Drabble 28: Tourniquet

Wilson was biting down on a sodden, mangy rag as he tightened it around his upper arm. Adjusting the needle over the pulsing blue vein on his forearm, the sudden pain meant relief of the hellhole he called life was on its way.

James looked tired and dirty as ever: his brown hair was caked in blood from bar fights and his arms were a scarred battlefield.

Laughing like a mad man would, his right hand dropped the needle and he let himself collapse onto the floor. His eyes shut slowly, never to open. Wilson would never see House again.

Fin.

(A/N: Doesn't that remind you of the big House junkie days? I ripped off the idea. Yeah, go ahead, laugh. Err… but don't sue me.)