The Story That Didn't Want To Be Written | Spencer Reid x Reader

Suffocate

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Allusions to self harm, Mentions of institutionalization, Self hatred. 

This chapter is pretty dark, it deals with thoughts related to a depressive episode and may be very triggering, please read with caution and reach out of you need anything. 

You are all very special and deserve to be here <3

Your eyes opened slowly. Unwillingly, almost.

You were laying on your back, the covers wrapped tightly around your body, the ceiling seemingly a duller white than the reflective cloud-esque shade you'd grown to love waking up to.

You hadn't even noticed you were breathing until your lungs took charge themselves and momentarily, filled with so much air, you thought they might explode. It was selfish, taking in so much air for yourself when everyone around you needed it too.

And unlike you, they'd deserve it.

You must have stayed like that for ten minutes. Your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Your mouth shut. Your eyes locked onto the ceiling, searching for grains in the paint like if you looked hard enough, you'd find the cracks you were looking for.

They always showed up if you looked hard enough. It made you wonder whether they were always there. If you looked long enough at anything, would you find the truth that everyone seems all too content to ignore? Or was the other way around; were you simply convincing yourself something was there, when in fact, nothing was?

Metaphors. They'd be the death of you.

You weren't sure when, but eventually your head had turned to your right so you could see the windows through the parted sheer curtains.

Fallen, actually, might be a more accurate word, actually. Your head had simply willed it's way to the side, ignoring your blatant attempts to stop it.

You had still been stuck on adamantly searching for cracks in the ceiling paint.

The sunlight streaming into the curtains fell onto the hardwood floor no more than a few feet from where the bedposts met the floor. You traced the grains of the wood with your eyes a little, letting your mind wander idly within your own thoughts.

You loved Spencer, but sometimes everything was just easier when you didn't have someone looking at you all the time- someone's who had their own thoughts about you, their own expectations, their own feelings.

Sometimes it was just easier to be along with yourself.

You weren't sure when, but your eyes eventually fell closed again. You didn't much care to keep them open- you didn't have any appointments or work or cases today, and even if you had, existing seemed to be more than enough for the day.

It was hard to pinpoint this feeling.

Lack of feeling?

Something was off- literally. It felt a little like you'd been half-way switched off. You wondered if computers would be able to feel, if it would feel a little like this every time they were switched off. Completely at the mercy of another power, unsure of when- if ever- you'd be able to return.

Would it feel like that? Would it feel a little like dying?

Maybe that was worse than dying. Helplessness.

You only noticed you haven't moved for an hour after when you heard Spencer shifting in the sheets beside you. You heard him let out his normal morning groan of content, and instinctively closed your eyes. It wasn't that you were trying to hide anything from him, honestly you didn't really know why you didn't want him to know you had been awake.