CLOSED INTERACTION || +
T-Shot troubles. | @vicodinvindication
…
It was quite embarrassing. Pathetic, really.
He’d been repeating the same steps of taking his t-shots once a week for years, yet there were just some moments—especially during depressive episodes—where he didn’t exactly feel the best. This made it ten times harder to get the motivation for this grueling routine.
Like for example, right now.
———————————————-
4:30 AM.
Wilson yawned, rubbing at his tired eyes as he sluggishly made his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. Switching the lights on, he closed the door—leaving it halfway.
He took a few seconds to look at himself in the mirror. Exhausted eyes, ruffled up hair, lips chapped, the usual—however it gave him a sudden pang of insecurity. He hated looking like a mess, but before he was able to get ready—he needed to start his weekly t-shot. He usually does it every Monday—but now that it’s Tuesday—there wasn’t a later time to do it other than now.
Wilson let out a deep sigh, finger-brushing his hair a-little before opening up the mirror to look into the small compartment behind it. He took ahold of a small, rectangular, blue plastic box and placed it on the edge of the sink before closing the mirror back up.
Once thoroughly sanitizing his hands, he sat on the closed toilet lid and took the box into his lap; opening it up, he started to prep the needle for injection—begrudgingly.
While he usually heard House up by this time, Wilson must’ve been so worked up by the needle-induced anxiety that he didn’t hear the tapping of the mans cane—and before he could process and call out—the door was swiftly pushed open.
He sat up slightly to look over at the door, tensing up with a needle in one hand and the other pinching at an area of skin on his stomach.
