I'm a friend of Bill's
Reid sat in his car just watching. He closed his eyes as his hands gripped the steering wheel, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He licked at his chapped lips, even being in an interrogation room with a dangerous unsub seemed safer than where he was. He took one more deep breath before opening the car door. He had to remind himself of why he was there, what it would cost him if he left.
His eyes took in everyone sitting around him. He tried not to profile, not to judge. He wrapped his arms around his middle, he didn't belong here. He wasn't like them. He wasn't. His clammy finger wrapped around a cup of cheap coffee, even the addition of copious amounts of sugar couldn't mask it's retchedness. He choose a seat in the back, his eyes never meeting anyone's.
It wasn't right to judge, but he couldn't help himself. He listened to one pathetic story after another. Each story angering him. He had been forced, they all had a choice. He shook his head, he didn't need to be here, he would be fine on his own. Reid made up his mind to leave. He's tell Hotch that he had gone to the meeting, that he was facing his problem. He shrugged, he'd just leave out the part where he left earlier, when he had judged them to be worse than himself.
Crumbling the paper cup in his hand he was about to stand when a new speaker took a turn. He couldn't help but listen. Hearing someone else struggle, their battle so much like his own kept him in his seat. They hadn't been kidnapped, forced to be on the receiving end of a needle like he had, but their addiction hadn't been a choice either. He listened, rapt on the edge of the metal chair. Their words, describing what if felt like when they shot up, the warm deliciousness of relief flooding through their veins. Reid could only swallow, they were describing him.
Listening. Every week he learned something new. He finally realized he did belong. Shame blazed his skin the first time he stood, the first time he called Bill W a friend.