No Plan ━━ Spencer Reid

[ 002 ] One Place Like Home

[ September 11, 2007 ]

The moment Daisy arrived home from work, she dropped all her belongings on the floor by the entrance to her apartment and made a beeline for the shower, slipping off her clothes as she crossed the bathroom.

Rubbing her arms, which were now covered in goosebumps, Daisy shivered and reached out to turn on the shower. She stepped under the stream of hot water and turned her face skywards, closing her eyes with a soft sigh. The steam coupled with the cascade of warm water down her back made Daisy feel suddenly heavy and tired as though she'd spent all day in the hot sun.

Glancing down, Daisy glared stonily at her bare stomach, which was still very much normal-looking. Running an absent palm over the dip in her hips, Daisy used her other finger to poke her abdomen lightly. Still flat—but not for long.

Running a hand through her dripping wet hair—still soapy from the shampoo she'd applied lazily just minutes earlier—Daisy shook her head and washed out the rest of the soap. Her mouth tasted sour, and there was a lump in her throat like she'd swallowed a lemon whole.

She didn't want to think about today.

Today, which should have just been a regular Tuesday. Today, the day that Sean moved to New York six years ago, almost a victim of the deadliest terrorist attack America had ever seen. Today, the day that Sean got on the wrong flight—thank God he got on the wrong flight, Daisy thought as she stepped out of the shower, shivering.

And today—a day where Miss Daisy Hotchner, first grade teacher at Potomac Elementary school, had to lead a program teaching six year olds about what had happened the year most of them were born. She swallowed, wrapping herself in a towel.

Today was one of her least favorite days.

Daisy turned around to look in the mirror. Pruned fingers, shadows underneath her eyes, a long, jagged scar on her shoulder. Her stitches (seventeen of them, to be exact) still hadn't healed. Her shoulder still stung when she moved her arm too fast or carried something too heavy. Like the glass shards of a beer bottle were piercing her skin all over again.

Droplets of water ran down her back as Daisy tracked wet footprints down the little hallway to her bedroom. Sometimes she still expected to see him, sitting on the bed or pacing around the small kitchen—but the house was always empty, no matter how hard Daisy looked.

She hated that she missed him. Hated that she missed the rare but passionate points of love, hated that she missed the way he would touch her, hated that she missed his smile. When Daisy remembered the good in Josh, it was like everything bad he'd ever done was gone.

But there were still traces of him. Whenever Daisy tried to fall asleep, whenever she tried to forget, she could feel his hands on her, forcing her to keep quiet as he did whatever he pleased to her body. She could hear his voice, telling her to be quiet and take it, to stay the sweet, well-mannered girlfriend that was just there to please him.