What Happens Behind Closed Doors || Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Chapter Twenty-Two

You had been on this case for almost a week by now. The bodies had been doubling in numbers on the daily. It was always the same thing. The girls were in abusive homes calling for help on 9-1-1 from small towns in Louisiana and would turn up on highways in Mississippi across state lines.

You all knew who the unsub was but it was like every time you got close to catching him, he would disappear and more bodies would show. You were ready to be done with this case. It brought a lot up from your past, and you were certain that the team was catching on.

You stood outside the police station trying to present the media with an idea of what we are looking at for the unsub. You could barely wrap your head around the fact that he was so close yet so far away from your grasp.

"His name is Alex Jones," you began to explain to the media on a news broadcast, "He is a tech junkie who hacks into 9-1-1 help hotlines to answer calls from wherever he is." you paused for a second trying to decide where to go with your next words.

"He goes undercover as a social worker to the houses of young girls that are being abused, and picks up the children." you tightened your lips as you tried to keep the nausea down. Your brain was replaying your head times when your father would hit you and it was hard for you to disassociate your past issues from the case.

That sting of a slap you had been feeling all week hung on your face as you could feel the hand that hit you grab your arm and pull you. The grip your father held on your arm increasingly tightened as you felt yourself being pulled into another room for him to yell at you.

Screams of a deep angered voice echoed through your head. You pictured his face up inches against yours practically spitting on you as his harsh words flooded out of him in an irate tempo.

His screams contained obscenities that belittled you to nothing but a piece of shit child that was worth nothing to him, nothing that his money paid for. Nothing his bank account could fix like it did to fix your sister into the perfect child.

You shook the thoughts that angered your head as you had to finish talking to the media "From there he rapes, beats, and murders the already abused, bruised, and broken girls that he has taken." your eyes began to water as you forced yourself to continue your words

"He dumps the bodies across state lines each time he dumps them, but each dumping ground is in a different part of Mississippi making it harder for us to track him." you finished finally stating, "If you see a man like this please call this number on the screen." As his picture flashed up next to you with a number at the bottom of it.

The worst part was that he was taunting you. He knew that we knew it was him, and each time he would dump a body after he knew we were watching him, he would carve a new number into the stomach of the girls.

It was talking every bone in your body to not break down in the middle of the broadcast, but as soon as it was over you practically sprinted away from the media. All in an attempt to find an empty room you could cry in. 

You practically punched through the front door of the police station before brushing past the rest of the team that was staring blankly at a wall of dead ends. They all watched you as you flew past them, you made no acknowledgment of them as you stepped into the empty conference room.

You sat in a chair that was set at the table as your body practically caved into itself. Your elbows rested on your knees and your hands covered your face as tears streamed down your face.

Breathe in fours y/n, breathe in fours,

it'll make it stop, it'll make it stop.