A/N: This chapter is short, ever so short. It's OK though, because good news! We hear from Reid next chapter.

WARNING: This chapter contains a semi-graphic depiction of rape. I will avoid this in the future but for this reason, the first part of this chapter may be considered rated "M". If you wish to skip this, then go down to the next horizontal line after this one.

One week after being fostered.

When my foster dad came into my room, I knew something bad was going to happen. It wasn't necessarily because of him but, because of the shudders I got. The first night, it was just a good night from the door. The next time it was a hug, then a kiss, then he started getting touchy-feelly. I didn't even notice until after the fact. I almost had expected it. Something was different now though.

I started to panic when things started coming off. My knees shook so hard it showed through the blanket. You can get use to the flirting and wrongness of a sexual predator. You can't get used to rape.

I hadn't been forced into intercourse for three weeks. It felt like a millennium ago. Like I had been pooped out the good side of a rainbow. That feeling ended a little too quickly.

I felt the explosion of pain and pressure. The bruising pain on my thighs and chest didn't even register. There was a horrible shuddering against me and I felt sick.

I washed once all other in every nook and cranny. Then I washed again for good measure. The third time was just to make sure. By the fourth time, it was a game that worked surprisingly well at keeping my mind busy. How many times in a row had a person ever washed? 4 times had probably been done before. 5? Less likely. But 6, that would be crazy. 7 would be even crazier. By 8, I was done with the game. It wasn't working anymore and it was starting to hurt in and of itself. I got out of the shower.

Once in my room, I locked the door. I balled up my sheets and blankets and threw them in the corner. Something caught my attention. A small white card had fluttered to the floor and I remembered. I picked it up and flicked it over. Dr. Spencer Reid. I had kept his card under my pillow mostly to make sure my foster parents didn't throw it away. God knows neither of them would be making my bed anytime soon.

I stared at the number. Should I call it? Why bother though. It's not like I could tell him what had just happened. All it takes is for my foster dad to convince social services that I had come onto him and I would never be fostered again. Not to mention what he could do to Angie if he felt like getting back at me over a failed investigation.

Angie was at a friends house. Unlike me, she made friends easily. I took a deep breath and made a decision. Where's the phone book?

I was shivering in the drafty hallway but was still too afraid to knock on the door. In leaned in close to the peep hole but could see nothing but distorted light. He was either awake, or unable to sleep in the dark. I couldn't decide which I preferred.

I fiddled wildly with the hem of my shirt with my right hand and held my left up to the door, poised to knock.

Downstairs I heard a door swing open and then shut hard and the dancing in my hands spread to my feet. I anxiously fiddled for a moment longer before making my decision.

I brought fist lightly against the door and stepped back.

I grew more anxious by the second. There was no sign of movement from inside. I knocked harder this time.

A muffled shuffling sound came from behind the door. I shoved my hands in my sweater pockets in anticipation. The door swung open. In the door stood a tall but slight man, his hair tucked behind his ears.

"Alex?"