High and Drowning

Chapter 3

unraveled  [ˌənˈravəl]

a verb

(an intricate system or process) disintegrate to be destroyed. 

_________

He had sold his soul to the devil. 

Lying on his bed, back soaked in sweat, he wondered if he could possibly wait another hour without filling his system with the drugs. It had been a week, a whole damn week and he was miserably enslaved to that drug. 

He had tried so hard, one night, to go a whole day without it. To test and see if he really had control over it. He quickly realized he, in fact, did  not. 

The pain that hit him was like nothing he had ever felt, and his body screamed for the drug, his mind wrapped in a blanket of confusion and pain. 

Work was a different matter all together. You try going to work riding the heels of your last high and see how a team of profilers respond. He was so...bitchy. 

Always irritated, always snapping back at the most irrelevant things. He hated himself every time he opened his big mouth. But, they could be so dense sometimes, and the air could be so hot, and he felt like screaming all the time, his aggression just shown through other avenues. 

Not to mention his hands. The constant trembling, it wasn't debilitating, but it was noticeable. His handwriting was bad enough before this whole drug ordeal, but now it was complete chicken scratch. He would shove his hands deep down in his pockets or hold them tightly together as if to stop the tremors. 

Then there were the headaches and the nausea that followed him around. Of all the drugs, why did he have to get addicted to the one with the worst side affects?

It was pretty amazing that no one had really talked to him about his behavior yet. That no one had really offered to sit down with him and really talk with him. Part of him wanted this, wanted it badly. The other part was relieved knowing he would either shrug and deflect, or become irritated which was becoming far to easy for him these days. 

He sat up, his whole body aching and his head throbbing. He had one vial left. One. He had gone through a whole vial in two weeks. He was going to kill himself if he wasn't careful. He decided he would take it easy today no matter how bad he wanted to relieve the pain. 

He wandered over to his kitchen and made a cup of coffee. Coffee was his anchor these days, never changing. His one strong variable. Silly, but somewhere it made sense. 

He glanced at his watch. He had work in four hours. He should at least and try and take something to take the edge off. He reached for his medicine cabinet and pulled out Naproxen. Shaking out four pills he popped them in his mouth, followed by a swig of coffee. Then he stumbled towards the shower, hoping that the warm water would soothe his battered mind and body. 

_________

8:30 A.M. JJ had just walked through the doors, eyes focused on the files in her arms. As media liaison for the BAU, she had a tough job picking case files for the team to go over. It wasn't lost on her that she held the lives of potential victims in her hands every time she picked a case over another.  

Her eyes automatically swept the bullpen, taking in her fellow colleagues. Morgan was slumped in his chair, smiling at Garcia as they teased each other back and forth. Emily sat a little ways away smiling at the two. JJ felt her heart squeeze, she would really have to talk to Emily more. Then she looked at Reid. He was walking back from the kitchenette, signature coffee cup in hand. They made eye contact, and he quickly looked away, walking towards his desk. 

JJ was confused. Actually, she was slightly hurt. He had been so distant, and so mean. Was he trying to shove everyone away? Because, she shifted her weight, placing the case files on a desk, he was doing an excellent job. 

A voice jolted her out of her musings and she looked up. Gideon had leaned out of his office. She looked down at her files and shook her head. Do your job. 

"We have a case." The energy in the room shifted. Excitement? No, more like, anticipation. 

She went through the details of the case, maintaining a professional air while her heart cried out for the victims. She could be so sentimental sometimes. 

They were going to New York. 

_________

He had almost done it. He had almost shot up in the bathroom. 

He shut his eyes and breathed out a sigh full of pent-up anger. He had told himself to lay off, even if just for today, and he had almost forgotten. 

New York City flew by under him and somewhere inside of him he remembered he had never been. 

He didn't open his eyes. 

_________

Hotch was looking through the details of the case; wrapping it all up in one nice report. It hadn't gone unnoticed on him, that Reid had struggled through the briefing. How his face had paled, and his eyes for just a moment were distant and unseeing. 

He wondered what it was that he was seeing. 

He signed off on the report. Relieved to be done, wanting more than ever to get home to Haley, to get home to Jack. 

His mind churned with the images of the briefing table, and he stared at the wall, deep in thought. He recognized the symptoms of PTSD, he knew, no he expected that Reid would struggle, any one would. But he didn't know how to help. How to cross the line between boss and subordinate to friend helping friend. 

He would reach out, soon. But he'd have to do it with some tact. He chewed his lip, something else was wrong with the picture he had painted. Something....

A buzz jolted him and he scrambled to pick up his phone. 

Haley. And Jack. 

Flipping it open, he shoved the case file in his briefcase, all thoughts of Reid shoved to the back as he heard his baby's voice over the phone. 

_________

He sat in his bathroom, head in his hands. Somehow he had done it. He had only shot up twice today, and he had barely held it together. 

So it went without saying that he felt, well he felt like the world had given him a swift kick to the ribs. 

He had the belt around his bicep, he had the needle in his hand. His body was quivering, trembling, practically screaming at him to inject himself with the stuff. He held out for two, maybe three minutes. Then he gave in. 

He plunged it in. 

And he let go.