"... Good evening readers! (ok that was really weird) This idea wouldn't leave me alone, it's a song-fic based on Broken by Lifehouse. It's about Spencer Reid, i will warn you there is talk of suicide so if that offends you in any way please just don't read. Don't worry though our lovely Reid stays all in one piece for this one. Please review, your comments are like skittles. :) Thanks."
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
- Ernest Hemingway
"The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight. Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time."
I sat on my couch, head in my hands. Thoughts of the past few months flooded my mind. I was so ashamed at what had come over me. When the team finally found me and Tobias was dead I had two choices, walk away and keep on living my life the way I always had, or go back and take the easy way out. I knew at the time what the right thing to do was, but the voice in my head sounded so sweet. It told me to go back and get those vials, to let the drugs ease my pain, and I listened. It was entirely fault, I'd disappointed the entire team, and then Gideon left without even saying goodbye when I needed him the most. Just like my father. I was a failure. It didn't matter how many statistics I could muster or the facts I knew, I was nothing. I looked up and stared at the phone for an unnatural amount of time. Who could I call? Garcia, no she'd want to baby me. Morgan, he wouldn't understand. Gideon, he was gone. Austin, she's probably forgotten about me already anyway. My dad, no we haven't spoken in twenty years why should I call him now. My mom… she didn't need to hear about this. I could still hear her cries from when those men took her away, the ones I sent.
"Who are you people? What are you doing in my house?" My mother screamed as the men grabbed her. "Spencer, what's going on?" she looked at me, her eyes full of sorrow.
"I'm sorry, mom, I'm so sorry…" I whispered, and then they took her away.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I came out of my flashback and realized I was talking to myself. Great that's definite proof of insanity. I gave up on the phone; no one would care enough to listen. Maybe the world would just be better off… without me. No! I slammed my palms against my temples. I can't think like that, I can't. I got up and started pacing. I just couldn't sit still. Maybe I should take a walk, that'll help me, clear my head. I grabbed my coat and walked out of my building. The air was mildly cold; it just bit at the tips of my fingers so I shoved them into my pockets. I started walking and just kept walking until I didn't know where I was. I found a bench and sat down. Now I'm thinking this wasn't such a good idea, it was freezing and I had no idea where I was. I guess I should try and find my way back home, before a freeze to death. I got up and started walking through the ever thickening night, trying to follow the way I'd came. Which was hard seeing as how I wasn't really looking at where I was going in the first place. I took in deep gulps of air, letting the nightly frost chill my lungs. I let the cold take me over, until I couldn't feel it anymore. I was just part of it, as it was a part of me. But it wasn't just the outside air that had made me cold; the frigid airs of the soul had started long before that. In the past few weeks I had felt it starting to make it's way through my chest, growing, slowly but nevertheless growing. Until it took me over, now I was frozen. To my surprise I'd actually found my apartment, I guess I knew my way around better then I thought. I walked through the doors and back into the radiator heat, but inside I was still frozen.
"I still see your reflection inside of my eyes
That are looking for a purpose, they're still looking for life."
I walked up the steps to my apartment and tried to find my key with numb fingers, it was quite difficult. When I made it to my door I had, barely, succeeded in finding my keys. I jammed them in the lock and turned. I stepped into my sanctuary of book-lined walls. My head pounded, pounded for the numb that drugs would bring. If I could have some all the pain would go away, if I… No! I can't go back to that, there had to be another way. Then my mind sparked with that same enticing voice. 'Your gun' it called to me. It was sitting right in my desk drawer, begging to be fired.
"I'm falling apart, barely breathing. With a broken heart that's still beating."
I could and it would be so easy. I could see the team when they found out. They'd step over my body, the brains that I value so much splattered on the ceiling, just like at any other crime scene. 'Spencer Reid who?' They'd say. Maybe I could just disappear. I walked over to my room and opened the drawer to reveal the object of my fantasies. The tenants would hear a shot, they'd rush in and find me gun in hand. They'd call 911, but it was a wasted attempt I was dead. Gone. I sat down on my bed and flicked the safety on and off. I put the cold barrel against my temple and imagined pulling the trigger. It would be quick at least, painless? Maybe, but quickly. I put the gun down and held it in my lap, considering my options. They always say right before you commit suicide you realize all your problems were fixable. But how did they know for sure? Sure people who'd survived their attempts said so, but maybe that's precisely why they survived. I'd known almost every statistic imaginable on the subject of suicide; I could become just another statistic. Maybe that was my fate. Normally I'd scoff at the concept of 'fate', but my brain wasn't exactly functioning straight at the moment. I exhaled loudly, trying to wash away all my racing thoughts. I didn't work and before I could dismiss them my mind was filled with something I hadn't thought of in a while. Happy times, all the memories of good times, everything that I loved. I had so much to live for, how could I even forget that? I was so focused on the negative I'd forgotten what was really important. Family. The BAU was like my family and my mom. What would she do if she found out her only son had killed himself? I sat for another few minutes pondering. I guess it takes almost breaking to really heal.
"In the pain, I find healing. In your name, I find meaning"
I stood up and felt the weight of the gun in my hand. 'Not today' I thought and placed it back in the drawer. But it would always be there, waiting until the day when the cold took over. Then not even family could stop me.
"I am still here waiting, though I still have my doubts. I am damaged at best like you've already figured out."
"... Ta-da!! See darling Spencey is still alive, although that was a pretty grim ending. You'll see though that a lot of my stories have a darker tinge to them and a poetic quality (What can I say? I really like Edgar Allan Poe). Rate, favourite and love. Emi signing off "