24Just in case there are some new readers: I'd strongly recommend reading "Disgust" and "Denial" first, but it's your decision. Whatever you do: enjoy and review!
1) Disgust
2) Denial
3) Despair
One could have dramatically said that Emily didn't even know when the last time was she had slept. However, this would be a lie. A lie that couldn't be further from the truth, to be more precise. Because Emily Prentiss knew exactly. She knew that she hadn't slept since Sunday morning. Hadn't slept since she'd woken up in that disgusting motel bed, not knowing where she was and fearing to know why she was naked and couldn't remember anything.
She hadn't slept on Sunday after Hotch had given her a ride home after having convinced her to go to the hospital. She hadn't slept on Monday after he had walked in on her sitting in a pool of menstrual blood. She hadn't slept on Tuesday after confessing to Hotch how much it hurt.
The team – minus JJ and herself – had caught the unsub on Wednesday morning, just before he could kill his latest victim. At least that's what Emily had heard. She was still suspended, and Hotch had covered that up by telling the team Emily had gotten sick, too. It had been a helpful lie: The flu-excuse explained everything: Her puffy eyes, the hot water bottle pressed to her belly, the thick blanket wrapped around her shaking body.
No one else could know the truth - that she had spent three nights in a row crying. That the hot water bottle wasn't curing an upset stomach but helping her to keep her cramps on a manageable level. That she wasn't avoiding her colleagues because she didn't want to give them her flu but because she just couldn't look at them.
Now that she was back in her own apartment, Emily felt a little safer. All that mattered to her was that she was still awake. Still conscious. And that had to stay that way. She'd been keeping herself awake using whatever method she could think of - except for coffee. All she drank was tap water. Not because the tap water in her area was particularly tasty (quite the contrary, actually) but tap water was safe. Safer than the alternatives, at least. One could easily drug open drinks or water bottles, but nobody would mess with the water supply system of a six-story-building just to get back at her, right?
So instead of drinking coffee, she had set her alarm clock to ring every couple of minutes, just to be safe. But it just wasn't enough. She had tried to convince herself that she didn't need any sleep, but eventually, she knew that it wasn't true. She needed to sleep. More than she had ever needed to sleep before. But she didn't dare close her eyes, afraid that when she woke up again, she'd be back at the motel. Afraid that he was still preying on her. Afraid of being careless enough to hand him yet another opportunity on a silver platter. She shouldn't have accepted the drinks random guys had sent over to her that night. How could she have been so careless? She was a FBI agent, for god's sake! She had let this happen. It was her own fault. She shouldn't have...
The alarm went off again – a shrill, deafening sound. Emily jerked up. She was awake. She was safe. And it had to stay that way! Lazily sitting on the couch was too dangerous. Too comfortable. If she just lay around like this, she would doze off sooner or later. And she couldn't let this happen.
Emily tried to stand up but immediately fell back on the couch. For a brief moment, everything went black. Shit. Low blood sugar didn't even begin to describe it. She hadn't eaten since Saturday night (this time, she had to think about it, though). Emily sighed. She wasn't even hungry, but she knew that she should force herself to eat a few bites or she might black out. Complete loss of control. She couldn't let that happen.
Shakily, Emily walked towards the kitchen unit and opened a few cupboards. Chocolate! That should work. She randomly grabbed three candy bars, unwrapped them and shoved them into her mouth, barely chewing them. Emily didn't know whether it medically made sense, but she immediately felt better – less shaky. She sighed, letting her gaze wander.
Wait. Didn't she usually keep her sweets on the middle shelf? The chocolate bars had been on the upper shelf, hadn't they? A deep, dark fear caused her to turn pale. No. No, no, no, no, no! What if he had been in her apartment? What if he had added a little something to the food she had lying around? It wasn't worth the risk. She had to get rid of what she'd just eaten before whatever he might have poisoned the candy bars with could enter her blood stream.
Without hesitation, Emily ran towards the sink and put her finger down her throat, making herself throw up. Then she stared at the vomit in her sink. Turned on the faucet. Stumbled a few steps back. Reopened the cupboard and found more sweets on the upper shelf. Took a deep breath. Splashed water into her face. Sunk down to the kitchen floor.
And as she was sitting there hugging her knees, with the taste of vomit in her mouth and tears in her eyes, Emily suddenly felt a different kind of fear. For the first time within the past days, she wasn't sure whether right now, she might not be a bigger danger to herself than this phantom haunting her thoughts.
