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Chapter Eleven: Emotional Paralysis
Penelope Garcia
Oh honey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?
Everyone is here for you when you want to talk.
Hey, it's been a while. Spencer said he hadn't heard from you.
Starting to worry! Call me please.
You have 11 missed calls from Penelope Garcia.
Derek Morgan
Pretty Girl! Everyone is worried about you.
Call someone. You're not about to go through this alone.
You have 1 missed call from Derek Morgan.
Vanessa Peters
Harper. I just got your email.
Why didn't you tell me you were taking all your annual leave at once?
I've pushed the article to a later release – Hope to see a draft when you're back.
Spencer Reid
Hey
Are you okay?
I'm sorry.
You have 3 missed calls from Spencer Reid.
I'm so sorry.
Harper tapped her nails rhythmically against her phone, her chest twinging in guilt. She felt terrible making everyone worry. But she knew they'd worry more if she replied.
She felt particularly bad as she read and re-read Spencer's messages. He blamed himself.
Truthfully, it had less to do with Spencer than he thought.
Harper had been spiralling, struggling to process her own guilt and grief. She felt overwhelmed by the emotions, and the lack of sleep was making it difficult to think with clarity.
It was emotional paralysis.
She knew she really needed to rest, and knew these messages would feel a little less intimidating once she had closed her eyes for more than 45 minutes. Harper was terrified at the thought. For the past week, every time she had closed her eyes, she saw the doctor she had shot in front of her. His body sprawled on the floor in a different position each time.
Apparently, he hadn't died. Harper wasn't really listening. It did little to alleviate her distress.
Given the onset of insomnia and the lack of communication with others, Harper had a lot of free time on her hands without work. Ironically, most of this time was spent attempting to work.
