Font Size
Line Height

Page 20 of Small Sacrifices

Now that he says it, this feels similar to that one time Reid's doctor thought it was a good idea to double his dose of Ritalin instead of raising it gradually. Everything's rushing past him, and he's just standing in the stream, helpless to do anything but observe.

What Reid wants to say is something along the lines of how he would never take drugs that weren't prescribed to him by a doctor. He's way too scared of the effects they could have on him. But the words just won't come out. In the end, he settles for: "No drugs." It's disgustingly ineloquent.

There's some kind of movement on Everett's face, but it's all too blurry for Reid to even see what it is, never mind interpret it. "It would be kind of stupid of you to get high at work," he says. It almost sounds like agreement.

Reid's first instinct is to offer to take a drug test, but he's been warned that Ritalin can show up on those, even in the small dosage that he takes.

Structurally, Ritalin isn't that dissimilar to meth.

To prevent himself from saying anything along those lines, he bites down on his bottom lip until he's found something better to say.

"I don't take drugs. It's just been a tough day. I'm working on the—the parents—and all the children—have you seen the news reports? It's bad. I can't—"

"Hey, heyheyhey." Everett raises his arms to calm him down. "That's—I understand that. It's probably a lot."

Reid can only respond with, "They're children. " The image of Tímon Gutierrez's face, with dark rings and sores, and the blistering rashes on Robin's arms and legs flood his mind. The thought of doctors fighting to keep a six-year-old off dialysis is overwhelming. It's all so horrible.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to steady his breathing.

The sound of it is loud and raspy in his ears, like someone dragging a heavy hand over felt.

It must be loud to Everett, too. Reid feels ridiculous.

Everett thinks he's high. That's why he sent his brother away, isn't it?

Would make sense. The pressure in Reid's chest grows, followed by a fresh wave of panic.

If people think he has a drug problem, he could lose his job. This is not good.

"Hey!" Everett's voice penetrates the fog in Reid's head. "I won't touch you, I get that. But you need to tell me what's going on, or I'll have to call an ambulance. You don't look too good."

"No ambulance!" Reid can hear how breathless his voice is.

Nevermind the unnecessary expense. If his parents get that bill, then it's over.

His father wasn't making empty threats. If they get even a whiff of Reid being overwhelmed, his parents will stop paying his rent.

It's the easiest way to force him to come home.

Where would Reid come up with the money to pay Sacramento rent when he doesn't have the work experience he needs for jobs with acceptable pay?

Swallowing is difficult, but when he can finally concentrate enough to do it, he calms down a bit. "I'm just overwhelmed. I've been working too much. This is normal."

"Normal?" Everett sounds scandalized.

Maybe that's not the best word to use. It's not like it happens every other week. "Well, predictable. I was just leaving to go home." Another breath. "I won't disturb anyone. Please don't call an ambulance."

"Okay..." He can tell that Everett isn't convinced. "Then what do you need?"

To be left alone, that's what he needs. But he can tell that's not about to happen. The nervous energy is radiating off of Everett in waves, and his brother could come back at any moment. If anything, he needs to wait for him.

"Just be quiet," he says. "I need silence. That's why I was—"

"On your way home, yeah. But are you sure that's a good idea? Can you even drive like that?"

That's not silence. And the temptation to point it out is sweet, but he's getting the impression that Everett doesn't even notice what he's doing.

"M-hmm." Reid slides down the wall to sit on the floor. When he opens his eyes, he sees Everett doing the same on the opposite wall.

"That doesn't sound good. You sure you don't need a doctor?" Everett asks. Reid closes his eyes again, but this time, it's mostly to avoid rolling them.

"Yes. 'S just all still very new." His body feels heavy now, all warm and achy. It's better than the full-body panic from before, but it's still not good. Everett is right. How is he going to drive home in this state?

The silence that stretches between them almost tastes of confused disapproval.

But Everett doesn't comment on it. Instead, he asks, "And you're sure they're not keeping you this long?

Because, you know, there are laws against that.

And where are those supposed to be kept if not in the literal seat of government? "

Reid hums. "I couldn't leave. This is about children." And Mr. Wright made it impossible for him to leave on time. But he isn't about to say that.

Everett clicks his tongue. "Yeah, but you're not technically helping the children, are you? You're helping make the governor look good."

That stings, but Reid doesn't have the energy to bristle, never mind counter the statement. He just wonders why Everett phrased it like that. What a weird way for him to talk about his father.

"Why are you still here?" Reid asks.

"Some of these meeting rooms have massive projectors," Everett says with a glint in his eye. "Beats having to take security guards to the movies by, like, a mile."

"Ah."

Everett hums, then falls silent. It's kind of uncanny, the way he just sits here with his head leaned back against the wall, looking at Reid from beneath his ridiculous lashes.

It feels wrong for him to be quiet. And while the intense eye contact is on brand, it's too much for Reid.

His wandering eyes ultimately settle on the squashed box that's still sitting on the drab carpet.

"M' sorry about your donuts. And about your brother."

Immediately, Everett frowns. "Max? What about Max?"

Reid looks up at the ceiling, but at this time of night, the light is even more painful.

So he closes his eyes against it and enjoys the orange shapes it projects onto the inside of his eyelids.

"Well, you wanted to spend time with him, right?

And then you felt like you had to send him away. I'm sorry about that."

A little huff is issued opposite him. "Oh, Max is coming back. That kid is way too nosey to pass up an opportunity like this."

"I hope I didn't scare him." His eyes had been so wide.

"Nah, Max doesn't scare easily. Don't worry—you're cool."

Reid has never been cool a day in his life, but it's probably the wrong moment to point that out. Again, silence stretches between them. And it's a silence, too. Comfortable.

They only move when they hear light steps coming down the hallway towards them. Reid chances a look. Everett is right: Max doesn't look scared. Awkward, maybe, in the way he holds himself. But that could also be a normal feature of teenagehood. Teenagerhood?

"D'you need a water?" Everett asks, stopping between them and extending a bottle.

Reid doesn't, but he knows teenagers can get grumpy if they think they're being given pointless tasks.

So he accepts with a grateful nod. He only just manages not to yelp when the water announces its carbonated state with an ungodly fizzing sound.

Max laughs at him, but that's fine. It probably looked funny. This isn't about him.

Bearing up under the scrutiny is much more uncomfortable. "So you're fine now?" Max asks after he's looked his fill.

Reid just nods and hopes that's enough. But it isn't, because apparently, Max is just as outgoing as his brother—even if he keeps tugging his sleeves over his hands as he talks. "Panic attacks suck. I've seen people have them before."

Oh, damn it. What is he supposed to do with that? Everett hisses his brother's name in reprimand, which Reid appreciates. In the end, he decides on the path of least resistance. He's much too tired to try to explain something that even his parents don't fully understand yet.

"Thank you. And thank you for the water, too.

" Reid tries to make eye contact to convey his gratitude, but Max is absorbed in inspecting the remnants of red nail polish on his index finger.

The faint smell of the polish lingers in the air.

Reid looks away, feeling awkward. It seems Max wouldn't want him to notice.

Then, suddenly, he's battling a yawn and losing. It makes everything feel heavy and limp. He wonders if his face feels as hot to the touch as it does to him. He's past the point of just feeling feverish. There's no "ish" about it.

"Please tell me you're not gonna drive home like that," Everett says. When Reid reluctantly opens his eyes again, he's still eyeing him like he's expecting him to do something.

"I have to."

"No, you don't." It sounds like Everett is making a concerted effort to speak calmly and clearly. "You could kill someone."

As if Reid doesn't already know that. All it does is make him curl in on himself as he feels the guilt making his limbs even heavier.

"I can't sleep here," he points out and closes his eyes. It doesn't make them feel any less hot and dry, but at least this way, Reid isn't bothered by the light.

Everett snorts. "See, if you were someone else, I might see that as a come-on. But somehow, that doesn't seem to fit you."

Somewhere next to them, Max smothers a groan with the palm of his hand. Reid blinks at Everett with bleary eyes, trying to decipher his meaning. He comes up with nothing. "I don't know what you mean."

"And I believe you." Everett's lips curl into a small, amused smile. "But that's still not a good reason to endanger yourself and others. We'll arrange a driver for you."

Reid knows that, under ordinary circumstances, he would say no.

But he's tired and hot and confused, and his heartbeat only just slowed down.

He needs to lie down in bed and sleep through the entire weekend.

Which is exactly how he gets bundled into an official-looking car with an official-looking driver while his own beat-up little car remains in the employee parking lot.

It's fine. He'll still be able to regret it tomorrow.