When a young girl stumbles into the arms of Spencer Reid in a local police station, she is panting and terrified. And after being held captive for ten years, she is mute and very skeptical of her world around her. Can Spencer teach her to trust agai...
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Content Warnings: kidnapping, dosing, sexual assault (mentioned), restrictive food intake (captors doing), touch aversion, selective mutism, eventual smut (if I missed anything please let me know!)
Word Count: 2.3k
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Have you ever ran for your life? Have you ever ran so fast, terrified to look behind you? So breathless, your lungs are burning and your chest is heaving? Fear piercing every inch of your skin?
I have.
It's how I ended up in a hospital bed with police officers outside my door and an FBI agent watching my every move. Doctors and nurses continually poking at me and running test on me to make sure I'm okay. They keep asking me these insane questions: are you okay? How did you do it? What's your name?
It's overwhelming to say the least. No, it's more than that. It's paralyzing. Hence why I haven't answered them. It's why I haven't said anything. For ten years.
"Daisy?" I jump at the sound on his voice. The honey eyed FBI agent jumps too. He should know by now that I'm not afraid of him. Not by a long shot. In fact, he's the only thing I haven't been afraid of in a very long time. Ten years to be exact.
My eyes softened as they met his. I shoot him a soft smile, the sides of my lips pulling just slightly. I sat up slightly, resting my hands in my lap and staring at Spencer.
"Daisy, can I ask you a few questions? You can just nod. Is that okay?" Spencer spoke to me in a soft tone. Almost as if he was talking to a child. Not to say that he thought I was a child. In fact, he's told me many times how courageous I was. How resilient I was. But I didn't feel that way. I felt cowardly if anything.
Cal had been acting strange lately. Not that strange wasn't unusual. It was just... different. You have to be some kind of strange to abduct a twelve year old. I could hear his pacing from the floor above me. 125 steps in the last five minutes. Usually, he doesn't step more than 50 times an hour while he was awake. Most of the time it was him going to the kitchen or the bathroom. Or... coming down to see me.
Its been the same routine for the last ten years. He wakes up around 5 am. Comes to 'see' me and then leaves for a few hours. I don't know where he goes where he leaves. I kind of wish I did. But I also don't want to know.
"You're so fucking stupid, Cal!" his yelling made me jump. "A fucking dog could've done a better job than you." I didn't know what he was talking about. Okay, that's a lie. I'd had an idea of what he was doing. The girls I'd met gave me some idea. It was one of the only times he'd brought me up from the basement. I never asked questions.
In fact, I never spoke at all.
I learned quickly that he liked me quiet; that speaking got me bloody and bruised. So I'd decided to stay silent. And when I was silent, I got rewarded: extra food, a new blanket, new clothes, a heater. Being in a basement in the middle of the Virginia winter with nothing more than a sheet. But this was my life now.
