He'd pulled a bottle of Vicodin out of the lock up before he went back to his apartment. He hadn't taken one, had only kept the bottle close by, on the table by his bed where he'd kept the bottle when he was actively addicted. He'd come so far, he'd fought so hard to get off the pills. Detox had been hell, he remembered well how he'd done nothing ( Read more... )

He didn't get out of bed when he woke up for the simple fact he wasn't sure he could. Well, he could. All he needed was his crutches, which were stowed away in his closet. He glanced at Justin sleeping beside him, although he couldn't say if the man was sleeping or not, as he'd been awake for some time before he moved at all. He sat up, slowly, ( Read more... )

House lay in the bed until he simply couldn't stand it any more. His body felt heavy, and he ended up crawling on all fours -well, three- to get to the bathroom. His mouth felt dry and disgusting, and he brushed his teeth even though he hadn't eaten, and wouldn't eat. Couldn't eat. The very thought of food made him nauseous, and he threw up in the ( Read more... )