone so warped & twisted
On my knees, alive but dead
Look at the invisible blood I've bled
I'm not gone, my mind has drifted
Don't expect much, I'm warped & twisted
Burnt out, wasted, empty, & hollow
Today's just yesterday's tomorrow
The sun died out, the ashes sifted
I'm still here, warped & twisted

--Unknown.

Shorter chapter, but enjoy anyway.

House sat in exam room one staring into nothingness. It's how he thought. He would stare at one spot like it held all of the answers in the world, everything he ever needed to know. He always had that strange way of thinking. And thoughts always came to him at the weirdest and most unexpected times.

People have seen him just turn and walk away in the middle of a sentence because he finally remembered or realized something that had been pestering him.

Today wasn't one of those days where thoughts just came to him. He tried to dig deeper, to find out what to do, but one little thought kept buzzing around his mind like a fucking gnat.

'I have to get away.'

Damn it.

That's what he was going to do.

He was going to leave. Cuddy would kill him. Cuddy would literally slaughter him. He could deal with that later though. Even that would be better than facing Wilson or his team. And he knew he couldn't stay down in the clinic, hiding like a coward forever. That would never work. Someone would come to their senses and find him sooner or later. Them and their fucking pity. They couldn't just stay away? Just go away? He looked down at his blood stained sleeve and shook his head, sighing heavily.

He was going to leave. He had to, because no one had enough common sense to know he didn't want anyone to talk to him.

He stood and peeked out of the window, holding the blinds to the side.

At first he didn't see her, but a blur of pink suddenly walked past the nurse's help desk about twenty feet ahead. Cuddy. She was heading in the direction of the elevator.

Soon enough, he saw her face disappear behind the closing elevator doors and he bolted out of the exam room and towards the front doors of PPTH. He didn't have anything important back in his office. Just his iPod, but that could stay there for the night. He had the key to his bike, that's all he needed.

He limped faster than ever and just when he stepped outside he turned the corner towards the parking lot. He got to his bike, turned the ignition, and drove away, increasing his speed with each steady roar of the bike.

He had no idea where he was going, but he was going. His nails dug into the handlebars and he squeezed the sides of the bike with his legs, as if that would will it to go faster.

He cruised the streets well over the speed limit, going somewhere but nowhere. Objects passed in giant blurs and his palms felt sweaty on the handlebars.

He felt his pager vibrate against his leg.

'Fuck it.' He thought. He kept on going, and surprisingly the pager didn't go off again. He didn't care.

Street by street, second by second, minute by minute, he drove.

He had no idea how long he had been driving when he stopped at the bar but it must have been a while because it was getting darker outside. He had no idea where he was, but his leg was aching and he had to get off his bike.

He parked the bike about thirty feet from the entrance and walked through the doors of the bar.

It was different from all of the other places where he and Wilson usually went. It had a strange smell, a mixture of cedar wood and cigarette smoke, but it was oddly comforting to him. The floor was dusty and the tables looked sticky at first glance. It wasn't really crowded, but full.

He grabbed a stool at the counter and signaled for the bartender. He ordered a scotch and took in his surroundings.

There were large, bulky men in leather jackets playing pool like in those really clichéd movies. He would call them the Bulks. He decided to avoid them.

There were a few men in crinkled suits who probably came here after a long day at work to find some desperate women. House snorted into his newly-arrived scotch glass. He noted that the bathroom was at the other end of the counter. He would need that later.

He took out his Vicodin and popped two and closed his eyes blissfully as the scotch and drugs worked in unison. Slowed his mind down, but his leg was killing him. He hated it. Hated it all, everything and everyone. He was hollow. He snarled as he took another swig from the glass.

He looked down to the other end of the counter to where a man, just about his size, was looking at him like he just felt up his wife. It was scaring him a bit, and House looked away. He wasn't a very friendly looking man.

Why was he looking at him that way?

Every few seconds, House would look at him out of the corner of his eye and see the man still staring back at him, snarling.

This was bad. The man was still glaring at him. The bathroom behind the man never seemed farther away.

He had to pee.

Not particularly proud of this chapter, so seriously, if you liked it, boost my confidence a bit. Please? R&R.