Spencer Reid One Shots

Unsaid, part 2.

Warnings- Descriptive events of abuse. Angst.

You groaned and tilted your head back as a sharp, excruciating pain raked through your aching body. You opened your eyes, however there was barely any light to adjust to. The room was dim, lit with just a single light bulb on the low ceiling.

You wriggled your arms behind your back again, however you were used to this by now as you had been here for the past three nights. Maybe. You couldn't remember. Your wrists had been bound together tightly in rope, friction burn painting deep crimson marks onto on your slim wrists, feeling them burn from how many times you had done this already.

You managed to lift your head, letting it droop due to your weak state. You narrowed your eyes, looking around and trying to assimilate if anything had changed, but you were still in the same place. You were more aware now you had slept.

There was no window where you were, but the muffled sounds of footsteps and shuffling suggested to you that you were in some sort of basement.

As you struggled, you felt droplets of blood running down from your scalp all the way down to your neck, staining it red. Your head throbbed in pain, before images began flashing through your brain. You remembered being tossed into the back of the van like a ragdoll, before you were dragged out by your hair an hour later. It finally all came back to you and clouded your thoughts.

You definitely took a beating, but you figured it was only to keep you quiet as the man did not return back to the room. However, he did return. A lot.

You looked down, analysing the rope tied and knotted around your ankles. You shivered, closing your eyes and inhaling sharply. You had never really planned for this situation, as you always had an overwhelming feeling of safety when with Spencer despite his dangerous job.

You racked your brain for ideas, for solutions that Spencer may have told you during his rambling of fact, or maybe in descriptions of cases he had successfully solved. Although, you were limited to what you could do about it when your wrists and ankles were bound roughly with rope.

Your thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open, shaking as it slammed into the wall. A silhouette was formed in the doorway from the dull light, and the sight made your blood run cold. This is the fifth time you have seen him now.

Your gut wrenched in fear as your eyes analysed the man stood in the doorway, broad shoulders and a muscular physique. You sunk back into the wall, whimpering as he walked closer.

"Please don't," You begged, but he only replied with a low and husky chuckle, making your hands shake behind your back.

You saw that in his left hand he had a bag, weighed down with seemingly heavy objects, metal points ripping through the thin plastic material.

The man crouched down in front of you, pulling his hood off of his head and resting his arms over his knees with a psychotic smirk etched across his ragged, dishevelled features.

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat, tilting your head back as the cold steel of his knife pressed harshly against the soft skin on your neck, lightly pressing until droplets of blood ran down, starting to pool in the dip of your collarbone.

When your eyes began rolling back, he set the knife down and gripped both of your cheeks in his bony fingers, yanking your head in his direction so you were facing him. He teasingly patted your cheek as you attempted to look away. You gritted your teeth as he forced you to look at him, your eyes meeting his cold, dark eyes.

"Not yet, sweetheart," He spoke lowly, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You closed your eyes, feeling weak and exhausted, utterly drained.