A/N: This is a VERY dark story. Please be aware as you read this Yes, yes I know, I have started writing like this for my past few stories, but I have found I love writing from this perspective. It challenges me! Trigger warning here: This story has mentions of suicide and depression, as well as PTSD. This is from JJ's POV.

A mantra runs through your mind, one that refuses to leave you alone, and you see it as an excuse. Sometimes, the villain wins. You cannot remember who said it to you, and right now, you really do not care, all you know is that you are finding truth in the awful statement.

But as you sit on the kitchen floor, your gun shaking in your hands, you realize something in that statement. Sometimes, the villain isn't an unsub. It doesn't have to be a person armed with a weapon doing horrific thing. No, a villain can be your own mind, one that there is no escape from.

And you find that is even more terrifying than some of the unsubs, if not all of them, you have faced.

The doctors and counselors and therapists you have seen have all given you a label, all told you this or that. The most common phrase that is uttered is Depression, and PTSD. They have given you pills to try, different therapies, and while it works for a bit, the symptoms always come back.

And tonight is one of those nights. No amount of pills or interventions can make the hell go away. Your mind continuously flashes back to your kidnapping, the torture you were put through at the hands of an evil man.

You tell yourself it is over, that the man is behind bars and can never hurt you again. That your team did rescue you just as you knew they would, that despite every threat that he made, you survived.

You did. You are alive and you hate it. You wish that he would have killed you that night, or any of the eight nights he had you. Or the stab wound he gave you, that could have killed you. But no, unfortunately, you survived.

And everyday, life gets worse.

You don't remember the last time you ate anything, or drank anything for that matter. Your cellphone long since died, you cannot sleep. You are stuck in a hellhole you thought you had escaped.

You couldn't have been more wrong.

You lean your head back against the cabinet and bring your gun up, right underneath your chin. You have long since been thinking about doing this, knowing that life isn't worth living anymore. You just have never had the courage to do it. Your mind flashes to your sister and now you understand her pain and desperation. You have reached that point.

Your tears slide down your cheeks and you know that soon, there will be no more pain. If only you can get yourself to pull that trigger.

But, you can't. And you drop your gun in frustration and anger. You can't do it. And that somehow makes everything worse. You don't know what to do anymore.

You are simply existing in hell.