Killing Loneliness
They tell him that it becomes easier with time. That life will go back to normal – or, at least, what's normal for him.
But as time wears on, Spencer realises that the passing months won't bury this demon; it starts to tear away at him from the inside.
During the day, he immerses himself fully in the bloody work of the BAU. During the day, Reid is safe. He surrounds himself with the people he has come to know most – people who would take a bullet for him (a bullet that was made for him). The threat of being alone seems a distant dream; it's a far away apparition on the desert he calls home.
With the setting of the sun, he locks himself up in his empty apartment. Reid is alone. Here, in this self-perpetuating hell, there is no one else to distract his defiant mind from the thing he wants – needs – most. Here, there is nothing to keep him numb.
First come the musings: the what ifs, the if onlys. Bleak despair creeps up behind him, the solitude bringing bitter tears to his eyes. It's selfish to think he's got no one – that the world would still be exactly the same without a Dr Reid. The little element of truth in this (or total truth) doesn't hurt as much as it should; Spencer doesn't want to die. He wants a way out.
He knows what escape feels like; he knows what it's like to have his mind just stop.
He knows that this could be the only to save him from himself.
And he does need saving.
Reid finds strange things happening more and more often. Every now and then he'll see something, a phantom of a ghost, and this – this something – he knows it isn't really there. He knows (god, yes he knows so much – too much) that this is how it starts, the debilitating sickness that seeps into every aspect of your life like poison; but he's always been a freak. A loser. An outsider. (Someone who had no one – no confidant – to turn to in the whole wide world.)
Isolated because he was different, because he could remember each little detail like it was a photo in his head. Because he was a genius – a horror he'd never wish upon anyone.
But Spencer also knows (so much knowing – enough already) that the drugs don't work. They're a temporary solution to a permanent problem. Phials filled with sweet little lies; something he's thought about since the very first time he had the shit beaten out of him in high school.
Dr. Spencer Reid is a coward.
When he'd had the drugs forced on him, the needle's cold metal against his soul, he realised how perfect they made him feel.
By now the veins have closed up.
So he suffers in silence (never a martyr, no), dreaming fondly about the darkness. The warm darkness; the other darkness.
The darkness that killed the loneliness away.
AN. Eh ;-; A crappy little bi-product of my insomnia xD I'm really not very good at writing fanfiction. Still, review?