Okay, here's another chap...
Hope you enjoy...
Flashback
He stared at his reflection in the mirror… As usual he studied his eyes, checking for jaundice. In case the Vicodine finally had killed his liver…
'Not today' he thought to himself as he confirmed that the white in his eyes were still white… 'Good, I don't have time to die today either…'
He limped over to the bathtub, his leg hurt, his back and shoulders ached. Hopefully a nice warm bath would help with some of that at least. He lowered himself slowly and hissed as his right knee shot him an unpleasant electrifying sensation.
His thigh was the main problem, but that didn't mean his knee was any better… He had been in an accident when he was young, 16 or so… It was his first motorcycle, they lived in Norway because of his father's career… Give a sixteen year old a motorcycle and no parental supervision, accidents are bound to happen… Especially when the mentioned sixteen year old is Gregory House, the teen apparently without the ability to think about consequences. Whether it was things like making jumps on skis, which had broken his collarbone, or talking back at his dad, which had cost him huge amounts of pain…
FLASHBACK
It was the summer of '75. He was just turned sixteen, he had a couple of friends. He was fluent in Norwegian… And he had his own '71 Honda CL100, and he could ride it.
"Hei Georg!" One of his buddies yelled, whenever they moved to a new place, Gregory altered his name to fit the place just a bit better… In Norway he ended up calling himself Georg…
"Blir du med på å kjøre opp til Anne? (Do you want to drive up to Anne?)"
"Ja, det høres gjildt ut, jeg skal bare inn og hente ryggsekken min… Trur du vi trenger svømmetøy, eller? (Sounds fun, I just need to get my backpack… Do you think we'll need swim trunks?)" Greg asked looking up from his side of the lawn where they played soccer.
"Jeg vedder på at vi skal bade… Ja… (I bet we're gonna take a swim... Yes…)" His friend, Lars, answered in a casual voice, before he winked at House. "Hun er interessert i deg vet du… (She's into you, you know…)"
Greg gave a short laugh… "Nei, hun synest bare at sykkelen er fin… Det har ikke noe med meg å gjøre… (No, she just likes the ride… It's got nothing to do with me at all…)"
"Jo, hun liker deg… Hun liker derimot ikke sykkelen din… (Yeah she likes you… She DON'T like your bike on the other hand…)"
"Okei, da… Men vi får komme oss avgårde… (Okey... But we better get going…)"
…
A few minutes later, they were tearing down the gravel road heading up to Anne's farm… It was soothing to feel the wind cool down his body in the boiling summer sun… 60 km/h (about 40 mph) was a great feeling on old gravel roads, not the safest, he knew that… But damn! It felt good!
He checked his mirror to see Lars far behind him… Then he slowed down just enough to make it through a sharp turn in the road. Which would have worked…
Halfway around the bend, his eyes locked on two giant wheels. He clamped his right hand around the break. Panic kicked in as he realized that the bike started to slide under him, as he realized that he had no chance in hell to control the freaking thing! He tried his best to keep it up right, but it was in vain…
The motorcycle came down on his right knee, then he hit the ground himself… He skidded across the imaginary lane where he should drive, into the lane where the tractor was backing up. It was terrifying.
He finally came to a stop, as did the tractor… When they both stopped, his torso was about 4 feet away from the left rear wheel of the tractor.
He didn't feel any pain, but he felt himself shaking. He sat up and saw that his right leg was trapped under the tank of his motorcycle. He tried lifting it off himself, but found that he just wasn't strong enough. He managed to lift it if it just tipped over, but it was impossible from this angle.
He noticed Lars pulled to a stop a few feet away, and heard the door from the tractor slam shut as the man driving it jumped down on the ground.
"Går det greit med deg?(Are you all right?)" The man asked, it was Anne's dad. "Er du skadet? (Are you hurt?)"
"Det går greit! Nei, jeg er ikke skadet. (I'm fine. I'm not hurt.)" Greg answered as Olaf Terkelsen helped him lift the bike off his leg.
His jeans was torn at his knee, and he could see the scrape under it. Nice bloody case of roadrash!
"Oi, du blør! (Woah, you're bleeding!)" Lars exclaimed as Greg tried to get up.
"Ja, det er det som normalt skjer når man bestemmer seg for å fjerne et stykke med hud… Det er ikkje noe verre enn et skrubbsår… (Yeah… That's what usually happens when you remove a patch of skin… It's nothing but a scratch…)" Gregory answered when he finally got up. There was still no pain to really care about. Seemed it just was a bad case of roadrash after all…
…
The NEXT day on the other hand, he couldn't even put weight on his leg without grimacing. And even worse, his dad had gotten back home.
"Quit being a wuss!" his father yelled from the kitchen table as Greg limped into the room. Greg tried to hide the limp for the last five steps over to the kitchen table. He failed miserably…
"Blythe! Where's the breakfast! It should be on the table already!" John yelled to his wife.
Gregory couldn't help but shoot his dad a glare. Dumb ass move!
His dad saw it, the first thing that earned him was a smack at the back of his head. When his father decided that the smack wasn't sufficient enough, he moved closer and placed a large hand around his son's knee, and squeezed, hard.
Greg was writhing in pain…
BACK TO THE BATHTUB
House reached out a hand to knead his aching knee, then moved on to his thigh… The pain was bad, but he would manage…
He cast a glance up at the clock hanging on the wall, time to get to work. He wouldn't want to be more than half an hour late today…
Hope you guys enjoyed it!
Crash based on a real incident... OUCH