A/N: This isn't my first time writing. I simply made a new account because I didn't like my past fanfics. Others liked them, so I won't delete them... I just wanted a fresh start. I wanted to write something, but I still have no idea where this will lead, so I am kind of forcing myself out of writer's block. I hope this turns out good, whatever it may be, oneshot, multific. It depends on you.

"You couldn't or you wouldn't?" Reid asked with hate in every single vowel in the sentence.

"I couldn't," Jennifer Jareau emphasized yet again. She had been trying to explain why she had to. She knew why he was angry, but still... it was her job. Every waking moment he'd cry. Every tear, she wished dearly to tell him. It couldn't happen though. A friend's life was at stake, and it would have to wait until it was all over.

"What if I started taking Dilaudid again, would you have let me?" Reid could hardly believe he had said it. The whole team was listening over their conversation. He'd hoped, at a longshot, they hadn't heard those words come out. He couldn't help it though. He wanted to blame everything on her. She was the person he ran to every day for ten weeks. He TRUSTED her... and that was long gone. He'd wondered if the rest of them knew the entire time too. Paranoia has gotten the better of him, and he'd decided when Emily had returned not to ever trust them again.

"You didn't..." She hesitated, words finally sinking in. Had he considered it? She realized then what a toll it took on him. He'd almost thrown his life away, his five years sober, all because of the lie she was forced to tell.

"Yeah, well I thought about it."

"I'm sorry," JJ said whole-heartedly. She was sorry, but in all honesty, he was being overly sensitive about it. Another part of her reminded her he actually mourned Emily's death, while she knew. It was hard lying about it, but at least she knew Emily was alive.

"It's too late, alright?" Reid said, obviously tired of talking about it. She didn't think any more of the conversation. She had a job to do, and pushing the buttons in her head, wondering if he was still thinking about using, did not help the murders stop.

Reid thought back to their little argument. He regretted mentioning his cravings, especially when the rest of the team probably heard the whole thing, but he couldn't help it. He was angry and wanted her to know how he truly felt and how it had hurt him. It was her fault anyways. Why couldn't she trust him? Why could she know and he couldn't? Was he any less of a team member, or family member, than her? With that angry thought, he sat in his bed, feeling the want... need, whatever it was, for the drug. The cravings got worse since she returned. He figured they'd slowly move back to that corner in his head he usually didn't think about, but it had gotten worse.

He was betrayed, and felt every ounce of the word in his heart. It filled him with rage and depression. Why was he even feeling bad about what he said? He'd been lied to? He has every right to do what he wants. It was the reason he stopped using Dilaudid. It was because of them. They gave him a reason to care. With that small epiphany, he reached back to the drawer he still kept it in.

Holding it for the first time since the case in Texas with Owen Savvage. Instead of seeing the "rest of the movie," he had bought a vial for the road, just in case he wasn't strong enough. Granted, he hadn't taken it, he still had it. There was some part of him that couldn't let go, he still wouldn't, or couldn't as JJ exclaimed a week before. He almost laughed at the irony. She "couldn't" tell him the truth, so he "couldn't" stop himself from taking it.

As quickly as his body could possibly moved, he pulled a needle out and filled it to a decent amount. Still, with lingering second thoughts, he tied his arm off and pushed the needle into his arm. For a second, he stared at the extremely faded scars from his previous usages. The second thoughts came swirling back, so he pushed it to the back of his head and quickly pushed on the plunger so he could forget those thoughts and relax for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

When his climax started to subside and he could function properly, he got up off his bed and went to the bathroom. He didn't look all that bad, but he was sure he'd go back to looking like the drug addict he had years before. This time, he wouldn't be so obvious. But then again, this time he didn't want help. This was his choice, not some serial killer with three identities. From now on, he would try his best to keep his anger at bay. From now on, nobody will know him. He'll just feed them lies the same way they did to him. For now, he figured it best to get some sleep. He had work in the morning.

When Reid woke up, the first thing he thought of was shooting up again, but he needed to shower. He didn't want to attract any attention or hint to his recurring use. Maybe if he hurried he'd have time for a small hit, but definitely not enough time to get high. Even if he did, he didn't want to go into an FBI facility filled with people trained to spot that kind of behavior on the spot. It would be stupid to do. No, he would take it easy while at work. He didn't want to get caught. He didn't want to lose his job...

Spencer Reid just wanted an escape.

A/N: This wasn't filled with much action, but I will be continuing this further. I hate writing oneshots. It seems they usually don't have much of a story. But just a heads up, this will continue weather it be five chapters or 20... the show must go on!

Please hand me opinions, constructive criticism, what you'd like to see, but please no flames! Thank you for reading! I anticipate your opinions!