Author's note: Poor Reid. I think he still has problems from being kidnapped and tortured. As usual, I don't own Criminal Minds, but I like to take liberties with the characters.
Reid's Nightmare
Spencer Reid woke up suddenly, with one hand tangled in his blankets, and the other one splayed, palm out, on top of his forehead. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, remnants of his nightmare lingering in his mind, making the shadows in his bedroom seem dark and sinister. He sat up slowly, fumbling for the light on the small nightstand next to his bed. He turned it on, and then pushed the top of the lamp so it faced away from him, closing his eyes against the brightness of the light. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, knowing what would follow the nightmare. A feeling of wanting to escape, to be oblivious to the horror he relived whenever he had this nightmare. He got out of bed, knowing the best thing he could do would be to occupy himself with some activity. His white t-shirt was wet with sweat. He walked to his dresser and pulled out a new one. Reid took off his shirt and wiped his face with it, dropped it on the floor, and put on the new one. He rubbed a hand through his hair, and left his bedroom. He walked down the short hall to his kitchen. He went to his fridge and opened it. He looked over the contents, which were sparse. A gallon of milk, half gone, a couple of Styrofoam containers of leftovers from eating out, and some cheese and lunchmeat. He wasn't very good at cooking even though he could read and remember a cookbook from cover to cover. Sometimes his mom teased him that he was so thin because he was incapable of cooking anything more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich. The light from his fridge cast shadows in his kitchen, shadows that brought back memories. He glanced at his arm as he reached for the cheese slices, and thought he could still see needle marks on his arm. Needle marks that had happened when he'd been taken by an unsub and the true personality of Tobias had given him Dilaudid to make his ordeal easier. It had made the torture easier to deal with, but it had continued to haunt him afterward. He let go of the refrigerator door and sat down on the floor, covering his face with his hands, and started saying, "No, I won't give in. No, I won't give in. I am stronger than that. I won't go back."
He breathed deeply, thinking of nothing else. When the shaking had subsided, he grabbed the handle of his fridge and stood up. He left his kitchen, walking to the living room. Variously shaped bookshelves surrounded the room, with a modestly sized television sitting in between two filled bookshelves. He walked over to the window that faced the street. He watched a car drive past, and a cat walking across the lawn in front of his apartment building. He leaned his forehead against the glass, enjoying the cool feel of it against his skin. Turning around, he walked to a bookshelf and picked up a book. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it kept his mind occupied for a while, until he was able to go back to sleep. He sat down on the couch, stretching his long legs out on the cushions. He opened the cover of the book, and started reading. If it was a good night, he would be able to go back to sleep in an hour or two. On a bad night, he would go to work with the circles under his eyes dark enough to match his coffee. Although he had never been a religious person, he prayed for a good night as he began to read.
