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It’s freezing when he wakes up. He hears the sound of cars outside and wonders where they were going this late. And then he wonders what he is doing. If he knows were he is going.
Something is wrong but he doesn’t know what it is exactly. It all starts to make sense once he starts suddenly feeling hot and nauseous to the point he quickly gets out of the bed and runs towards the bathroom. Once again he made it just in time. He throws up for what feels like the hundredth time. Although half his head is still inside the toilet he hears the footsteps that got louder with every second. There is a quick knock before before Ethan enters the bathroom.
Reid knows he only has seconds left before the light is turned on and takes every last piece of strength he has left to try and roll down his sleeves that he had previously rolled up to allow some of the heat to escape. “Always the left side first because this one looks worse”, he thought to himself, although he does have more fresh cuts on the right since he has been running out of space on his arms.
The light is turned on before he even fully covered his left arm. He hopes Ethan’s eyes haven’t adjusted to the brightness yet when he frantically rolls down his right sleeves until his hands are covered. Reid hasn’t been careful for a while now, maybe it’s because he knows Ethan wouldn’t judge him and he wouldn’t be risking his job if he found out, unlike with his other friends that happen to be his coworkers. Ethan has probably seen the scars and cuts a few times now, it’s not like Reid was extremely careful or aware of it during the peak of his withdrawal.
And yet he stills tries his best at keeping this his little secret. Just like he tried to keep his addiction a secret, at which he didn’t succeed after he started experiencing the first withdrawal symptoms at the bar, and after Ethan had asked he started to talk. He told him about Georgia and what had been happening since then in the bar bathroom, trying his hardest not to cry or throw up. It was the first time he verbalised his struggles and he had thought it would feel freeing, instead he wasn’t content with his choice of words, it felt as though there was no way to articulate what he was experiencing, what was filling his head to the point he thought he could explode.
Ethan sits down next to Reid, whose eyes are closed. He knows how his friend is feeling at the moment. He knows because he had been through withdrawal, too. Only he was all alone back then. He had to clean up his own vomit off of the floor and fight the cravings all on his own, which is why he knows it’s easier when someone is there for you, when there is someone to hold onto even in times the abyss is pulling stronger than you can hold on.
He strokes Reid’s back and tries to give him the space he wants while giving him the closeness he needs. It took some time to figure out the right amount of both and it’s not always perfect but he is trying his best. He knows when to talk about things and when to distract him, he knows to talk to Reid even in times he can’t talk back, he knows to give him space when he’s angry but to calm him down when he’s crying. He knows he isn’t always like that and he knows to remind him of that when he thinks he’s being a horrible person.
Reid is crying silently with his face hidden in his hands. He tells himself that the physical symptoms of withdrawal have started to subside but he can’t ignore the effect it has on his mental health. It’s the fourth time in the last six hours that he has seriously thought about ending this. Ending his life. A part of his brain (or mind for that matter) is encouraging him to go through with it and end the misery because chances are he is going to relapse at some point and all this will start over again, but another part tells him he can’t do that to Ethan, not after everything he has done for him.
The suicidal thoughts are taking up so much space in his brain it almost came out of his mouth on several occasions.
He has been staying with Ethan the last three days and it’s been nothing like he had imagined. Instead of properly catching up Ethan has been helping him to get through withdrawal, seeing him at his lowest.
Reid wishes there were something he could give, something to express his gratefulness, but he can’t think of anything to say. Sometimes he even gets angry at Ethan for doing this to him, for forcing him to get clean even though he knows he is doing this for no one but himself. If it hadn’t been for Ethan, he would be lying in some dark alley right now, with so much dilaudid in his body it could kill an elephant and become one of the 136 Americans who die due to opioid overdoses each day.
Back then he had been scared of withdrawal and the symptoms that come with it, so much that he had thought about ending his life in order to avoid withdrawal. It would’ve ended in death either way for him, at least that’s what he used to think, either he’d kill himself one day because he can’t afford the dilaudid and can’t risk withdrawal or maybe one day he’d be so desperate he stops being careful with the dosages and overdoses. Every path an individual chooses to take leads to death at some point either way. So many of his choices have certainly brought him closer to it.
He thought those thoughts would stop now that he had been through the worst of withdrawal, but they didn’t. The thoughts of relapsing and going through this is more than enough to simply put an end to it. Why put in so much effort into something that isn’t forever? That has the chance of failure?
“Let’s get you some water, hm?” Ethan gets up and gestures with his hand that Reid should too. Ethan knows what Reid is thinking. Not for sure of course but he knows he shouldn’t be left alone. His subconscious might have picked up something that his conscious mind hasn’t. He saw the fresh cuts on Reid’s right wrist when he entered the bathroom. They couldn’t have been older than two days. Not saying anything after he saw wasn’t easy. He knows Reid is a private person and doesn’t like talking about personal things, but it hurt knowing that he hurt himself instead of talking to him. He saw the older scars, too, and he knows that people who self-harm aren’t necessarily suicidal, but there is something about Reid, about the way he talks, cries, stares, that doesn’t fit.
As they walk into the small kitchen Reid subtly wipes his tears away, he hopes Ethan doesn’t see because he hates feeling vulnerable, although he is aware Ethan has seen him worse. And he hates that. He hates feeling weak, he hates what he did to himself, and mostly he hates how he failed to be the person the younger him wanted him to be.
There is this pain in his chest that doesn’t feel uncomfortable but rather freeing, as if he could feel his mental pain on his body, just like he did every time he self-harmed. It lasts a good minute and then disappears.
Ethan pours a glass of water for Reid and himself and then proceeds to sit down. Reid follows him. The cold water feels refreshing and rinses away the disgusting taste of vomit. His nose is still running from the crying before and he wipes it with his sleeve-covered hand. Ethan notices and offers him a tissue. “You can talk to me about everything, you know that, right? I won’t judge,” he says.
“I know you wouldn’t,” Reid replies with a forced smile. It’s true, he knows Ethan would always try to understand, but Reid doesn’t feel like he deserved someone like him, it makes him feel guilty because where was he when Ethan wasn’t doing well?
“So what’s keeping you from telling me?” he asks, but Reid doesn’t answer. He thinks about ways to tell Ethan part of the truth he deserves to know without revealing too much. “Statistics indicate that anywhere from 40 to 60 per cent of people with addiction will experience a relapse.”
“So the statistics make you feel like this isn’t worth it?” he asks. Of course. Reid had always been thinking one step ahead.
“Giving up seems so much easier. I mean what’s the point anyway?” The last part is almost inaudible and he regrets it the second the words come out of his mouth. He had given away too much.
“The point?” Ethan asks, “The point is to be able to live your life and not let some addiction control it, to make your life worth living.”
“I know, I didn’t mean it like that,” Reid tries to explain. He inhales the words Ethan just spoke because he knows if he ever stops thinking that way he’ll lose himself and fall apart. As if pretending to believe in good things were the glue that kept him together. In other words, false hope.
“Mean it like what? Like you don’t wanna live anymore?” There. For the first time the words were spoken aloud. They make the room heavy. The words don’t diffuse and stay floating around the room, making it hard to breathe. Almost suffocating.
Reid starts bouncing his right leg, this wasn’t supposed to be happening. How much more weakness is he going to show? How much more clothing can he take off without showing his naked body? “Well, I do want to live,” he starts, “Just not like this, not with these kind of memories. I just want to start over and forget but it’s not really possible and I know that but I want it so badly that I… I don’t know, I can’t control it.”
“I know you might not believe it right now, but it will get better. It takes time, a lot of it, and you might not notice at first, but one day you’ll look back and you’ll see the differences, the strength,” Ethan says, hoping it would make Reid at least a little hopeful, “You can’t give up, ever. You hear me?”
“Mm-hmm,” he nods, keeping his face down to hide the fresh tears running down his face. Guilt fills him. Ethan is trying everything to make sure he’s alright and he can’t even comprehend what he had just said. The idea of things getting better seems so improbable to him, he can’t even wrap his head around the thought of a life where he’d be older and somehow happier. He can’t promise not to give up. He can’t make promises he knows he might not be able to keep.
“You’ll be able to cope in healthy ways once you start to process and accept. I know you think what happened to you is unfair - and it most certainly is - but there is absolutely nothing you can do to change the past, the only thing left for you to do is to choose the right way on how to cope with it,” Ethan tells Reid while trying to make eye contact with him to be able to speak those words right in his eyes, making it easier to believe.
“You saw, didn’t you?,” for a moment he does make eye contact but stops as soon as Ethan nods slightly. He pulls his sleeves further down before he continues, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he starts, “And you don’t need to hide them, at least not here.”
Reid doesn’t respond. Oh, the things he would do to turn back time and keep himself from going down this road. He wipes away the wetness on his face before making eye-contact with Ethan one more time. And what he saw in his eyes is pity. At least that’s what he thought, he was a profiler, after all.
They sit in silence for some time before Ethan speaks up, “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”
“Yeah,” he replies before they get up. He feels Ethan’s hand patting his shoulder. Reid knows how much this means because the two of them rarely express any kind of emotion and if they do, even if only through something like that, it means a lot.
Ethan let him sleep in his bed, stating his bed was closer to the bathroom so Reid wouldn’t throw up on the floor, which has been useful several times the last few days.
The urges don’t sleep, though, it’s what keeps him wide awake. He wants the drugs, badly, but then all this would’ve been for nothing and he’d disappoint Ethan. So he wants to cut, but cutting hasn’t been the same anymore, it is merely a substitute for the drugs, to keep his mind sharp in times where his drug of choice wasn’t available or to lengthen the period between each fix.
What he wants is something everlasting because he can only truly like something when he knows it won’t stop, won’t leave him.
The thoughts are constant, not even a minute without them. He’s smart. He’s a genius for God’s sake. He knows this isn’t right, he knows. He also knows how to make it quick and painless, he knows ways that guarantee death. The only thing missing is his strength, his strength to go through with it and leave this all behind. Who cares anyway? He is hurting his team, Ethan, and himself with the drugs. The constant snapping at people who only want to care, to help, but he can’t seem to get control of anything nowadays.
It’s when he thinks of all the people he has hurt that he slowly and quietly gets up. He looks around, which is hard enough because the lights are off and the curtains closed. He finds a small piece of paper and tries to think of something meaningful to write, before he pulls out his pen.
Dear Ethan,
Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me when I couldn’t give you anything in return. Thank you, for being there in times I thought I’d be completely on my own. Thank you, for being my friend.
You are a good person and I will be eternally grateful that I ever got to meet you. You changed me as a person. And seeing you always felt right. There really are no words to describe how important you are to me. How much I love you.
My life has been stained by the dark side of humanity, not only due to my work. My life was predestined to fail from the beginning. I want you to know that I fought, so many times. I guess I wasn’t strong enough.
I did not mean for any of this to happen, I don’t want this to happen, and yet I cannot seem to stop it. And for that I am sorry. I am infinitely sorry.
-Spencer Reid