𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 |~𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍~|

Chapter Twelve

The next day passed excruciatingly slowly. I was lucky to have the drugs helping me sleep. Every hour I spent awake was full of anxiety and perturbation. 

The hours I spent asleep weren't pleasant, either. My nightmares had become especially bad; all I could see when I closed my eyes were images of Spencer being tortured and murdered in a multitude of ways. 

The doctors could tell that I wasn't sleeping pleasantly. That's when they just pumped more drugs in my veins. 

I could tell that they were using oxycodone on me. I knew that drug was an opioid with a high risk for addiction and it was very easy to get dependent on it. I didn't care. Anything that would take the pain away (both mental and physical) was a risk I would take. 

It had been almost 13 hours since I saw Morgan. I was sleeping, but the effects of the drug were just starting to wear off and I was getting less drowsy. 

As I became conscious again, I felt somebody holding my hand. That was weird. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw the outline of somebody. When I realized who it was, I flung my arms around him and held him tightly, pressing my face into his shoulder as tears streamed down my face.

I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. We had both been through hell. We both probably blamed ourselves for it all. 

I pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes. "I thought you were dead," he said. 

I sniffled and wiped my nose with my arm. "Me too." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. 

The rest of the team stood in the doorway. Spencer stood up and backed away while they all came up to me and hugged me. 

"You won't be allowed back in the office for 3 months and it'll be 5 months before you can go back into the field." 

I sighed. "Ok. Do I have to stay here in Georgia?" 

"No, they're gonna transport you to Virginia next week, once you're more stable." 

"I can stay here with her," said Reid. 

"No, you need to go home, Reid. You just suffered a lot of trauma." 

"Well she can't just stay here all by herself." 

"I'll be ok, Reid, really." 

He gave me a worried look, which I returned. I knew he wasn't ok. I didn't know what kind of trauma he faced against Hankle, but, chances were, it would really screw him up for a long time. 

Gideon looked down at me. "Are you sure you're ok? Being shot is a traumatic event, especially if it's life threatening." 

"Yeah I'm fine." 

He gave me a look that told me he knew that wasn't true. 

I wasn't going to admit that I wasn't ok. I didn't let people in. When I let people in, everybody always got hurt. 

The team left after Garcia gave me one last hug. I didn't really want them to go, but I knew that was selfish of me. 

They had cases to solve, lives to save. All I had to do was lay here and wait for my stupid lungs to start working normally again. I looked down to see a tube protruding from my stomach. That was what was getting me air. 

I sighed and laid my head down again. My hair was driving me crazy. It hadn't been washed for a while and it was frizzier and curlier than ever. 

I managed to finally drift off, into an empty, nearly dreamless sleep. 

I still saw the horrors of my past. I saw them every time I closed my eyes. The drugs just made it so they were deeply muted. 

But they were still there. It almost wouldn't feel right if they weren't.