AN: Pre-canon.
Outside
There is more than one way to be trapped.
…
Linden goes over the Seward file for the twentieth time that day. The papers are spread out on her bed and she'd taken to sleeping on the floor as not to disturb the their careful placement. She'd stared at the photo of Trisha Seward's body for so long that it no longer bothers her and she often forgets to keep it out of her son's sights as a result.
The case is closed; she'd put the perpetrator behind bars herself. So why does she find herself going back to this file? What is it about closing this case that's so hard? Why does she have a nagging feeling in the back of her head that it's not over?
He'd been trapped in that apartment for a week with his mother's bleeding, rotting corpse.
A knock from her bedroom door snaps her out of her thoughts. She feels dazed and her vision is slightly blurred.
"I'm hungry."
"Check the fridge, Jack, I'm busy right now."
"There's nothing."
"Are you sure? Check the freezer."
"There's nothing."
"Alright, I'll be out in a minute."
"You already said that."
"I'll be out soon, okay? I'm busy."
Linden yawns and downs the rest of her coffee. There has to be something. There has to be something.
…
The doctor gave him pretty clear-cut options: get clean or die. What he didn't say, something which Holder had to come to realize himself, is that he could die getting clean.
His body needs it. It's like sleep or food or water or air. His body needs it and it needs it badly. Without any of the above, you die and without meth, he'd die.
Everyone he talked to said the same thing. You don't get away from meth, you just don't. You get into it and it has you, it keeps you and it will grip onto you tightly until there's nothing left of you. You sell your soul to the crystal goddess and she will own you forever.
But he doesn't want to die. Not yet, anyways. Some days, he's not sure. Some days he's willing to resign to an early grave just to feed his need again. Some days that's all he can think of.
Other days, he researches things like Narcotics Anonymous and alternative healing and the like. Every second browsing these sites shames him and reminds him of how hard rock-bottom really feels. He hates himself and deletes his browsing history every time he's done, even though no one would look through his computer.
Nothing else gets him the same high. Not the nicotine or the drinks or the weed. It's like scratching through your jeans – not the same thing.
Just try to get to one month, the doc had said.
Holder scoffs. Yeah, okay. Sure.
-End-