Used, chapter 31 :)

[darkdreamer]

Hi, all :) Here's the latest update of Used :) I warn you, it's a bit on the dark and disturbing side - nowhere near as bad as some of the chapters that have come before, but pretty dark. If it helps, this is about the last of the flashbacks :P

Hope you enjoy the chapter... please let me know :)

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Used
Beta: zeppomarx
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, eventual Wilson/OFC, and possible House/Cuddy
Warnings: implied non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: House endures the unimaginable...will his friends be able to deal with it? Will he be able to deal with it? A story about damaged human beings, and ultimately recovery and healing


Chapter 31
Submission

At seven thirty the next morning, House was in his office.

His team didn’t have a current patient, and with him out on “sick leave” he didn’t expect them to show up until at least nine – maybe later. However, he was taking no chances. Cuddy had decided to keep his department open, with Foreman in charge, until Tritter was out of the picture. House didn’t want to risk running into a member of his team and having to explain why the man they had signed on to work under was no longer their boss.

He sat in his chair, slowly removing items from his large bookshelf and placing them into a large cardboard box. Every now and then, he would linger over one of them, staring down at it until he was no longer seeing the item in his hands, but rather the many years he had spent in this office, in this hospital.

He was completely unaware of his audience.

The blinds were drawn, closing out the prying eyes of any passersby in the hall – but the door was still exposed, and anyone who made a point of looking inside could clearly see him.

Cuddy stood outside his office, arms crossed over her chest as she watched House pack up his things. He had asked them to leave him to do it alone – but it hurt to watch the slow, painful process of disentangling himself from a place that had meant so much to him over the years.

As she silently watched, Wilson approached, a can of soda in each hand. He gave one to Cuddy, and she thanked him, but just held it for a few moments, not bothering to open it. He glanced between her and the focus of her gaze with concern.

“You all right?” he quietly asked after a moment.

Cuddy shook her head, swallowing her tears. “This isn’t fair,” she stated. “This… isn’t right, Wilson. He shouldn’t have to do this.”

“It’s just temporary,” Wilson reminded her, his troubled gaze turning toward his friend. “He’ll be coming back once we can take care of Tritter.”

Cuddy shook her head again. “He doesn’t think it’s temporary,” she pointed out. “He doesn’t believe we can stop Tritter. To House, this is just… just one more thing that bastard has taken from him.” She looked at Wilson, eyes imploring him to understand. “The last thing, Wilson. This – this job, his – his mind, and the chance to use it – are all he has left!”

“Not quite.” A sad smile formed on Wilson’s face. “He’s still got us.” He paused, a grimace twisting his mouth. “That’s… why he’s doing this. He’s doing this… to protect us.”

“Monster,” Cuddy muttered as she turned her eyes back toward House, shaking her head again. “This just isn’t right. It’s not enough to… to hurt him and humiliate him, to get revenge. He wants to destroy him… and he won’t stop until he does.”

“We’ll stop him. We have to.” There was a grim certainty to Wilson’s voice. “He won’t win. This is just… just a temporary defeat. Right now, before we know enough to go against him, it doesn’t make any sense to provoke him. But once Jenna’s able to find out a little more…”

“I wish he’d have agreed to work from home. There’s no way that Tritter could have found out…”

“That’s… not exactly true.” Wilson gave her a rueful, apologetic look. “If he’s watching House, he’d be likely to catch on eventually. And House is right. He’d be even more dangerous if he thought House had been working and trying to hide it from him.”

“I know,” Cuddy sighed. “It’s just… it just hurts to… to see him like this. It’s like he’s… like he’s giving up.”

“No,” Wilson declared. “He’s not. He won’t.” He paused, placing a supportive hand on Cuddy’s shoulder as she swiped angrily at a stray tear that found its way down her cheek. “We won’t let him.”

*****************************

House didn’t notice them outside his office, and he didn’t notice when they made their way a few yards down the hall to Wilson’s office. He had asked them to leave him to finish this task alone, and he believed they were respecting his wishes.

Now he wished he had let them help him.

It wasn’t that the job of packing up his personal belongings that was overwhelming. It was the unexpected memories that surrounded him as he worked – the feeling of loss and ending and defeat that filled him. He stared down at the floor, taking a breath before he went on, struggling to control the feeling of displacement and isolation that swelled up inside him.

He didn’t want to go.

His back to the door, House raised a hand to press against his eyes, trying to push back the dangerous prickling sensation of tears. A slight shudder passed through his shoulders as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He didn’t hear the door open behind him, and the low, male voice from the doorway caught him by surprise, setting his heart racing and his over-taxed mind into a swirling panic.

“House! What are you doing here?”

************************

Tritter left House kneeling on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, as he wiped his own prints from Johnny’s gun and pressed the weapon into the dead man’s hand. House watched with dread as Tritter dragged the body to the edge of the cliff and tossed it over, then returned to his side.

He froze, his heart pounding with terror as Tritter dragged him up by the belt strapped around his neck, holding him against the side of the car, slowly pressing closer, completely invading his captive’s space and leaving him feeling trapped and helpless. The larger man’s slow, invasive hand against House’s bare skin sickened him, but he forced himself to stay still, unresisting, afraid of invoking Tritter’s wrath if he dared to pull away.

He cringed, drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath as Tritter’s hand trailed inward from his bruised hip. He couldn’t stand it. “Please,” he whispered, his head lowered in submission and shaking slightly, “please, don’t… please, don’t…”

Tritter laughed softly, dragging his head backward and choking him slightly. His voice was quiet, calm as he ordered, “Look at me, House.” When his victim immediately complied, Tritter met his gaze with a cold smile that gradually faded into an expression of pity and disgust. He leaned in close, and House’s breath quickened at his sudden nearness, violent tremors shaking his body as he fought his instinct to pull away.

“I already told you,” Tritter sneered softly in House’s ear. “I’m not gonna touch your filthy, disease-ridden body again, House.” He paused for impact, adding in a cruel whisper, “You’re worthless, House. Completely. Worthless. No one will ever want to touch you again.”

House cringed with shame.

Tritter wasn’t finished. “Say it,” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

Humiliated tears streaking his face, House complied without hesitation. “I-I’m worthless,” he whispered. “Worthless…”

It wasn’t difficult.

The words felt like truth.

Tritter’s hand brushed his cheek, and House shuddered with revulsion, but allowed the touch, too terrified to pull away. “Good boy.” Tritter murmured his approval. His harsh whisper in House’s ear chilled his blood as he added, “Don’t forget it.”

Abruptly he yanked House forward onto his face on the ground, jerking on the belt as he ordered in a hard, warning voice, “Do not… move.” He pulled the belt tighter, crouching down low to add in a softer, almost patient voice, his strong hand trailing down House’s back to rest just above his bound wrists. “If you fight me, House… if you try to get away…” Cruel fingers dug painfully into a dark bruise where House’s cane had struck earlier in the evening. “… I’ll make you beg me to kill you. Do you understand?”

House nodded, biting back a cry of pain at Tritter’s brutal touch.

“Good…”

Tritter’s voice was soothing again as, much to House’s surprise, he unfastened the cuffs and allowed House’s battered wrists to fall free. His arms dropped to his sides, tingling as the blood returned to them. He longed to touch the aching, raw places where the cuffs had been, but he didn’t dare move without Tritter’s permission.

He listened as Tritter opened the trunk and took something out, then dropped the soft bundle on the ground in front of House.

“Get up.”

Hesitantly, House drew himself up onto his knees, cautious eyes focused on Tritter for any sign that he was doing something wrong, something that might draw Tritter’s anger.

Tritter nodded his approval, clarifying, “All the way up. Get dressed.”

Trembling, uncertain, House reached down to pick up his clothes. His hands were numb and clumsy, and it took him a couple of tries to hold onto the bundle. He raised it in front of him, staring down at the crumpled shirt, jacket, and pants for a moment. It felt as if years had passed since he’d last worn them, instead of hours.

“Go on,” Tritter prodded, a warning edge to his voice that pushed House into action. “Put them on.”

House struggled to pull the shirt and jacket onto his battered arms, wincing at the pain in his abused back and chest as his motion jarred the bruised, sore muscles, and the fabric brushed his torn, abraded flesh. His hands trembled with exhaustion as he fumbled with the buttons. He had barely finished when Tritter grabbed him by the collar, jerking him roughly onto his feet and slamming him into the car again.

House bit back a cry of pain, flinching but not resisting as Tritter moved in close. His voice was low, menacing, as he snarled, “Think you could move a little slower, Dr. House? It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything!”

He slammed House into the car again, deliberately knocking his tailbone against the handle of the door. The blow stole his breath with agony, and House could not completely suppress a strangled cry of pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pleading, submissive. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”

Tritter released him with a rough shove, ordering coldly, “Speed it up.”

As the pain faded, House wondered if Tritter had guessed that he probably couldn’t get to his feet on his own. Once he was standing, he could stay on his feet all right, but he didn’t think he could have managed to stand without help. He leaned gingerly against the side of the car as he struggled to pull his legs up into his jeans, one at a time – each movement a separate agony.

Tritter threw his shoes down on the ground at his feet, and House weakly slipped his feet into them, relieved that in a rare and favorable coincidence, he had chosen to wear actual black dress shoes that day, in lieu of his usual sneakers. It was a tremendous relief – because he wasn’t sure he could have managed to get his sneakers tied.

While he was dressing, Tritter folded the blanket in the backseat over to cover up the bloody surface where House had sat on the way there. House was just finishing getting dressed when Tritter suddenly appeared at his side, and he jumped, panicked. Tritter caught the end of the belt, pulling his head back, deliberately choking him as he smiled coldly, his face inches from House’s face.

“What’s the matter?” he sneered, dragging the belt backward across the roof of the car, pulling it tight enough to nearly pull House off his feet. Panicked, unable to draw breath, House gasped uselessly, feet scrabbling for purchase against the ground – but he never raised a hand to defend himself, not even to pull the belt away from his throat.

Tritter’s smile widened as he finally released his grip on the belt, allowing House to fall forward, desperately drawing in deep draughts of oxygen as Tritter finally removed the belt completely.

“Good,” he murmured his approval. “Good boy. You know better than to fight me, now, don’t you?”

House nodded hurriedly – then flinched, gasping in alarm as he felt Tritter’s hands at his waist. His hands rose in instinctive defense, then clenched into useless fists as he dropped them to his sides again, fighting his impulse to resist.

“Shhh,” Tritter soothed him. “That’s good, House. That’s good… Just keep still…” His hands were deceptively gentle as he threaded the belt back through House’s belt loops and fastened it. “Don’t think you could have managed that yourself, could you?”

House shook his head, his panic subsiding as he realized Tritter’s intentions.

Tritter leaned in close, his hands still on the belt drawing House forward as he asked softly, “What do you say?”

“Th-thank you,” House whispered, humiliated, but too broken to resist.

“Good…”

Tritter nodded. Then, abruptly, his gentle manner vanished, and he grabbed House by the arm and jerked him around to the other side of the car, heedless of his battered body. Roughly he shoved him into the backseat. House drew in a sharp breath as Tritter took out his gun again, pressing it under his chin and forcing his head back.

“You try anything stupid… try to get out of the car… try to do something to me while I’m driving… anything stupid like that…” Tritter pressed the gun into his throat, gagging him as he concluded, “… I’ll kill you, House. Understand?”

House nodded. “Please, I won’t… please…”

Tritter released him, slamming the door hard and getting into the driver’s seat.

The whole drive back, Tritter kept up a continuous stream of verbal brutality, repeating the events of the evening, laughing, making jokes as if he was speaking to a friend, and not a man he had just spent the evening raping and torturing. He made cruel, belittling comments about House’s body, about his reactions to the abuse, about how “easily” he had been broken…

By the time they pulled into a deserted corner of the parking garage, House’s entire being was awash with shame.

Tritter got out of the car, and House steeled himself to be dragged out after him. But instead, Tritter went around to the passenger side of the car and got in… which was decidedly worse.

“Okay,” Tritter began, throwing a casual arm around House’s shoulders, ignoring his wince of pain. Tritter’s voice was soft, leading, as he went on, “here’s what you’re going to do. Listen carefully, because if you get any of this wrong? I’m coming after you again, House. You – and everybody you care about. Listening?”

House nodded, too frightened to speak.

“You’re going to go in there and get help – naturally. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to bleed to death in the middle of the parking garage. But you’re not going to say a word about me, or my friends – not going to tell anybody who did this to you. Are you? You already know what’ll happen if you do.”

House shook his head almost frantically.

Casually, in a manner that was almost bored, Tritter took out his pocketknife again, flipping it idly open and closed as he spoke. House felt sick, wanting to look away, but unable to take his eyes from the blade – already stained with his blood.

“And one more thing…”

He pressed the blade against House’s cheek, sliding it slowly downward as he continued with a cold, malicious smile. “You’re going to go in there… as soon as you’re able to conduct any sort of business again… and you’re going to hand in your resignation.”

House stared at him, startled.

“That’s right.” Tritter nodded with a smirk. “You don’t deserve to practice medicine, House. You know that. You’re a pathetic… worthless… addict… and you have no business dealing with patients at all. Why – you could end up hurting someone…” Tritter’s tone was ironic, mocking, as he pressed the knife to House’s throat and pushed his head back. “You’re going to quit. If I find out you’re still working at Princeton-Plainsboro – or anywhere, for that matter – you’ll regret it, House. And I think you know enough to believe me – don’t you?”

Still stunned, numb at the thought of what Tritter was demanding, House slowly nodded.

“Good.”

Tritter roughly patted his cheek, removing the knife from his throat. He reached across House, pausing deliberately when House tensed at his nearness. He smiled, slowing his movements as he opened House’s door. He grabbed his arm to push him out – but a moment before he did, he plunged his knife viciously into House’s side.

House let out a startled cry of pain, one arm pressing across his stomach, his hand covering the bleeding wound as he stared up at Tritter in shock.

Tritter just smiled nastily. “Wouldn’t want it to be too easy for you. You like a challenge – don’t you, Dr. House?”

Without another word, Tritter shoved him out of the car onto the hard concrete floor. House was barely aware of what was happening, in shock from pain and blood loss, as Tritter got out of the car on his own side and came around. He stopped on his way to the driver’s seat to jerk House to his feet again, a cruel smile on his face.

“I can’t just leave you like that,” he said with false sympathy. He roughly turned House in the direction of the stairs. “Help is that way,” he told him as he let him go and got into the car again. Without looking back, he drove away, leaving House standing there – alone and confused and in pain – to find his own way up the stairs into the hospital.

TBC...






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Comments

[ice-ziggee.livejournal.com]

OMG, I´m almost crying.

Please don´t let it be to long until Jenna finds something or something good actually happens to make House´s day...

This was such a brilliantly sad chapter.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

awwww, thanx so much, hon, i intended it to be just heartbreaking, poor house has been through so much :( so glad you liked this chapter, the next one should be not quite so sad... it's up now, hope you enjoy it :)