(Untitled)

[drivingherpoet]

There are days, rare days, but days when I try to live my life like a normal person, like someone who functions, like a person with a heart. When Orpheus started coming back piece by piece, I hoarded bottles of pills, pills to settle me, pills to make me calm and help me sleep. I'm almost never drug-free. The love went out of me and, pint by

Comments

[enabler_md]

Wilson couldn't believe he was in here looking for someone to buy drugs from. Not even for himself, that was ridiculous. But House was in pain, and the last thing he needed was to sit through another detox session with his friend. Addict or not, the man was in real pain. The O kept him functional and neutral.

The only real problem was Wilson couldn't find the kid House had told him to look for, and he wasn't just going to walk up to people and ask. He had that much savvy.

Sighing heavily, he took a seat next to a pretty brunette and offered her a smile before ordering a scotch, neat.

"Hello," he said, giving her a nod as he turned around with his drink.

[drivingherpoet]

"Hello," I say, because it never hurts to be polite, never hurts to try and be kind. I'm a little drunk, and it lends me a little warmth.

It never hurts to try and smile, but I'm out of practice and it hurts, and I'm not sure what it ends up looking like.

This is what he did to me, in going.

[enabler_md]

Did she just wince at him? Wilson's expression flickered, but the flashing lights covered the confusion and he was back to beig gentle and friendly.

"Nice place," he tried, assuming if it worked back in college it might be okay here. "Come here often?"

[drivingherpoet]

You remember how to do this. You weren't a gir when Orpheus met you. You remember how this goes.

I nod.

"Often enough. What about you?"

The green drink burns all the way down.

[enabler_md]

"No. I don't usually, um..." Wilson faltered. He offered a nervous smile and took a drink, barely noticing the taste. That's the good side of top shelf stuff...at least it didn't make it seem like you were drinking formaldehyde.

"I'm James. Wilson," he said, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

[drivingherpoet]

James Wilson. I nod and take a sip, give myself time to collect myself. You get out of the habit of telling people your name.

"Eurydice," I say, pitching my voice to carry. "Nice to meet you, James Wilson."

And it is nice, as nice as anything is anymore.
Nice is such a none word.

[enabler_md]

"Pretty name," he smiled, looking from her to the crowd and back. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm a doctor, what do you do?"

As soon as he said it, Wilson mentally slapped his head. He was so painfully out of his element here. That was a question for, oh, anywhere but here.

[drivingherpoet]

"Thankyou," I say and, for a minute, I almost forget. That's what a compliment does. It makes you feel human.

"Nothing," I say. "I do nothing, all day. It's terribly, terribly boring."