Hotch X Reader

11

(FIRST PERSON-Y/N'S POV)

It had been days. About four, I figured. I only saw the shawdows of a window on the floor above me. The torture had lessened since I had told him that Hotch was my boyfriend. That was so stupid. I had thought telling him something personal would convince him to let me contact him. I was very wrong. Oh God, why did I say Hotch? What if I put him in danger? What if I put Jack in danger?

My thoughts were interuppted by a forced entry into the room I was in. I prayed it was Hotch. Alas, it was just Brayden. I slumped in defeat. In his hands, I noticed a variety of knifes. I threw back my head. I was trying to fight this as much as I could, but the longer I was in here, the more hope I lost.

"Pick your poison." He held them all up to me. I weakly nodded towards the one in the middle; It looked the dullest. He then threw it across the room.

"Did I mention we're narrowing it down?" He smirked. I glared at him, tears rolling down my cheeks. Without breaking eye contact, I nodded at the sharpest one. He threw the rest of the knifes down, keeping the one I chose in his hand. I flinched at the noise, letting out my scared sobs. However, he stood up and thanked me. He turned around and began to leave.

"What was that for?!" I screamed at him. He calmly turned around.

"Her name's Michelle, I think." He winked before closing the door behind him. I cried out after him. I had just chosen the torture weapon for another girl. I lost it.

"Come back you sick son of a bitch!" I screamed at the door. My tears were uncontrollable at this point.

I woke up to stirring at the door. A young woman and man calmly walked in. They looked around their enviorment in awe. When spotting me, they quickly sped up and knelt down to my eye level. The man started brushing at my hair right away. The woman prepped a kit to wash my face. She whispered to me quietly.

"The director told us you weren't supposed to break character, but I just have to tell you: You have the most perfect features." She wiped the dirt off my face. "Oh my God! You have the best makeup crew. If I didn't know any better, I'd say these brusises were real."

"You do need to fire your hair team though." The man let out a high picthed laugh. "I thought these knots were synthetic. I might need to cut some of them out." He turned around. That's when I noticed Brayden standing in a black suit. He stood next to a large camera.

"That's quite all right. We're done filming the torture scene." He said. I hoped he was being literal. I glanced up at him. I knew if I said anything, he'd kill the aspiring makeup artists. I stared back at the floor and remained silent. It took them about an hour to complete the task, but they left me with fresh makeup and perfectly curled hair. They waved me goodbye, and accepted an envelope of cash from Brayden. He rummaged through a bag, and threw clean clothes at me. In the middle of the wad of fabric was a key.

"Change." He demanded. He didn't leave, but turned himself to the camera. I was confused, sure, but I was not going to put myself in a postition to be tortured again. I carefully uncuffed my arm, and it fell straight to my side. I stifled a groan and pulled it up to arm level. I pinched my eyes shut and popped it back into place. It was painful, but it was worth the relief I felt soon after. I then moved my eyes down to the clothes he had handed me. I began to slip them on when I realized where they were from: these were the clothes I wore when he kidnapped me as a teen. I shivered at the idea of him keeping them all these years.

Figuring he was trying to recreate my orginal kidnapping, I styled the clothes exactly the same. The baggy jeans were a bit short so I tugged my sock up higher, giving the illusion it fit the same. The white shirt still fit the same, and I tied the flannel t-shirt around my waist.