Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Criminal Minds or anything to do with it. I do, however, own the story idea and characters not found in the series.
Warnings: This fanfiction is not for those of you who are against insanity. I will not be hesitating to add in a much detail as possible.
Prologue
I couldnt tell you why I did it, not if you gave me the world on a string. I couldnt tell you why I wanted to see the light go out in the eyes. I couldnt tell you, I just couldnt put into words why I wanted to be found. I couldnt even tell you why they hadnt found me, why they hadnt locked me away forever. Ive been longing for someone to find me out; I want them to see how sick and twisted I am. They wont though; they never suspect that the beautiful, 16 year old, red headed genius could ever harm anyone.
Oh how wrong they are. I cant stand the fact that they all look like him. Everywhere I turn I see his face, those incredibly light gray eyes, so light they seemed white sometimes, that dark, dark hair to contrast them. I cant stand to feel my skin crawl with his touch. The touch that burned my skin, stole my innocent way, and killed what little chance of sanity I had left. Its bad enough when they torment me, with the names, the pain, and the torture Cant they just let me fade away into the shadows? Dont they see that I want to disappear? I think that hes the only one who could see, not the one with the impossible eyes, the one who watches.
The first thing I thought when I saw the watcher was that they had placed a funhouse mirror in my room, they know Im scared of thosethose contraptions. He looks just like I do, only taller, and he isnt afraid of everything, not that I could tell. His eyes, his were warmer. They didnt chill me to the bone; they didnt burn, not like his eyes do. How can something so cold, so gray, so light, burn so much that I scream? This new one, this watcher, he was warm, but he didnt burn, he didnt hurt when I met his eyes. He didnt hurt me with his hands; he didnt try to-try to touch me, he just watches. I dont think he is scared of me, of my mind, not like the others. Hes not like the others, he understands, he can see my fear, he told me about myself. He didnt have to ask, he just knew.
Why did he know, though? Maybe he is one of those people. One of those people who can tell your thoughts just by how you act. Profiler. Thats the word for it. He must be, how else would he know? He couldnt know. Not with me, not ever. No one knows with me, not ever. He does though he seems to know everything. I think he can tell that I want to see the lights go out in their eyes, the eyes of the ones who burn me, they burn me with those eyes, those horrible, empty eyes. He didnt say it though, he didnt call me guilty, and he didnt call me a freak. He didnt stab me with words that he doesnt fully understand. I think its because he does understand, not just me, but my mind. His mind is like mine. He can tell, I can tell.