DAISY {S.R X READER}

Words

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sexual assault (mentioned), touch aversion, selective mutism, therapy (mentioned), hospitals, capital punishment (death penalty – mentioned). [let me know if I missed anything]

Word Count: 1.4k

co-written by my bestie: ❤️

a/n: as of June, 18th 2021, Virginia has abolished their death penalty, but its not 'law' until July 1st 2021. And for anyone who doesn't know, the American federal gov. can intact capital punishment in states without it. I just wanted to make that clear so there is no confusion

.........

You don't get much sleep in hospitals. Between the constant checks, the readjusting of my medication and the nurses introducing themselves during rotations, sleep doesn't exist. Of course, it doesn't exist for me any way.

Every time I close my eyes, I am met with the images of my captor. Cal looking at me like nothing more than a piece of meat. Using the excuse that he was in love with me to justify the terrible things he was doing to me. Every time I tried to sleep; I was back in that room. I couldn't deal with that.

But I didn't tell Spencer that. The poor agent was worried enough about me, and the very last thing he needed was to worry I wasn't sleeping. Speaking of Spencer, he hadn't left my side since I arrived here. He was my voice as I was still too afraid to speak. I was grateful for all the times he'd told doctors and nurses about me. It was like he could read my mind.

"What are you thinking about, Daisy?" His soft voice pulling me from my thoughts.

I reached over, grabbing the little notepad I'd managed to snag. I didn't feel comfortable talking, but writing was fine. I'm not sure why I was okay with writing? I know how absolutely absurd it sounds. I can write but I won't talk? How fucked up is this girl?

I don't have an answer on why. I guess it just felt a little less final if I wrote instead of spoke. So, that's what I did.

Just don't know what is going to happen when I'm out of here...

I passed it over for him to read, not missing the way his face dropped in sadness. It was clear it was something he, too, didn't think about. Or maybe he had? He didn't often give much away in facial feature department.

"Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it for you. We're still trying to find your family, but Garcia is having a little bit of a hard time. But don't worry, she's the best! She'll find them!"

I loved the nervous rambles. It was cute when he would go off about the silliest things. Info dumping is what he called it. And it was something he would apologize greatly for when it happened. But I didn't mind. In fact, it gave me something else to focus on besides my situation.

I nodded as I took my notepad back from him, using the pencil to scratch out the last thing I'd written. I could tell there was something weighing heavily on Spencer. He was desperately trying to stop the scrunch of his face, something he did when he had something he needed to say.

I tapped his hand gently, causing him to look up at me again before I gently signed "you okay?" Spencer had taught me how to sign a few things, key things, so I didn't have to speak.

So far I knew: 'I'm okay', 'tired', 'hungry', 'water', 'thank you', 'please', and 'help'. You know, the basics. And the rest, I wrote down or pointed. And the rest of the time it seemed Spencer just knew what I needed.

"Yes, Daisy. I'm okay." He tried to shoot me a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes like it usually did, which meant he wasn't being honest. So, I asked again. And this time I was met with a deep sigh, "okay, no. They need me to get a statement from you about some of the things that happened. It'll help get him a higher bail amount, or none at all. And it can possibly get him to be put on death row. Federally."

I froze. Did Virginia even have a death penalty? Did any state? I mean a lot can change over the course of ten years. I didn't even know who the current president was. I barely even knew what year it was. And if it wasn't for certain things like fireworks, decorations, or snow? I'd never even know what month I was in.

Spencer noticed the tensing of my body and was quick to try and put out the quickly mounting anxiety, "but you don't have too! You absolutely don't have too if you aren't ready. I can give you all the time you needed." He sighed, "he's not- he won't ever be getting out. I'll make sure of it. With your statement or not."

I felt the tears prick at my eyes, burning and blurring the man in front of me. I didn't understand why he cared so much about me. I was just this pathetic little mute who can't get ahold of her trauma. Who can't even use her words to say what she wants?

And yet here he was. Being the advocate, I cannot physically be for myself. Bringing me clothes and food to me. And my favorite part? Teaching me about the world around me. Apparently, I'd missed a lot. But it was fun to learn about it all, especially from Spencer.

I thought on it for a full minute. I was the 'voice' for those girls. I was the only one he'd kept alive and, therefore, the only one who can express how terrible he was. And I know I may never know exactly what he did to those girls. But I know what he did to me. What he put me through. And if my story gets him killed, I'll tell it until I'm blue in the face.

How do I tell you what happened? I wrote before handing it to Spencer. He took it from me with confusion due to how quick I wrote. But the second his eyes scanned the words I'd written, the confusion melted only to be replaced with anxiety.

His eyes darted between me and the paper as he carefully thought of what to say to me. I crossed my legs under me and waited for him to gather himself. I had a slight feeling he was trying to think of a way to gently tell me he didn't feel it was the right time. That my brain needed to heal, and I needed therapy to unlock the memories my body had pushed away.

But I remembered everything. I remembered every single second of my time in that basement. I remember every word he spoke to me; every abhorrent and disgusting thing he did to me. And I needed to get it out before it consumed me more. I needed someone besides me and Cal to know what happened in that house. And I had my reasons for that.

To me, letting Spencer, and his team, know what happened took away his power. Because it wasn't Cals dirty little secret anymore. No, it wasn't his story anymore. It became mine. It became the story of what I did to survive. Of the things I endured at the hands of a killer. That story won't belong to just me and him if I tell it. And I need that if I ever want to heal.

And I think he saw that in the way I looked at him, eyes pleading for him to let me tell my side. Pleading for him to give me a chance. To let me heal the way I need to, even if it wasn't the 'correct' way.

So, you can imagine my surprise when he'd finally collected himself and said, "I'll call Garcia and the team, and we'll get started. And Daisy?" I looked up at him, "I am so proud of you. I promise I'm going to take care of you."

His voice grew softer towards the end as he held out his pinky cautiously. I felt the tears slip down my face as I touched the tip of my pinky to his, the little bit of touch I could handle. He smiled as he dropped his hand before reaching into his pocket and exiting the room. But making sure to stay in my line of sight.

I cried silently while he was in that hallway. And though my chest was tight, I felt like I could take a deep breath. Like the weight of abuse was lifted from my shoulders. I was going to put him away. Death even. And I wasn't even the least bit sorry.

"You did it," I whispered to myself. "You're finally going to win."