Chapter 1: Enough is Never Enough
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters of House M.D. All characters/thematic concepts are owned bởi David bờ biển and Co.
The distinct sound of wood courting hardwood
resonated throughout House’s once-empty, recluse
apartment, the hollow bachelor’s pad that had
served as his proscenium stage and knew him all
too well. The stage that had tacitly
reciprocated a promise: to never leave. Unlike
Stacey, his indigenous thigh muscle, and his
once “less miserable” outlook on life, his
apartment had never negated hoặc forsaken him. In
fact, if his apartment walls could talk, nay,
whisper, hell, do sign language, they would bleed
a sanguine indifference towards his ever-potent
Vicodin addiction, and Bourbon-induced
molestation of all 88 keys of his prized Baby
Grand piano. But, tonight, on his stage, he was
not performing a monologue. Mono implies 1,
right? Tonight, he was gently cradling in his
arms someone he’s always reluctantly, and
precariously held in the ominous pit of his
heart: Cuddy. Although he’d never admit it, not
even to Wilson, he’s always had a predacious, and
recurring air of comradery, respect, and pure
lov… Could it be love? ‘No’, he thought. He
didn’t tình yêu her. However, she was his anchor,
always inching him closer to the bờ biển when he
seemed to be slipping, wandering helplessly into
the depths of the daunting sea alone.
She’d helped him detox. House couldn’t believe
it. Of course, House knew that if he’d told
Cuddy that he needed her that she would help;
new demon child hoặc not. But the way her soft
hands had caressed his weathered shoulders as he
vomited, the fashion in which she beautifully,
and completely Cuddy-like prevented a Vicodin-
induced replace, which would cause him months,
no, years in that damned psychiatrist’s office.
He liked it. He liked her. He could get used to
this. Easily.
House was pulled out of his endless reverie when
he saw a luscious mountain of raven hair peaking
out beneath the horizon of his silk sheets. He
wondered if he’d woken her. The trái cam, màu da cam morning
haze penetrated his window panes and illuminated
her gorgeous features. House had never seen her
thêm lovely than now. But then again, maybe he
was biased since he’d just ardently, and
completely inconsistent with his character, made
lov… uh hermm… slept with her. As soon as her
cerulean stained irises opened, his vision
blurred, and all he could see were the insides of
his eyelids. He panicked.
“CUDDY!! CUDDY!!”, he moaned. Where was she, and
why couldn’t he gaze at her gloriously naked body?
“Cuddy”, he screamed. His desperate rant was
interrupted bởi a small hand. Someone was shaking
him.. Was it Cuddy? He opened his eyes to find a
sultry young lady resembling a Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman shaking him. Her miles of gaudy
jewelry vibrated as she tried to wake him. Her
mascara bled down her soft cheeks, as she
shockingly observed his strange behavior. Who has
Cuddy? And why was he screaming for her?
“Listen, hot shot”, she uttered, “I’ve got ovv’a
clien’s to see tonight. ‘Ju gunna pay up o’ not,”
she asked with a thick English accent.
Realization washed over his jaded face as he
recognized that he’d let Cuddy slip away.. again.
She’d helped him detox, and she’d quietly dressed
in his languid state, and left. He needed her.
He couldn’t have her leave. Not again.
House hastily paid the impatient hooker, and with
much inner-glee relieved her of her duties. As
he closed the door, he realized that “Little
Little Greg” wanted Cuddy as much as his rational
and irrational mind did. He snatched up his keys
from his mahogany dresser, and winced as a bolt
of pain dissipated through his leg. He made his
way towards the elevators and silently and with
the speed of lightning, began to strategize. He
had to convince Cuddy that her leaving was a
mistake. That he needed her. That he never
wanted to spend another restless, wretched night
out of her warm, and loving embrace.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters of House M.D. All characters/thematic concepts are owned bởi David bờ biển and Co.
The distinct sound of wood courting hardwood
resonated throughout House’s once-empty, recluse
apartment, the hollow bachelor’s pad that had
served as his proscenium stage and knew him all
too well. The stage that had tacitly
reciprocated a promise: to never leave. Unlike
Stacey, his indigenous thigh muscle, and his
once “less miserable” outlook on life, his
apartment had never negated hoặc forsaken him. In
fact, if his apartment walls could talk, nay,
whisper, hell, do sign language, they would bleed
a sanguine indifference towards his ever-potent
Vicodin addiction, and Bourbon-induced
molestation of all 88 keys of his prized Baby
Grand piano. But, tonight, on his stage, he was
not performing a monologue. Mono implies 1,
right? Tonight, he was gently cradling in his
arms someone he’s always reluctantly, and
precariously held in the ominous pit of his
heart: Cuddy. Although he’d never admit it, not
even to Wilson, he’s always had a predacious, and
recurring air of comradery, respect, and pure
lov… Could it be love? ‘No’, he thought. He
didn’t tình yêu her. However, she was his anchor,
always inching him closer to the bờ biển when he
seemed to be slipping, wandering helplessly into
the depths of the daunting sea alone.
She’d helped him detox. House couldn’t believe
it. Of course, House knew that if he’d told
Cuddy that he needed her that she would help;
new demon child hoặc not. But the way her soft
hands had caressed his weathered shoulders as he
vomited, the fashion in which she beautifully,
and completely Cuddy-like prevented a Vicodin-
induced replace, which would cause him months,
no, years in that damned psychiatrist’s office.
He liked it. He liked her. He could get used to
this. Easily.
House was pulled out of his endless reverie when
he saw a luscious mountain of raven hair peaking
out beneath the horizon of his silk sheets. He
wondered if he’d woken her. The trái cam, màu da cam morning
haze penetrated his window panes and illuminated
her gorgeous features. House had never seen her
thêm lovely than now. But then again, maybe he
was biased since he’d just ardently, and
completely inconsistent with his character, made
lov… uh hermm… slept with her. As soon as her
cerulean stained irises opened, his vision
blurred, and all he could see were the insides of
his eyelids. He panicked.
“CUDDY!! CUDDY!!”, he moaned. Where was she, and
why couldn’t he gaze at her gloriously naked body?
“Cuddy”, he screamed. His desperate rant was
interrupted bởi a small hand. Someone was shaking
him.. Was it Cuddy? He opened his eyes to find a
sultry young lady resembling a Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman shaking him. Her miles of gaudy
jewelry vibrated as she tried to wake him. Her
mascara bled down her soft cheeks, as she
shockingly observed his strange behavior. Who has
Cuddy? And why was he screaming for her?
“Listen, hot shot”, she uttered, “I’ve got ovv’a
clien’s to see tonight. ‘Ju gunna pay up o’ not,”
she asked with a thick English accent.
Realization washed over his jaded face as he
recognized that he’d let Cuddy slip away.. again.
She’d helped him detox, and she’d quietly dressed
in his languid state, and left. He needed her.
He couldn’t have her leave. Not again.
House hastily paid the impatient hooker, and with
much inner-glee relieved her of her duties. As
he closed the door, he realized that “Little
Little Greg” wanted Cuddy as much as his rational
and irrational mind did. He snatched up his keys
from his mahogany dresser, and winced as a bolt
of pain dissipated through his leg. He made his
way towards the elevators and silently and with
the speed of lightning, began to strategize. He
had to convince Cuddy that her leaving was a
mistake. That he needed her. That he never
wanted to spend another restless, wretched night
out of her warm, and loving embrace.
