Poor Little Teen

by Rondabunny

Thirteen:

Work. It keeps me busy the whole day long. Patients, pain, House's lame jokes. It makes me forget myself, forget I'm living, forget I'm dying… But when it ends I'm alone again. People are running, rushing in the street full of unsolved problems, full of hope and sorrow, full with the feeling that there is someone waiting, someone caring for them. I… I stay there and watch them go by. They are too busy to notice, to notice a face in the crowd. I have to feel alive, go into a bar, take a drink, dance. Light drugs, more alcohol to ease the feeling of emptiness in my soul, to forget that mom is long gone, dad's gone, now Kutner. Kissing, soft lips licking my breasts, soft hands caressing my body. I shiver. Do I need this? Touching, melting, my skin's burning, but I don't feel anything. My mind is empty, I'm cold.

"Hey! Are you with me or I have to do everything alone?" – says a blonde bimbo sitting on the couch right next to me. I'm barely naked. My shirt is on the floor together with my bra. She even managed to unfasten my belt. Why is she here? Another bimbo for a night, another crap to fill the blank, to fill the vast gap in my soul.

"Sorry. I can't," – I apologize. Why should I? To hear: "Go to hell f….ng bitch!" to watch her dress up and leave my room. She doesn't understand. She is like the others wants to spend a merry night. She doesn't feel I suffer. She doesn't know that my father died two weeks ago, that my friend committed a suicide nobody knows why. She doesn't know I'm dying. Each day is closer to death, to emptiness, to blackness. There is nobody to listen.

I lie down on the couch and hug a pillow. I don't want to cry, I'm too drunk for it. I don't want to sleep either. I try to remember how I used to play basketball with my father. He laughed when I couldn't take the ball. He praised me when I shoot it right into the basket. He made me happy as only he could. Now everything's over. I am what I am - a bisexual bitch dying from Huntington's. I am sick and tired. I don't want to be a looser. If Kutner was brave enough to do that I am bolder. I am too tired of waiting, of making others believe I am not a coward. I am human. It means mortal…

House:

Another day at work. Oh, this stupid leg is killing me! It's aching like hell! One step, two steps, three…

"Hello everybody!" – my bag flies across the room to plop into the arm-chair. My guys are in the office. Taub - vacantly starring into the window, Foreman - finishing a report and Thirteen - studying a record book, and one more empty chair in the room. A chair for an idiot, my idiot - little, filthy Kutner. It was my mistake. I did a lot of mistakes in my life but that was a hugest one. I… I – the brain of the company didn't notice. I didn't see he's a suicidal freak. Maybe because he wasn't. He was a silly kid, who likes to play with dangerous toys, but he wasn't grieving, he wasn't in pain, he wasn't even pessimistic. He was an inventor, a crazy inventor but No, he wasn't suicidal. I could have noticed. I could have done something but… There is always a "but"… Who's next? Taub? No, he is a materialistic pragmatic, too predictable. Foreman? Too smart to do stupid things. Thirteen? A woman-puzzle. Why did I hire her? Another mistake? Yes, but now it's too late to go back.

So, what do we have today? Thirteen, Thirteen… I look carefully. Her face is like a book even if she did everything possible to hide it under a mask. What do I read? A sleepless night, too much to drink, drugs for sure. Sex? Maybe. These cold, grey eyes are staring at me again and I can read nothing more. No thoughts, no dreams, no future, even right here right now is vague. Sometimes I want her to be like Cameron just a sweet girl, caring too much, open and kind. I knew how to scold and how to protect her. But Thirteen… Everything is complicated with her. When I get an inch closer she runs away on a mile. I have to watch her closer or I will lose this one forever…again…

One more day ended, one more patient healed. Everything went OK. (House watched Thirteen emptying her locker. He noticed something unusual.) Was it a syringe in her hand? Is she up to something?

She looked around her empty apartment, took off her coat and poured herself whiskey. She sat on her couch for awhile remembering things happened here before and sipping her drink. Then she took two syringes from her bag and put up her sleeve ready to make an injection.

"That's it!" she said the needle an inch apart from her vein. Suddenly someone broke into her bedroom and took away the syringe. She turned to face the man. Her steel grey eyes met his ocean-blue and she shook.

"House, what are you doing here?" - she asked looking coldly at him but inside she was scared to death, because he figured her out. Thirteen freaked out like a little child when her dad found her smoking in a secret place which she only knew.

"Foreman told me about lesbian party in here. Didn't want to be late,"- he mocked as usual.

"House, get out!" – she said searching the other syringe on her dressing-table but he already took it.

"Sit down," – he demanded. She sat on her bed trying not to look at him. "Relanium and insulin not too smart of you but that will do. What sex, drugs and rock-n-roll don't work anymore?"

She sat silently. He stood there starring at her. She didn't move, she didn't cry just sat on her bed wanting him to disappear, wanting to shout, to push him out of here. The man sat beside her and hugged her, pulled her closer to feel his coat soak from her tears.

"I can't do this anymore!" – she sobbed.

"There is nothing out there, believe me, I have seen it. The only reality is this hell we are living in, there is nothing else," – House tried to hush her as he could.

She looked up at him and said: "It is nothing left for me here. The only person who cared is gone. My father's dead."

"My poor little teen, you're selfish like all the kids. If I didn't give a damn, you would be lying on the floor unconscious by now," – silence fell for a moment.

"I know. Sorry to bother you," - she answered struggling to sit straight away from him.

"You don't understand anything, Remy. If I ever had a child I wanted him or her to be you, so, intelligent, beautiful and strong," – he replied standing up and taking his cane.

"Why then, those stupid jokes about my bisexuality and my dying every single day?" – she asked angrily.

"These are two sides of your personality you are afraid of. I bet you didn't tell your father about girls and how you feel each day bringing you closer to the final point," – he countered. "Now you're grounded for bad behavior. You are on suicidal watch. It means everywhere you go I go with you, everything you do I watch closely. Don't even try to cheat on me or I say Cuddy and it'll be much worse."

"Fine, mom. May I take a shower?" – Thirteen asked his permission as good little kids do.

"Not, until I check the bathroom for drugs, sharp items and electric appliances," – he said and limped to the bathroom. Hadley smiled. She took the shower after House came out off the bathroom with her hairdryer, razor and even her toothpicks. She knew that House is searching her apartment for other "suicidal things" while she was washing. She left the bathroom in her pajamas and found House sitting in her arm-chair with two glasses of whiskey in his hand. He stood up and handed her a glass of whiskey.

"What is it? Poison?" – she asked him screwing up her eyes.

"No, it'll make you sleep better."She drank it in one long gulp. "Now go to sleep," he said watching her slip under the blanket and tucking it to make her comfortable. He turned the light off and sat back into the arm-chair.

"Good night, House."

"Good night, Remy. Sleep tight," he sipped from his glass sitting in the dark…