This is my first attempt at writing anything like this, please feel free to put forward any comments. I wrote this because its, in some way its very close to home. I'd love to hear any thoughts. Some of this may be triggering, mentions Self Harm, Suicide, Drug use. Disclaimer- I do not own criminal minds
Reid sat on the edge of the bath, he had hoped that they would have noticed by now. He knew that he had been secretive but surly they had. I mean he never meant to hurt them but he knew he couldn't hold on for much took one last look at his cell to see if there were any missed calls or messages, perhaps he thought they could get him through the night. But nothing, the blood ringing in his ear, it had never been this bad. Up until now he was always able to control the pain, to fight the urge. He knew the signs, he knew all of it but refused to display them to the rest of the team. Figuring that they would see him again as the baby, the one that could never take care of himself the weak one. Although they could help he already felt like a burden. A weight which non of them deserved to carry. After Henkel nothing had been the same, sometimes he still craved that feeling of weightlessness although after Gideon he had promised to the father like figure, he would never touch the drug again. But that wasn't what was itching at him now.
He slid down onto the cold tiled floor with his back upright against the bathtub. The cold shot through his small frame, sitting in just a small pair of briefs he wondered for that moment what he was really fighting for. Was it his team the 'family' that had allowed him to feel like he belonged. But he knew deep down that he never really belonged anywhere, his whole life he spent trying to figure out why he was so different. Looking at his pale white skin Reid slid his fingers gently along the ridges cut into his body. They had taken over him, dancing across his thighs, arms and body. Each one had its own tale of woe, each their own pain and none of them the same. They were the dark pink blemishes he had become to rely on so much. But this wasn't a fantasy tale where it was all okay in the end, he knew in his head with each one had become a building block one that had allowed him to be strong enough to cut deeper and deeper.
He took the razor that had become his life from within the first aid box that lay next to the sink. He wasn't stupid, he knew they would find out and part of him prayed it would be soon, that they would come to his rescue. But the other told him that they never loved him, that they wanted him to be gone that he wasn't worth there time. He held the blade on his left hand, watching the shine as he twisted it slowly in the light. His reflection barely visible in the steel mirror. The tension in his chest grew, the anticipation for that moment when he had control over his life, the blood could prove he was real, that he did exists. Taking the blade and placed it on the inside of his right arm, pressing slowly as he felt the razor pierce his skin, and the rise of the small droplet of blood trickle down his arm, the sight alone made him feel alive but he knew he wanted more. Slowly he drew the blade across the pale parchment of his skin. Without written words but held the meaning all the same.
Reid bit his lip and twisted his head back onto the side of the bath as the cold sting rang through his body like ecstasy. The red of his blood dripping slowly to the white forgiving floor. The razor still in his hand, gazing down at the new addition to his painful story. The cuts ranged in age, some still fresh others scabs and some fading memories. The veins in his thin arm prominent, he was smart enough to avoid them, he knew he didn't want die but in part he wanted the pain to end and more recently he had though about it. It wasn't healthy but then neither was sitting on the bathroom floor bleeding yourself until you felt okay again. He had given up the notion that it would be his last time because he knew that was a childish lie and this was the only thing keeping him together. He could do his job, and he knew that the team valued him because he was great at what he did, but in his mind he honestly felt like he let them down a lot.
He took it once again but this time to his other arm, the same tight feeling in his chest as he drew it across his broken body. Carved with pain he dropped the razor to the ground and lay there his arms outwards as he relaxed for that moment of freedom. He knew they were flesh wounds, they weren't serious enough to require medical attention so he sat with his back against the bath until the endorphins wore off and he became sleepy.