Beta:doneitall
Word Count: 15,860
Pairings: Reid/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rape/Non-con, dub-con, underage, prostitution
Author's Notes: So much work has gone into this fic. I need to thank my beta, doneitall and my artist, Alynt, both of whom have been absolutely amazing, so much for working with me on this! I almost abandoned this story quite a few times. I'm honestly glad I didn't now. This deals with some very sensitive subject matters and shouldn't be read if any of the warnings are triggering to you. It is a complete fic, that I'll be posting when I can. It'll probably all be up by the end of the week. I've also cleaned this up a bit for Fanfiction... I orginally had it posted on LiveJournal, so if you want it in all it's glory, read it here- nympha-fluminis . livejournal ?mode=reply#add_comment (just remember to take out the spaces) Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, any of its or characters, or the poem "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe.. This is made purely for entertainment, there is no profit
Summary: When Spencer Reid's father leaves him to care for his schizophrenic mother at age ten, he struggles to keep things from going under. A few years later, a man named Donny shows Spencer a new way to make ends meet on the streets of Las Vegas.
I can see the note shaking in my hands. I've read it over and over again... I should have memorized by now, but somehow, my mind refuses to comprehend what it says. I can only understand the last two lines and what they entail.
Goodbye,
~Your loving father
Your loving father. Right. If you loved me so much the line before it wouldn't have said "Goodbye." If you loved me, you wouldn't be leaving me like this. You'd have an explanation. You'd have told me in person, not a note saying that you just couldn't take it anymore. You'd have told my mother so she could tell me. Not a note. Anything but a note signed, 'Goodbye, your loving father.' No. You don't love me. You can't love me. You can't understand me. You wouldn't have left if you didn't love me, father.
I wish I could tell you that. I'll never see you again. You're probably long gone by now, possibly out of state. I doubt you'd stay in Nevada, let alone Vegas. Probably quit your job, gave them notice two weeks ago. You've probably been planning this awhile. Everything is timed so perfectly, too perfectly to be spur of the moment. You're a lawyer, too careful to leave any loop-holes.
"He's gone, isn't he?"
"Yes," I say. My mom is behind me. I'd completely forgotten about her in the world shattering thing that is this note in my hand. Although I know she's already seen me reading it, I shove it in my pocket. It's private. I don't want my mother to see it, and I can honestly say that that is the first time that's happened.
I try to hold my composure as she comes down the stairs towards me, I really do. I try and be strong, I am the man of the house now, the protector. I'm supposed to keep her safe from everything, any sort of pain. And this certainly counts as a pain. Tears start slowly running down my cheeks and no matter how many times I try and recite facts in my head or tilt my head up, they just keep on coming.
Then, I'm enveloped in hug. The tears come faster now, like somehow that one display of love broke the flood gates to my eyes. Which is ridiculous. It's irrational. Why should I be crying now? It's illogical. What will crying in my mother's arms do? It won't make me feel better. It won't make me any happier. It certainly won't bring my loving father back, so why do it?
Because I'm human. Because I can't help it, that's why. And doesn't that just sting. I can't even control my emotions. Logic, the one thing that I have in my corner at all times, is defeated by emotion when I need it most. Always is, supposedly. Pathos will always beat Logos, according to my mother.
I manage to calm down finally. And everything comes crashing down. Hard. The true implications of what my father leaving will do to my mom and I.
I'm ten years old. My mother is schizophrenic and can't work. Hasn't been able to for over a year now. I have no income, unless my father starts to pay us child support or something all of the sudden. Which he won't. He's not filing for divorce and seems to want a "clean" break... on his side at least. Our house isn't paid off. I can't pay bills.
I could get my mom to file for divorce, or even sue if I could find a case, but her background would be looked into, and people would see how severely schizophrenic she is. She'd be forcibly institutionalized in a state facility and I'd either be sent to my father who doesn't want me or foster care. God knows what would happen to me there...
That's not an option.
I stay up the rest of the night, plagued by thoughts of what to do now. The conclusion I finally come to is... nothing. Just waiting. Mostly because I can't think of anything else to do. Maybe in a month, an envelope from my father will come, bearing the house payment. Maybe a little extra. For now, we survive with what we have...
Five Months Later
An envelope from my father never showed up. House payments fell by the wayside and my mom and I were quickly evicted. At the moment, we live in a crappy apartment on the bad side of town. So bad that all payments are in cash and a ten year old was able set everything up. Nothing about this place is remotely legal.
I do odd-jobs for people to get any extra that we might need and we still have money left from before my father left. Hopefully, this living situation won't last long, anyways. When I'm sixteen, maybe even fifteen, I can get a better paying job. I'll graduate in a couple years, so I'll be able to work more and make more money.
At the moment, that's the most important thing in the world. Money. I never thought of it much before. In fact, I looked down upon people who thought about it too much. People who choose their future career based on the pay-grade. Now though, I realize that people who desire money, are those who don't have it. For the most part. Now, I want, no, I need money, more than anything else in the world.
I even considered dropping out of school. I lose time that I could be getting paid and the bullying alone is enough to make me want to quit, but my mom would have nothing with that. I think the guilt and sadness might finally kill her. So, I cut down on rations for myself and just try to pay the bills and keep my mother fed and content.
Two Years Later
I'm almost ready to graduate. Just four more months, and I'm done. That's all. I have a free period at the end of the day, which I usually choose to spend in the library. I'm rereading Battlefield: Earth for the third time and am nearing the end when I hear the library doors open. That almost never happens.
I glance up at the clock. 1:20... only one more minute until school lets out. Then, I look towards whoever walked through the door and my heart catches in my throat. Harper Hillman. And she walks straight over to me.
"Hey, Spencer," she says, with a smile as bright as the sun, showing her perfect white teeth.
"Umm, hi, H-harper," I awkwardly stutter. As always.
"What'cha readin'?" she asks, sounding so genuinely interested, that it's clear she couldn't care less.
"Nothing," I mumble, trying to stuff my book back into my book-bag. She catches a look anyways.
"Battlefield: Earth," she reads slowly. I feel myself blush and keep my head down as I try and gather my backpack as quickly as possible to leave the library, and beautiful, blonde, Harper Hillman behind. Of course, I trip and drop my bag.
"Oh, here Spencer, let me help you!" she says. She bends down and picks up my bag.
"Th-thanks," I say quietly, then reach out to take my bag.
"Oh, I've got it Spencer. Actually, Alexis wants to meet you behind the field house, so I'll just carry it for you." And with that, she happily bounces of with my bag, turning back once to see following. I rush off quickly once I gather my thoughts and stumble clumsily behind Harper. She has my backpack... what choice do I have? Plus, Alexis is the prettiest girl in school.
And, when we reach the field house, sure enough, Alexis with her perfectly curled, long brunette hair, and slightly tilted blue eyes was waiting... along with the entire football team and the rest of the school.
Alarms start to blare in my head, screaming to just get the hell away. And I listen. I turn heel and start to run as fast as I can, screw the backpack. But Matt Perryman's harsh hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I can't move. His hand is almost as big as my head and he has no problem holding me in place.
"Thought you could have some fun with my girl, huh?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.
"N-no I was j-just following Har-harp-"
"Save it, shrimp," he interrupts. "Boys!" he yells.
He grabs my arms behind me, linking his through mine at the elbows and bending me at an angle that left me completely open and made it impossible to move.
"No!" I scream loudly. "No, please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean- I didn't know... I sorry! Please don't!" Maybe some of my pitiful begging will get through to someone. It doesn't
Matt just laughs. "Maybe next time, you won't mess with my girl."
The first punch hits my stomach. I start to double over, even in the grip Matt has on me. The second one strikes in almost the exact same place and then the next one makes contact with my face. My glasses shatter and blood drips down from where the glass cuts me. Matt releases me and I fall to the ground in fetal position. They kick some more, then stop much more quickly than expected. Maybe it's over, I foolishly allow myself to hope.
They pull me to feet. I'm dizzy and everything is incredibly blurry. I retch and throw-up the little bit that's on my stomach and feel awful, covered in blood, tears, sweat, and now my own bile. The team laughs at me and I don't comprehend what's going on until I'm placed down in front of a goal post where I'd been carried.
Alexis Lisbon appears in front of me with a look of utter disgust on her face.
"Why would you possibly think I'd want something like you?" she sneers, then laughs. I hear laughs from everywhere else, too. I look up and realize that the entire school is gathered around where I'm standing, watching. More tears drip down my face. As bad as the boy's punches are, girls and their words are far far crueler.
Before anything else can happen, though, someone is restraining me again, but this time, rather than hitting me, they begin to remove my shoes. Then my socks. Someone else is at my shirt. Then it hits me what their doing. I start to scream and kick as loudly as I can, before I'm dragged to the ground and held by many hands and piece of balled up cloth (my socks?) is shoved violently in my mouth.
They make quick work of the rest of my clothes, then drag me back to my feet and up to the goal post. Someone walks up with rope... lots of rope. I struggle, to no avail, while my hands and feet are tied to the goalpost. I struggle and pull at the ropes with my hands and feet, but don't manage to do anything but bloody myself more.
"Please...," I beg, "stop. Please." I'm completely broken by now. I've given up and just continue to mindlessly beg and cry. I hear the click of cameras, but can't bring myself to care.
Eventually, everyone gets bored and leaves me, minus my clothes, tied up.
I doze for a hours, when a night janitor finds me and releases me. I take off running the second the ropes are gone, not ever thinking about the neighborhood I'm about to be running naked through.
I get a couple wolf-whistles and some particularly scary folks come up to me periodically, but I keep running blindly until I reach my mom and my apartment. I go past our landlord and into our room.
My mom is in the kitchen when I come in.
"Mom?" I ask quietly, wanting some form of comfort from her. Maybe demanding where I've been until she sees me. Calling the school and threatening people. A hug. Instead I get:
"Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?"
I stumble back and run into the bathroom. This is nothing new; she only remembers me about half the time, but it hurts. Especially tonight.
I take care of the bloody wounds around my wrists and ankles. We don't have any Hydrogen Peroxide or even Isopropyl Alcohol, so I have to make due with Iodine. Which almost hurts worse than anything else I'd been through tonight.
I fall asleep on the bathroom floor, sobbing and covered in bandages, band-aids, and sweat.
I skip school the next morning and sleep most of the day. My mom doesn't notice. At four-thirty she goes out for a walk. They usually last about an hour and a half and she knows her way around well. Around five o'clock, though, there's a knock on the door.
"Hello?" I ask, opening the door. Our landlord, Donovan "Donny" Brown, was standing there. Shit.
"Is your mother home?" He always has this fake smile and greasiness about him. Like right now. He's very underhanded and I know for a fact he's involved in drug-dealing and prostitution and probably numerous other crimes. I never thought about it much.
"N-no," I say, then curse myself for telling the truth, rather than saying she was asleep or in the shower.
"I can talk to you then, Spencer," he practically purrs, pushing our weak door in and forcing my to step back into the house. "I need the money for the bills."
"I-I'm sorry, sir. I don't have it right now," I say politely, almost submissively, hoping it will convince him that I'm being honest and to leave me alone, "but, come back later! I promise, I promise it'll be here by the end of the week!" I open my eyes real wide, the look I use on my teachers on the rare occasion that I don't have my homework, and look as innocent as possible. Big mistake. Vulnerability might work on old English teachers, but it works a whole other way on predatory criminals and pimps.
"See, kid, that doesn't exactly work. But, I'd be willing to make a trade." His greasy smile gets even bigger and sends warning bells through my head. He steps even closer to me.
"A-A trade?" I ask, clueless. "What do you want?"
"I saw you last night, running home," he says with an evil grin. I blush, bright red. "You're a very pretty boy, kid. I'm sure we can think of something..."
He pushes me harshly to my knees. I'll never forget the first time I was violated, but it certainly wasn't my last.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Alone~ Edgar Allan Poe