Addiction (House x Reader)

Chapter 1

Walking through a hospital always sucks. Hospitals aren't fun places to be at no matter who you are. It just reeks of sickness and death.

I go up to the receptionist and state my name.

"F/N L/N"

"Birthdate?"

"June 26th, 1990"

"Ah, I see. You're here to see Dr. House, correct?" the lady asked.

"Yes, that would be me." I smile. This lady seems nice. I look down at her name tag.

Nurse Brittany

"Alright, if you could just take a seat right over there", she points towards a sitting area, "and we'll have a nurse with you soon."

"Thank you so much" I say as I walk towards the seating area. The TV was playing some cooking channel that I couldn't have been the least bit interested in.

I take my seat and grab the first magazine I could see in arms distance. I grab the People magazine, and start reading. Resting my bum hand lightly on the arm rest. I could feel the slight burn of my hand touching the armrest, making me wince.

I focus back on the magazine and with each page turn it's just one controversy after another. So much of it that it caused my eyes to strain. I rub the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes, and then close the magazine. Thankfully, I heard my name.

"Y/N?" I look up and see the nurse. I smile and follow her into a room.

Once in the room, I quickly sit on the bed in the middle.

"Dr. House will be with you in a moment."

I tell her a thank you and she shuts the door.

The room is bare. Quite boring actually. The light shade of blue smeared on the walls. The ugly brown hospital cabinets that could make anyone vomit. Finally, the single black stool chair.

This is hell.

After awhile, I lay down on the bed. The wait before the doctor walks in is always horrendous. I roll to my good side and stare at the paint. Looking at all the indents. Every crack in my view.

"Do you always sleep during your appointments?" A grouchy deep voice booms.

"Only the ones where the doctors don't show up." I say as I roll over to sit up right, grabbing my wrist with the other hand.

"Maybe if your file wasn't so boring I would've been more interested in coming in on time." He scoffs. "So I see in your file that you have Peripheral Neuropathy. Is that true or were you asleep when the doctors told you?"

"That appointment I was able to stay awake for, unlike some." I snap. Leaning up more I finally get a good look at him. First thing I notice were his eyes. I typically find brown eyes more charming but his blue were just unlike none i've ever seen before.  He's wearing a black suit jacket with a blue button up and a tan shirt beneath it. No white coat, no name tag, nothing. The guy just looked like everyone else.

"So, y/n, what are you really in here for? You're already diagnosed, so I can't fix the ouchie in your hand."

"Can you please just take a look at it?"

"Fine, since you asked nicely." He walks over with his cane, and grabs my wrist. I wince from the burn of his hand grazing mine.

"Redness, which is common. You clenched your teeth when I grabbed your wrist so obviously any touch to your hand is burning you." He releases my wrist that I pulled back and begin slowly rubbing it with my thumb.

"How did you come up with that, dumb ass?" I ask.

"You don't have to be so hormonal all the time, you know." House says. I can feel my blood rushing.

"Anyone who knows anything about Peripheral Neuropathy would know that any slight touch tends to send a sharp burning pain through my hand." I tell him.

"I wanted to see if you were lying, guess you were telling the truth seeing your hormonal reaction. Any medications that you're taking for that overly sensitive hand?"

"I was hoping to start Tramadol. Tylenol doesn't seem to be working."

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out an orange bottle. He quickly pops the bottle open, and reaches in to grab a white pill from inside. He moves it to the middle of his palm and pops it in his mouth.

"Want one? Always seems to do the trick." He extends his arm, offering me a pill.

I push his arm back and shake my head. "I have less harsher stuff at my house. Not a big pill addict."

"And yet, you want me to write you a script for Tramadol? Last I checked that was a narcotic. Or maybe i'm just a dumb ass that's too stupid to know that. What do you have at your house that gets you a high? Paint? Sharpie? You're too pretty for Meth."

"Look, the pain won't stop. I can't relax comfortably and i'm always miserable."

"I'll write a script for 50mg of Tramadol." He grabs his pad and writes the script. He tears the paper and hands it to me. "You didn't answer the question from earlier."

I grab the paper with my right hand. " I just smoke plain old cannabis. You're not going to tell on me, are you?" I ask jokingly.

"Only if you fall asleep at the next appointment." He responds.

I stand up and tell him, "Thirty two."

He stares confused, "Thirty two what? The amount of people you slept with?"

I shake my head, "No, of cracks in that wall. That's what I was doing when you walked in."

"Oh god you're more boring than your file." He palms his head.

"Bye Dr. House." I open the door and walk out. I stare down at the script in front of me and look at the top of the page

Dr. House (609)756-9384

I reach for my phone in my back pocket and add the number to my contacts.