I don't own Criminal Minds! but I love it! I wrote this about a week and half ago, but I'm only getting the chance to upload it now.
Summary: He snapped. He was going insane. There was nothing else to it. Nothing more, and nothing less. Spencer Reid has finally lost it.
He couldn't deal with this. It wasn't right. He was going insane. That's all that there was too it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
As Doctor Spencer Reid of the Behavoral Analysis Unit at Quantico paced around his apartment anxiously, he could feel something growing inside him. He didn't know what it was or where it came from. A heaviness in his chest, but lightness in his red converse hi-tops. He was flying. He was dying. He was floating. He was falling. He was somewhere in between. He was in the middle. Always in the middle. Never up. Never down. Never left. Never right.
The midde.
"The middle..." he mumbled outloud, clenching his short, brown hair in his fists. His heart was starting to race. What was happening? What was going on? He didn't know what he was doing as he tore through the living room to his bedroom, desperatly trying to figure out what was taking place. As he opened all his desk drawers, he searched. He looked behind books, in books, under books, under papers, in files, everywhere. Everywhere where any thing could be. But he couldn't find it. What was it? What was he looking for? This wasn't good- not good at all.
As he was searching, he felt his dress shirt restrain his movement, so he quickly unbuttoned the green long sleeve shirt, and threw it to the ground. In his white tee-shirt, he continued the investigation. Finally remembering, he picked up his tan shoulder bag, and dumped it onto his bed. He'd regret it later, but he didn't care. He found it. What was it?
It was the needle. It was the small bottle of fluid in his shaking hands. He felt himself start to grin as he put the needle in the bottle. He sucked it into the needle, and began to feel giddy. Calming down slightly, he set the small bottle on his nightstand, and sat down on his bed. He held out his left arm, eyeing the vein on the inside of his elbow.
He had to go to work. By now, he was supposed to be in the car, driving to Quantico. Instead, he was injecting his arm with a needle. What would Moragn say? Garcia? ...Emily? The prospect scared him, but he didn't care as he felt the Dillaudid quickly start to affect him, as usual. Feeling tired, once the needle was squeezed empty, he pulled it out. He laid back on his bed on the papers, not caring. He didn't care anymore. He had his Dillaudid, and that was all that mattered.
He was addicted again. It'd been three years. He fell. He broke. He snapped.
He was going insane. There was nothing else to it. Nothing more, and nothing less.
review, feedback, anything. Do it for Spencer T.T