As It Was [Emily Prentiss]

Thirteen

Emily was gone for nearly two weeks on the job, chasing some serial killer on the other side of the country, while I simply went through the motions. She texted every so often, at least a handful of times a day, but I couldn't bring myself to say more than a word or two at a time simply to confirm that I wasn't bleeding out on her bathroom floor again.

I stared into the bathroom mirror, the steam obscuring my reflection. I hardly recognized the woman staring back. I was exhausted, missing the parts of me that son of a bitch had stolen, hating this pathetic woman in front of me.

On the outside, I didn't look so different. A friend who recognize me on the street, kindly ask how I was doing, and so long as I replied with a smile, they'd be none the wiser. However, I FELT like an entirely different person. I used to be passionate and creative and free, but I felt as though I was still trapped in the basement. Had it really only been a little over a year since I'd been rescued? It felt like it was only yesterday that I felt him. I could still smell the alcohol on his breath, hear his gruff voice in my ear, panting as he-

"Stop it." I spoke out loud, my voice echoing off the tiles of the bathroom. "You have no power over me."

But he did, didn't he? He was a ghoul I couldn't banish, a demon I wasn't strong enough to exorcise. He had carelessly ripped the wings off a butterfly and left it wounded, trying to figure out how to survive without her wings. I was the butterfly that could no longer fly. Was it the grace of God that kept him from squashing me beneath his boot? I was better off this way, right? Alive, but far from okay. Or would death have been a welcoming site?

"That's dramatic." I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I turned my back to the mirror, tugging my towel tighter against my body. "You're not some flightless butterfly. You're-"

You're dirty.

Pathetic.

Just a dirty slut built for a man like me.

Rage. Hot and overwhelming. It sang through my veins, making me irrational.

It's how ended up in the back alley of some bar, my mouth spilling blood as I smiled. The pain -the consent to it- was enough to bury the one I couldn't control.

The woman's fist connected with my mouth. I wasn't even fighting it -couldnt. I'd picked a fight with some bitch who could definitely hold her own.

The flashing blue and red told me someone had called the cops and, while everyone scattered, I stood there smiling like a mad woman with the taste of copper clinging to me tongue.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

I looked up, the metal bars separating Emily and I. There was a time when people would have sworn she'd spend more time in jail than she did putting people in it, and I was suppose to be the good influence, the good girl.

Funny how things work out.

"I can't leave without you trying to off yourself one way or the other."

She was pissed as she drove us home, knuckles white against the steering wheel. All the while, I felt... free. Nothing could take that away from me.

"Are you even listening to me?" Emily asked as she pulled into the driveway and turned the car off.

I looked at her, smiling. "You're beautiful."

Her nose wrinkled. "Are you on something, Rita?"

"No." I shook my head. "Can't I just appreciate your stunning looks?"

I saw her eyes flick to her reflection in the rear view mirror, frown deepening before she looked at me, eyes narrowed. "Rita, I'm on my third day without a shower. I smell and look like roadkill, right now."