Notes: Takes place after 3x02 (In Name and Blood AKA In Birth and Death)
Abandoned. It was the only word that kept ringing in Spencer Reid's mind. Gideon had abandoned him. His father had abandoned him. He was useless, incompetent, and worthless. He dug his nails into the leather of his couch, staring at a small crack in the ceiling. Even his schoolmates found joy in mocking and tormenting him, despite how much he did their homework and helped them cheat on tests. In the end, they all laughed at him and left him in the dust. The insides of his arms ached for the needle, his body shivering for the only thing that would release him.
Spencer stood up from his couch, shaking his head. He had to stop thinking such poisonous thoughts or he would never feel any better. He went over to his coffee maker, pouring some already brewed coffee into a mug. He needed something – anything – to fill the empty void in his stomach. But he knew, deep down, that food and beverages wouldn't do it.
His arms hissed, and he winced as he took a sip of the tepid coffee. He left it alone too long. He dumped the brown liquid into the sink, secretly wishing he could go with it.
Spencer had to go somewhere. His apartment walls felt like they were closing in on him, suffocating his very being. Plus, staying there only brought back memories of getting high, which wasn't exactly helping his predicament.
He brushed some lint off of his shirt before exiting his room and cramming himself into the elevator. His body was shaking with little tremors now, and he had trouble holding his hand steady enough to press the first floor button.
I'm stronger than that, He thought as his body begged for the drugs. I don't need it.
The elevator began to move, slowly descending.
Although, one last time couldn't hurt. I can just stop by my dealer's house. She'd be there. He shook again, a small smile playing at the sides of his lips. He could easily get one more vial, enough to last him the week. If he really saved, he could probably go a month, and then he would stop again. He'd been through the withdrawal before, he could handle it again.
Besides, dilaudid, or hydromorphone, is an analgesic drug. That means it relieves pain, and who says the pain on the inside isn't as real as the pain on the outside? He was reassuring himself now. It had to be the right thing to do. He had to do something. Nobody else would help him. He had to take matters into his own hands.
The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out into the lobby. A girl was working at a desk, and she looked up and smiled as Spencer passed.
There goes the addict, she thought warily. She's seen him come in and out at odd hours of the night, track marks lining his arms. She didn't know he has been clean for two months now, but to her it wouldn't have mattered if she did know. In her mind, once you're an addict, you're always an addict. She continued with the paperwork on her desk, watching the young genius in her periphery.
Spencer stepped outside on the sidewalk, shivering slightly as a breeze swept over him. He should of worn a sweatshirt or a jacket; anything to make his arms feel less exposed. He rubbed the insides of his arms, feeling his body quake as he did.
"No!" He said out loud. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, grasping the insides of his arms and shaking slightly. His voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't need you."
He rocked, closing his eyes to calm his heartbeat. The woman inside the lobby looked on with mild curiosity, wondering if she would have a show. Spencer opened his eyes, looking up at the stars above that twinkled down at him.
He got up, his body shaking. He took off running, desperately trying to escape his own demons. His feet pounded against the sidewalk, the only noise penetrating the silence of the air. He ran and ran, further into the night as past memories haunted him from the recesses of his mind.
His legs began to ache, but he kept sprinting. Suddenly, he could hear soft rock spilling onto the sidewalk from a small bar. He slowed himself down, stopping in front of the bar. His stomach growled for alcohol.
Alcohol is legal. Alcohol is safer. He slipped inside the bar, hoping to forget his troubles.
Jennifer Jareau, known as JJ by her friends, sat on the edge of her bed with her phone pressed against her ear. The case she was hearing about was bad, and the team would have to get on it immediately. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was nine at night. They've certainly left at odder hours, but she knew the others wouldn't be happy, especially with the sore of Gideon leaving still festering in their minds.
"Alright, we'll be on it immediately. I'll call everyone. Thank you." She said into the receiver, hanging up the phone and taking a minute to gather her thoughts.
She dialed the rest of the team, breathlessly explaining the situation. Each member gave an audible sigh, some even saying something off the receiver to a person in the background. And, as they always have, they each responded with a 'I'll be right there' before hanging up. JJ knew the drill; she was so used to it that it almost didn't affect her anymore.
She held down the number three – Spencer's speedial on her phone – and waited. After a few rings it went to voicemail.
Odd, JJ thought, trying the number again with the same result, Reid usually picks up on the first ring.
She tried calling him a few more times, but the outcome was always the same: voicemail. Hesitantly, JJ put her cell into her pocketbook and went into the bathroom to get ready. She would need all the strength she had.
