As It Was [Emily Prentiss]

fifteen

I'm not sure how long I was out, but I came to when Agent Rossi was cuffing the psycho therapist.

"Are you okay?"

Emily knelt in front of me, her face badly beaten.

"How long was I out?" As soon as she released my hands from the binds I'd apparently been tied up with while I was unconscious, I brought them to her face. "What did I miss? Did she do this to you?"

"This? It's nothing." She winced as she tried to smile. "I'll be fine. Are you okay?"

My eyes burned as considered her carefully, eyes traveling over the bruises and cuts that marked her skin. She didn't look anything close to fine and it was entirely my fault.

A sob cut loose from my throat, my head throbbing at the pressure building inside me.

"Hey." Emily grasped my face in her hands.

I looked away, guilt filling every ounce of me. I couldn't look at her, knowing she was only here because I fucked up. I was always fucking up.

"This isn't your fault." She spoke firmly. "You didn't know. You couldn't know. This had nothing to do with you, baby."

I was nodding, but I didn't believe her. None of it was ever about me, but it was always me. He kidnapped me as a last resort, because I had been the one to be in the parking lot that night, not Elizabeth. I was foolish enough to agree to meet with the same bastard, and I should have known, right? I wasn't attacked here today because of who I was, but as a means to an end, to get to my girlfriend.

Just because it wasn't about me didn't mean it didn't involve me -didnt somehow center around me. I should have known better than to be in that parking lot alone and I should have known better than to come back here, expecting some sort of closure.

I stuttered my way through a statement, alongside Emily. I could feel her glance at me every so often, concern etched in that beautiful face of hers. I couldn't bring myself to look back, to gaze at that face, covered in various bruises, her nose caked in dried blood, and lower lip split.

My own eyebrow had been torn open by the butt of the gun, the skin held together by a single butterfly bandage. Otherwise, I was untouched.

"Lucky you." The paramedic had chuckled, but I didn't find it amusing.  I felt useless as I'd admitted I'd been unconscious, while my girlfriend had taken quite the beading.

On the way home, I remained quiet in the backseat, while Emily and Rossi spoke quietly from the front seats. Soft blues played from the speakers lowly as I watched the lights grow closer and then fade behind.

"Do you even remember working on a case like that?" Rossi asked, to which Emily shook her head. "No, but she insisted I killed her fiance. Lance Carter. I don't remember that name at all."

"Maybe she's got you confused with someone else."

"Maybe. It's quite the coincidence that she and Adam knew each other, though, and that she ended up being Rita's therapist, too."

Rossi hummed, agreeing. "How do you think she's holding up?"

"I'm right here." I spoke harshly, glaring at him. "You could just ask me, Agent Rossi."

He cleared his throat at my venom, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "You're right, Rita, I'm sorry. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I looked back out the window, feeling Emily's eyes on me. "Peachy with an extra side of keen."

The rest of the ride was silent. When the car pulled up to our home, I was the first one out of the car. I said nothing as I fumbled with the keys in my purse and pushed the door open. I pretended my hands weren't shaking.