Owl to Lily
Seven days of withdrawal. Seven days of being unable to sleep, tremors, inability to keep food down, dysphoria, loss of appetite - not to mention a broken bone and muscle pain beginning to set in - and that wasn't even counting the fact that his leg was constantly screaming at him. Seven days before House was finally battered down enough to admit that maybe, maybe, he should try out one of those pills that Lily gave him. Just to stop the pain for a while.
It had taken trying to sleep and accidentally rolling over onto his wrist to do it. At least he hadn't mis-aligned the bones again, he didn't think.
So, House resigned himself to trying one of the pills. He took it, and waited five minutes, because that was how long his Vicodin usually took. But nothing happened. Ten minutes later, there was an ever so slight easing of pain, but with the withdrawal amping it up, it was hardly anything. Half an hour later, House had smashed another one of the glasses sitting on his desk.
The pill had an effect, but it wasn't nearly enough. In his frustration, he completely managed to forget the fact that they might work when he wasn't strung-out, and set about composing an owl to Lily. Or, less composing, and more writing an angry note in a shaky hand.
--
Your fucking pills aren't working. Give me back my Vicodin.
--
House didn't bother to address or sign it; he just told Steve to find Lily. (Well, he'd actually said "Find the woman that shouted a lot about a week ago"). He'd also told Steve to bite her on the leg, but it was doubtful the rat was actually going to do that.
It had taken trying to sleep and accidentally rolling over onto his wrist to do it. At least he hadn't mis-aligned the bones again, he didn't think.
So, House resigned himself to trying one of the pills. He took it, and waited five minutes, because that was how long his Vicodin usually took. But nothing happened. Ten minutes later, there was an ever so slight easing of pain, but with the withdrawal amping it up, it was hardly anything. Half an hour later, House had smashed another one of the glasses sitting on his desk.
The pill had an effect, but it wasn't nearly enough. In his frustration, he completely managed to forget the fact that they might work when he wasn't strung-out, and set about composing an owl to Lily. Or, less composing, and more writing an angry note in a shaky hand.
--
Your fucking pills aren't working. Give me back my Vicodin.
--
House didn't bother to address or sign it; he just told Steve to find Lily. (Well, he'd actually said "Find the woman that shouted a lot about a week ago"). He'd also told Steve to bite her on the leg, but it was doubtful the rat was actually going to do that.