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A small groan escaped Reid's slightly parted lips as he started to regain consciousness again, and he slowly opened his eyes. He was still lying on his side in the exact same position he had passed out in. He stayed that way, not wanting to endure the pain that would be sent through his body if he tried to move.
He felt only a dull pain in his shoulder, while the pain from the wound in his leg was more prominent. He saw that the knife was still sticking into his thigh, but that was probably a good thing, he realized. If it was taken out, it would only bleed a lot more.
He lay there breathing slowly for a few minutes, listening to the silence that filled his apartment. Silence. Did he leave?
His question was soon answered as he heard a noise coming from his bedroom. He knew that would have been too good to be true. His father wanted to watch him suffer, and he probably wasn't going leave until he was dead. His only hope seemed to be for his father to drag this out long enough for his team to come and check on him, but he had no idea how long that would be. He didn't have any clue how much time had passed while he was unconscious.
His father came back into the room holding a picture. Is he going through my stuff? Reid immediately recognized the frame. It was a picture of him and his mother from when he was a little boy.
"You know, I believe I was the one who took this picture," his father told him.
For some reason, this caused Reid to suddenly hate the picture. He had always loved it, but now it just didn't seem the same. Maybe that's what his father had wanted. This was torturing Reid psychologically, not just physically. And his father knew that.
His father tossed the picture over his shoulder like it was nothing, like it meant absolutely nothing. Reid heard the glass frame cracking as it hit the floor.
His father left the room again, and Reid suddenly realized how tired he was. His eyelids were starting to fall close, and he made no effort to stop them.
When he opened his eyes again, his father was back in the room with him, watching him again. He saw a look in his father's eyes that meant nothing good was about to happen. He came closer to Reid and used his foot to push him forcefully onto his back. Reid winced as the movement caused jolts of pain in his shoulder and leg.
His father began to bend down towards him, and Reid tried to brace himself for what was about to happen.
He tried not to yelp in pain as the knife was ripped from his thigh, and the blood began to flow freely from his leg. A wave of dizziness swept through him, and he closed his eyes to try to stop the room from spinning above him.
As he began to drift into unconsciousness, he realized he didn't know how much his leg was bleeding. This could be the end. He suddenly realized how much he wanted to live. He wanted to see his team members again, his family. They would take his death hard, and each of them would deal with it in a different way.
He vaguely wondered how his mother would react to his death. She probably wouldn't be lucid enough to comprehend it. Maybe that was a good thing...