for Phedre

House was starting to wish that Phedre wouldn't come. It was a terrible idea, suggesting that she look after him while he was detoxing. He didn't know what he'd been thinking... oh, right, he was stoned at the time. All he had to do was suck it up for a few days. If he could get through the worst of it, then he could at least make his way to the compound for food.

He'd told her that it would start when the island changed back, but in reality it had been a couple of days before that since the last time he'd been to the opium den. He'd woken up itching for a fix, only to realize that he was in his own bed again. He'd felt like sobbing.

Now, a day later, he could tick off the symptoms, the ones that he'd told Phedre to look up: watery eyes, runny nose, dilated pupils, loss of appetite, panic attacks, chills, nausea, muscle cramps, insomnia, stomach cramps, vomiting, shaking, sweating. And of course, the normal pain in his leg was magnified by about five, maybe ten times. He could barely move.

He was dreading that she would come. Praying that she would. No, no, she didn't need to see this, no one should see this. It was his own goddamn fault. Clad in pajama pants and a tshirt, he sprawled on the bed with the sheets tangled around him. Fucker was barking at the door. Oh right, House had left him outside. That was better.