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Your rhinestone eyes are like factories far away - rhinestone eyes, Gorillaz
The room smells of cigarettes. It's one of the first things I notice. It remind me of Morgan, and all the times I tried to get him to quit. He only ever stopped when he met Savannah, the same woman who let me sleep in their spare room after Maeve died.
It was because of the fear of returning home, and having to look at every place in the house she has been. I could not look at anything in the house without breaking down, and needed new scenery.
I can hear 90's rock playing silently through what I believe is a radio, but I'm unable to look behind me so I must guess.
"You're up." A male voice says, barely more than a grunt. Footsteps grow louder as they approach me, the man now in front of me. I cannot crane my head up to look at his face, and that's when I realise I can not move my body at all. I attempt to raise my finger, but I can't feel it there at all. Panic spikes up throughout my body, yet I try my best to stay calm and not show fear. "The feeling goes away after a little bit, you'll be able to move again." He tells me. I was drugged.
"Your team has exactly 12 hours to find you, or else I'm sure you can guess what will happen. Pray somebody has already realised you're missing. I'll turn on the cameras and broadcast as soon as you're able to speak again, give them a show?" The man speaks, his voice low and serious.
The next few minutes pass by painfully slow. I regain some sense of feel in my body, but not enough to be fully energised. I can raise my fingertips, but cannot open my mouth to talk. So I sit in silence, hoping this is just some sick nightmare. But it feels all too real, and I know my hopes are not true. Atleast the chair is comfortable, although I do have an intense pain in my legs from sitting for so long. I can't move my legs, but I can feel them there.
I try to think back to last night, when he broke in. He definitely knew I was in there, what are the chances you break into a random hotel room to find an FBI agent on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I vividly remember being dragged, and the feel of my fingernails grasping onto the carpet. I broke about three fingernails in the process, but atleast I tried.
Too many images fill my head at once, and I can't pinpoint a certain one. I attempt to focus on the conversation I had with Spencer last night. It was rough, but it is giving me some sort of comfort right now. Or perhaps my movie night with Garcia, when we watched a children's movie and cried over it because our joint favourite character was killed off. When I met Emily Prentiss for the first time at the BAU. She carried a box of donuts, and she specifically bought chocolate with sprinkles for Reid, as it's his favourite. But none of these memories help me in any way, and all I need to be doing is moving.
