This was done for Criminal Minds Weekly Prompts » OC Competition: Assignments. The point was to create a well-rounded OC with plausible flaws that they assigned to you for the character.

Reality

"Everyday each of us wakes up, reaches into drawers and closets, pulls out a costume for the day and proceeds to dress in a style that can only be called preposterous."

- Mary Schmich

Hi, my name is Samantha Forger but people call me Sam, I'm twenty-six years old and I'm here to give you a dose of reality.

I lifted the window to the room I was staying in and slipped out. Nine years of being on and off homeless had gotten me used to being sneaky. It was rather sad that my life had become this but I couldn't seem to keep an apartment. My last landlord had said I needed to work on my 'anger issues' before I came back.

But with his comment, 'All those fags should do the rest of us decent folk a favor and off themselves', he was damn lucky that I had put the hole in the wall and not his head. And I'd told him just that.

Sighing, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Lighting one up, I took a drag and checked my watch. I needed to get my butt to work.

I was walking through a back alley when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Knocking the hand away, I turned around to see a man in a nicely pressed suit. Raising an eyebrow I stepped back, placing a comfortable distance between me and the man.

I wasn't very comfortable with touch, no typical childhood trauma to contribute it to. But my parents, and step-parent, had plenty of it and seemed afraid to touch their own children…child.

He took out his wallet and smiled, "So how much do you charge for the hour?"

It took me a second to figure out what he was insinuating but when I did my face flushed. There was no warning as I placed the end of my lit cigarette on the man's hand. He screamed and jerked his hand back.

"I'm not some common whore. Now, please leave before I set you and that pretty little suit of yours a blaze."

He nodded his head and sprinted away. As I watched, I felt a sick sensation in my stomach.

I didn't think I looked like a whore…did I?

Glancing down at myself I would admit that I did show a lot of skin, though it was more because it was easier to teach dance in a sports bra and sweatpants then a button down and jeans. Still…I ran a hand uncertainly across my stomach. I decided that I'd have to wear real shirts from now on, at least until I get to the studio. I ran out of the alleyway and to work.

I'm seven and my Mommy and Gray's Daddy are yelling at each other again. Gray and I are hiding in the closet. Mommy cheated on Daddy and he's angry. I hear glass break and Gray jumps. I tighten my arm around his waist. We both know that neither Mommy nor Daddy will ever hit us but Daddy's sent Mommy to the hospital before she wasn't happy. 'If I end up here again I'm getting a divorce.' We don't want that to happen because, what will happen to us. …Mommy's getting a divorce and demanding custody of both me and Gray with no visitation rights. The judge gives it to her. …Mother has remarried, his name is Jose; I don't like him though. He tries too hard to replace Daddy. He's always telling me that Daddy isn't my father, he's Gray father and that this Tony man is my father. But I give him the same answer every time. 'Tony didn't raise me, Anton Philip Forger raised me, so Anton Philip Forger is my Daddy. Not Tony and not you.' Gray doesn't like him either but I'm not sure why. …I'm nine and Gray's six, but it doesn't matter, we are together, united against a common enemy.

I sprinted down the street cursing to myself. I had made amateur mistakes when reviewing the routine for the showcase. And now I was gonna be late to meet Michael, who I've chewed out several times before for being late himself. How disgustingly hypocritical of me.

A hand grabbed me from behind and stopped me. Unable to quell my rising frustration I spun around, fully intending to deck the creep, when I felt something smash against my head. Falling to the ground the last thing I saw before drifted to unconsciousness was a pair of; admittedly stunning, blue eyes.

I'm sixteen; it's Saturday and too early for me to be up. But something feels wrong. "Gray," I call out quietly, hoping not to wake my mother and step-father. My sweet little brother had been acting odd since he entered middle school. He hasn't been talking much; last night had been the worse though, he hadn't spoken to me till we were going to bed. 'I love you Sissy. You know that right?' 'Yeah, Gray, of course.' 'Good. Well, good night then.' 'Night.' It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it. So here I am opening his bedroom door. And I see him hanging from the ceiling, plywood creaking from the weight of his small frame. And I fall to my knees, I scream, not caring, not really thinking, just knowing that my only real family was gone. I don't really pay much attention after this. But the letter he has left me catches me by surprise. It's a list of all the people who had apparently bullied him because he was gay. "Why didn't you tell me?" …I'm expelled from school for beating the shit out of them. I don't care though, never really had, I've only gotten good grades to make my mother happy and meet her ridiculously high expectations. But I'm not really caring about that either any more. …My mother and my step-father act as though Gray never existed. So now I'm asking why. And she says "Sweetheart, Samantha, who's Gray?" It hurts, like a knife in my chest, but I say nothing about it…for the moment. …I'm seventeen and I'm leaving home. I don't plan on coming back.

I jumped awake, gasping. That dream always got to me because, as much as I wanted to deny it, it wasn't a dream it was a memory. I had a good life, true my father left my sixteen year old mother and I grew up in a black and latino ghetto. With people who didn't take too well to the white little girl or the mixed little latino-white gay boy. They didn't mess with me though and my parents, and step-father, were too afraid, of the things they could do to me and Gray, to touch us. That's what I thought, at least. In fact, my life was so boring I had taken to cutting myself for entertainment, as sick as that sounds. But that one little thing shattered my world and haunted my every waking moment since. But I needed to gather myself now; I couldn't let myself seem weak.

Glancing around I found what looked to be a warehouse, maybe a storage unit. But I had been left alone. I certainly knew I wasn't getting out of here anytime soon. So I sat up, crisscross apple sauce style. And I waited for the man; no woman would have the strength to stop me while I ran, with the blue eyes.

I'm twenty, and I've been gone from home…my parent's home…for three years. I haven't been able to stay at an apartment for more than a few months but I don't care. It's nice…being a gypsy that is. …I'm at a dance studio slash martial arts school. I show them what I've got. I've always loved dancing and being good at it got me a lot of respect in my neighborhood. …They love me and want me to teach hip-hop to the students. One person isn't happy though, Chris, he's older than me and not ok with me teaching dance to him. 'You're a child, if anyone should be teaching the class it's me, not you.' It doesn't bother me; I have better things to worry about. Like getting better at dancing so I don't make a fool of myself. …There's a kid, Dax, he's so sweet, he calls me Mrs. Sissy, and I adore him. He's my protégé; definitely has the most natural talent out of all my students. …Dax is in a car accident with his parents. He dies at the scene. …I'm twenty-two and this is the first time I've cried in six years. I can't stop my grief.

An hour, maybe three, passed. I'd gotten stiff all over but the man had finally come to pay me a visit. I hadn't seen, or heard him, when he came in. But he touched me and I jumped. He looked about what I expected. Tall, blond, pale and those baby blue eyes of his. He was muscular too, but not really a passable football player and too stocky for a swimmer, maybe a basketball player.

I felt the hand run against my short hair and I jerked back. "What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"Did you know you're perfect for the part?" He asked, rhetorically.

My skin crawled at the sound of his voice; it was dreamy and far off, as though imaging a fantasy. Like I'm some sort of prop or object meant to be used. And my pride wouldn't allow that, so I reached to take a swipe at his face but he pulled out a gun and I had to jerk back.

"You really thing that's gonna stop me?" I moved forward now, over my initial shock, but he stepped back and answered.

"Maybe not for yourself…but what about him?"

He waved the gun behind him and I saw a man my age, or a little older, tried up. He struggled against the ropes and stared at me. His wide hazel eyes held recognition along with his fear. And I knew I did a lot of stupid thing when it only involved me but I disliked the idea of having another person's blood on my hands just because I couldn't keep myself in check. So I backed down, glaring at the man.

He laughed, "I thought not. I'll be going now so that you two can get to know each other before you play your parts."

It was so condescending, I wanted to jump him, but the moment he had left the warehouse I moved to the man and began untying him.

It was annoying because of how long it took me to get him free, I should've been able to do it quicker.

When he was free I held out my hand and said, "Hello, I'm Samantha Forger, but you can call me Sam. What's your name?"

The man seemed surprised at my introduction and I felt a little insulted, I mean I know I'm rude and bossy and a little bit bitchy but I knew how to use my manners…most of the time, anyways.

After a moment he seemed to master his shock and smiled a little tenderly as he took my hand. "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, though I suppose you could call me Spencer if you want."

"Doctor? Aren't you kinda young for medical school?" I knew I was more surprised than I should have been but I had just guessed that he was my age.

"Oh no, I'm actually thirty years old, I just happen to look younger and it's not that type of doctor anyways. I have three PHDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, as well as two Bachelor's degrees in Psychology and Sociology. I'm actually with the FBI in the BAU to help catch the murderer–"

"Who just caught you?"

"Well, yes, but my team is the best and they are sure to find us in no time."

I didn't pay too much attention to the news but I had heard of the murder, Devil's Dog, he reportedly skinned his victims after he killed them the way a dog would claw at his. And he said we would be saved?

"We're gonna die."

Spencer looked shocked, probably over the bland voice I used when I said it.

"My team will save use, they are the best. And that pessimistic attitu–"

I let out a bark of laughter. This was just so rich. "This isn't pessimistic it's realistic. Your team is the best, so you are one of the best. And yet you're sitting here, with me, locked in a warehouse? We will die."

Spencer's face set into determine lines, as though ready to defend his co-workers.

"Look, Spencer, I'm not insulting your team…I…I'm just being critical about this."

He looked uncomfortable at this omission on my part but I shrugged it off and went to get my smokes. When I opened them I saw my lighter was gone.

"That slimy sonovabitch. He stole my lighter."

I tossed my cigarettes across the warehouse and yelled.

"Hey, jackass, get your ass in here and give me back my lighter."

I couldn't believe that he jacked my lighter. I was livid! I plopped down next to Spencer and pouted.

"You know that every time you smoke a cigarette you effectively cut off six minutes off your life."

If looks could kill Spencer would've dropped dead in that moment.

"I don't give two shits about cutting off six minutes of my life. I. Want. My. Nicotine. Now!"

He looked hurt and I felt bad.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get snappy. I'm just stressed."

"That's understandable. This is a high stress situation and adrenalin tends to cause emotions to run high and get the best of you. In fact, did you kno–"

"No! Please, whatever it is, I am not in the mood."

"Ok."

He sounded so dejected.

I leaned back on to the floor.

"So what does this guy do to his victims, anyways?"

"Um, he makes them preform sexual acts, which vary, for him to watch. He also claws off their skin, much like a dog would."

I looked Spencer up and down.

"Well, at least you're hot enough for me to want to have sex with before I get my skin clawed off."

Spencer turned the color of a tomato. I felt proud of that.

"How 'bout we tell things about ourselves to pass the time."

"Well – uh…I don't…"

I sighed.

"I'll start then."

I'm twenty-four now; I've picked up the pieces from the Dax incident but I haven't taken another student under my wing since. Michael's nice though. He's helping one of the martial art teachers, like a teacher's aide. He's always messing with me, telling me I need to get out more often. I always turn him down. 'I don't need to get out, I need to survive.' …He hasn't given up. He forces me to hang out with him and kisses my cheek. It's nice…not that I'll ever tell him. …I like him, not love, but maybe someday. …He tells me he's getting married and asks me to help plan the wedding. I smile and say yes. …I'm twenty-six years old and I'm helping plan the marriage of the man I love, to another woman. I must be a masochist.

I laughed as Spencer talked about his co-worker and friend, Derek. I've had a good time and I told Spencer more about myself than I had to anyone in years. He'd even told me that he recognized me because Michael had gone down to the police department and reported me missing, saying I was too OCD to ever be late. (If, by some miracle, I made it out of this alive I'd have had a talk with him). But I realized, from our conversations, that Spencer wouldn't be able to have sex with me, even if it prolonged our life. It would be more like rape to him and I had seen how the kid's in my old neighborhood had dealt with it. I didn't think I'd be able to do that to him.

So I was going to do something stupid.

As I sat there watching him, I knew it was the right thing to do. The moment 'baby blue' came in I was ready. I charged forward and knocked him to the ground. I tried to get the gun out of his hand but the trigger was pulled and a bullet went through my shoulder. But I didn't stop. I got the gun from him and shot him in the head. He didn't move.

I fell back.

"Check…ugh…his…ug…pocket…ah…for…hu…a…uh…phone."

My voice sounded weak and frail, even to me and normally I'd be mad at myself for letting such weakness show but I was suddenly too tired to care. Spencer did what I asked and he called his boss, told him to track the phone and send an ambulance. When he finished he moved over to me putting pressure on my wound and telling me I was going to be ok.

Such the optimist.

But he was crying. And even as I closed my eyes, because I couldn't stand to see him in such pain, I smiled.

Someone was grieving for me.

Maybe dying isn't so bad.

I'm right, dying isn't that bad. I have my brother Gray and Dax, my baby boy, and I can watch Michael and Spencer, I'm happy.

"Come on Sissy! What's taking so long?"

"Yeah Mrs. Sissy, let's go so we can dance."

I guess it time to go. I hope you enjoyed my reality.

"Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be."

- Orson Scott Card

It's finished! Ok, let's see, Sam's already dead. It's like she's telling some of the most important parts of her life mixed in with the story. I hope you all get that.

My flaws were short-temper, self-critical, and cynical.

My beta is teal-slippers1990.