Disclaimer: i dont own criminal minds
A/N: i know its not good, but this is a drabble i wrote while away. please review as reviews are love!
He hated feeling like this, disjointed, unconnected and distant from others. He was a member of the BAU, but he felt like an observer of the team, not a member. He had only ever wanted to belong, to feel the warmth of love that he had seen in others, in real life, on TV or in the numerous books he had read.
But as he wiped away a sly tear, he knew that this warmth was an illusion. He had sought it out and in return 'love' had left him hollow. Sitting looking at his old pen knife in his hand he felt slowly comforted. The metal blade had become his one true friend; he had poured his heart out to it.
And yet this 'friend' that disguised his inner turmoil with harsh glaring red marks filled him with repulsion. He hate what he did, and although he felt in control, deep down he knew he had never had control to begin with. He wanted to ask for help, to talk, to open up; but each time he tried to, and the thoughts of such an act crossed his mind, he felt ashamed. It was the shame that stopped him asking for help every time. What would others think?
'That freak can't cope', 'just like his mum'
He hated the shame, he couldn't comprehend it. Why did he feel it? What he was doing wasn't wrong, just misunderstood he told himself, hoping to make himself truly believe it, but as always the relief he felt from his acts and from his words was always short lived.