persephone de luca joins the bau,
solving cases by understanding
the unsubs, struggling with her
past and her future in the process.
━━━━ a criminal minds anthology ft. persephone de luca.
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HELLRAISER. && part one. the case of the starman, waiting in the sky,
I CROUCHED AT THE bottom of the shower. My back was pressed up against the tiled wall, my knees hugging my bare chest. The water that fell upon me was hot, scalding my flesh, turning it red and raw. My hair was plastered across my shoulders, and down my back, sticky like seaweed. The shower curtain was pulled back and the water was spraying onto the dark blue tiles. My eyes darted from the tiled floor to the cabinet, taking in the details of the room as swiftly as possible before closing my eyes.
The bathroom was small and neatly organized. The floor tiles were dark blue, there were six tiles across, and the grout was a dark grey────dirty, unwashed. The sink was pearl-coloured, there was a crack on the left side, about the length of my forefinger. There was a bar of soap, it had four fingerprints pressed into the side like someone had tried to rip into it. Hand soap dispenser. It was a light purple. Lavender. . . ? Lavender and what, though? I scrunched my eyes, eyebrows furrowed. I could feel my teeth dig into the edge of my lip, the pain was hot and sweet. Lavender and mint. The mirror was clean, well-wiped. Most of the bathroom was clean, but the corners of the edges of the room were dirt. . . like a shadow in the periphery────a smudge of the corner of a laptop screen. When the vanity opened the hinge squeaked.
I took a breath in, as deeply as possible. I tried my best to make my breaths slow, but I could practically feel my heart hammer against my ribcage, ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Focus. Focus. Focus. I could feel my hands shake, my fingers tapping against the flat top of my knee. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. The jingle was a song, a melody that my mother used to sing to me. . . one that I couldn't remember. The pads of my fingers pressed into my skin, I could feel the tightness of my flesh under my nails. I never forget a sound. A spoken word. A song. It was helpful in interrogations, in conversations, on cases, but sometimes. . . sometimes I lose mind. Sometimes I no longer hear the sound, it just reverberates in my brain.
I opened my eyes, stood and turned off the shower.
When I got dressed, I stared into my mirror. My hands reached to my collar and adjusted its crumpled edge, but it just bounced back to its original state. I was dressed well, or as well as I could be. Black pinstripe pansuits, an (unfortunately) crumbled white shirt. When I was finished I looked around the bathroom, tapping my fingers against the pearl sink. I had gotten most things right────the soap was lavender and chamomile. I bit the inside of my cheek, taking in my features carefully. How would I be perceived when I entered the building? I lifted my chin slightly, turning it to the left, staring down at her reflection. Limited makeup suggested a lack of care about appearances. My eyebrows were unplucked and messy────I most likely didn't have time to take care of myself, dress up, or put on a face. They would assume I'm busy, maybe had a stressful job or a chaotic home life. Maybe kids? I bit the inside of my cheek, I was young, but I did not look like the child-rearing type. There were bags under my eyes, a purple colour that resembled bruises────a lack of sleep. Something had been keeping her awake. Nightmares, probably. Hair combed, it wasn't pulled back, and my bangs were cut badly, they would say it was done at home (they would be right) and be cut by a friend or myself. Probably say that I desperately needed a change, one that I couldn't wait for an appointment for. There was a scar at the edge of my mouth. It was old, you could tell from how it was faded. It was caused by a knife, but it wasn't deep. The fact that it remained for so long indicates that I picked at it without even realizing it. I smiled, and my teeth were unbrushed. I looked messy. I blinked, and my reflection blinked back.
Carefully, I began fixing everything that I had pointed out. Combing back my hair, putting concealer under my eyes. There couldn't be any mistakes on the first day.
When I was done, I smiled at the mirror, my canines reminded me of a dog's. I had applied eyeliner, it was messy, the best I could do but it made my pale blue eyes gleam. Uncut sapphires, sea glass made raw by the ocean. My wavy blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, now combed, and my bangs were adjusted so they appeared less choppy and 'just-geting-over-being-shot-like.'
"Perfect," I said to myself and hoped that soon I would believe it.
