Prentiss biked to her class she had with Reid the next morning, by now so tired she could barely stand up. All the late nights were taking a toll on her. They were still doing Kafka's The Metamorphosis, with an open-ended three-to-five page essay on the work due the following Monday. Prentiss hadn't even got any ideas together yet, and she was usually so prepared. The feeling that she was Gregor, the monstrous vermin in the book, disguised, just wouldn't go away. And she had another paper due in her class on the First Amendment, and an exam in Judicial Process she had to study for, in two days. She liked her majors fine; dual English and political science, and she usually never let the work creep up on her and bury her like this, but the past few days had been anything but usual.

Reid was already sitting in the classroom when she entered, and to both of their surprise, got up and hugged her. Prentiss usually didn't let people do that, nor was Reid ever very affectionate. They normally just sat near each other, sometimes talking a bit, like there was an invisible line on the table between them. She didn't respond, but later, during the lecture, slid a note across that line.

Spencer, I know you know. JJ told. Just please (she underlined this four times) don't tell anyone else. You have no idea what the consequences could be if people find out.

During the next lull in the lecture, he slid it back. Yes, JJ told. I did some research for you, so did she. Did you get the envelope we sent? And have you been sleeping at all lately? I thought you looked tired Monday, now you look like a zombie. No offense. We won't tell the school or anything- just please get some help.

Prentiss was scribbling back Yes, I got it. I've had a lot of late- when she was interrupted by the professor nailing her with a question.

"Emily!" he said sharply. "I was asking you whether you thought Gregor's transformation could be interpreted as allegorical- standing for something else. Many people think that, given the book's timeframe, Gregor's change could be seen as foreshadowing the Holocaust and how Jews would be treated. Give me a different idea."

She said the first thing that popped into her head, with no time for internal editing. "I read what happened and how he was treated as standing for stigma. A modern interpretation would say that his transformation could stand for people finding out a person is mentally ill or has a disability- and thus the person is shunned and loses favor and status. The "literally becoming an insect" could be a way of dramatizing that."

The professor looked at her funny for a second, then said "Good, good. Stigma. Anyone else have any ideas?"

She went back to her note to Reid. Nights. And when I go to bed, I can't sleep. And you know how I'm bisexual? Well, my roommate found out and told the whole dorm. They've been bullying me constantly. And I have a lot of work to do. It's stressful.

Reid didn't pass the note back after she gave it to him, but after the class, he took her aside and said "I don't have any classes for the rest of the day- my other professor is sick, so he cancelled. And you can miss a class or two, once. Let's get something to eat, then you can come to my apartment and get away for a bit. Take a nap. I'll even do your homework for you while you sleep, so you can get caught up and maybe you won't feel so bad." For some reason, Prentiss found herself agreeing. She knew this fragile, young-looking prodigy would never hurt her, didn't have ulterior motives.

"Well, this is it," Reid proudly showed Prentiss around his recently-acquired one-bedroom apartment. His mom was still living in that same city, but with her schizophrenia advancing, even though he knew he had to take care of her, he just couldn't live with her any more. He went back to the house every two or three days to check on her, but it was so nice to have a place of his own, to study in peace. "Anyway, go to sleep, you can nap in my bedroom, it's not gross, I'm not your typical burping, farting boy." He smiled at his friend. "And here, give me your bag, so I can use your books and notes to do the work."

"I feel bad…you don't need to do this," she said.

"I want to. JJ and I, we really want you to be okay."

Guilt seemed to stab Prentiss. She was worrying her friends, causing problems. Why couldn't she just be normal? "I'm sorry. Try not to worry about me," she said hesitantly.

"Stop it," Reid said firmly. "We're your friends, and you don't have anything to apologize for." Prentiss handed her bag over.

Prentiss immediately fell into a dead sleep the minute her head hit Reid's meticulously-made bed. She was so tired.

Reid looked through Prentiss's bag for her notes; he could have written her essay on Kafka cold, but he wanted to see how she had written things down, to make it seem more like she had written it. A zippered, hidden pocket caught his attention as he took out the right notebook. Stop it. She's a very private person. She'd hate you for going through her things. But something in him made him open the pocket.

Inside were a few bandages of various sizes, tape, a lone alcohol wipe, and a nearly-empty tube of antibiotic ointment. And clattering around at the very bottom were two boxes of double-edged razor blades, safely sheathed in the plastic cases. Reid's heart sped up, and his mouth felt as dry as if he had been chewing on cotton balls. If he took them, could he stop her? She could always get more. Or (he shuddered at the thought) she might find the need so overwhelming that she would improvise with something else, something less clean, less safe, and possibly do more damage than she had intended to. He texted JJ. Emily's with me at my apt. She gave me her bag so I could do some of her work while she napped and I found her…blades in it. Do something? If so, what?

He tried to start working while he waited for JJ's reply, but found he couldn't concentrate. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. While he might not be able to stop her, there was something he could do to help. Reid slunk past the sleeping Prentiss in his bedroom to the bathroom, finding his first-aid kit under the sink. Opening it back in the living room, he carefully took out some different-sized bandages, a small bottle of alcohol, and several packets of ointment, then putting it all in that pocket of her bag. JJ texted him back I wouldn't take them if I were you, she can just get more, so all taking them would do is make her mad that you snooped. Besides, if a person's desperate, they'll use anything. Just keep showing you care. So then he wrote on a sticky note, sticking it to one of the boxes of blades. Emily. Think before you act. We all care about you.- Reid. She would be angry with him for looking, for seeing that part of herself that she struggled so hard to keep secret, but he couldn't stand the thought of her hurting herself even one more time.

Prentiss finally woke up around six in the evening; Reid had checked on her a few times, but she looked so exhausted that he thought it was best to let her sleep. He had easily knocked out the two papers she had to write, and made her study cards for her exam, summarizing all the key information she would need.

"Here you go," he said, a forced casualness in his voice. "I'll probably run into you on campus tomorrow or the next day, and if nothing else, there's Morgan's party on Friday night. Though I have to say, I've never drank before in my life. Now listen-" his tone changed to a more serious one "-if you need anything at all, please call or text or e-mail or send me a carrier pigeon. I'm here for you, just like JJ is. Please take care of yourself."

Later that night, after her roommate had gotten bored with mocking her and gone to bed, the pain behind the wall swelled in Prentiss again, threatening to spill past the barricade she had begun building years ago. That couldn't happen. She couldn't take all of those feelings. She grabbed her schoolbag, in which she now kept all her blades and supplies for cleaning up afterwards because she'd decided with her roommate, the room itself was no longer a safe place to hide things, and scurried down to the dorm's one private bathroom, in the basement. With fumbling fingers, she locked the door, sat down on the tile, and reached into the hidden pocket. Her hand closed on the box, but she also felt something else in there- a bit of paper. Pulling the box out, she found the paper stuck to it.

Reid's handwriting, his signature. She felt sick inside. Someone had been prying into her life, the most private reaches of herself, seen…It was as if, being the disguised Gregor Samsa, Reid had just really seen her for the vermin she was. With shaking hands, she read his note. After that, the guilt was so strong that she wouldn't, couldn't cut and hurt her friend, but couldn't not do it, face her pain, either. "Fuck you, Spencer!" she said to the empty air. The sound was very loud in the small room. Prentiss gritted her teeth to stop herself from howling like a wounded dog. Then she remembered something JJ had told her. Pulling out her cell phone, she found JJ's number.

"Emily?" JJ asked. "Are you there?"

Prentiss couldn't respond, too lost for words. "Emily," JJ repeated. "I know you're there. Are you okay?" No answer. "Talk, or not, okay? Just please don't hurt yourself. I'm here. Right here. You're going to make it through this. You really will. Just, please, you don't need to do this."

Both of them were silent for a very long time, maybe an hour, maybe two. Prentiss curled her knees to her chest, just sitting on the floor, drowning in pain, until her arm and back started to ache from sitting like that for so long and holding the phone. Finally, she said "JJ, I'm going to bed now."

"Sleep well." Despite JJ's wishes, Prentiss slept fitfully, fragments of dreams floating in and out of her head, but that was still the best sleep she had had in the past few nights.

She dreaded facing JJ, her questions, her prying, the next morning, and if she saw Reid, she was going to yell at him so badly his ears would burn and fall off. Deep down, she knew they meant well and wanted the best for her, but her need, the voice of her habit, screamed louder than their love. She hated that; it wasn't like she meant to be mean to, to alienate some of her only friends, but the habit spoke for her.