Stop me if you've heard this one before: A rockstar and an FBI agent walk into a Narcotics Anonymous meeting...
Spencer Reid is trying to get his life back on track after being kidnapped and tortured by Tobias Hankel. Desperate to get clean and keep...
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CW: threats, stalking, discussions of heroin use.
Ethan doesn't have a last name in the show, so I made one up. For those who don't know, Ethan appears in a single episode called "Jones" - it's probably the best episode in the entire series. He and Reid have insane chemistry and Reid was supposed to be bisexual but the network bitched out. In this fic, Reid is bisexual. This will be discussed later in his POV chapters.
And before you get mad at me for the end of this chapter and the Ethan stuff, I'M SETTING SOMETHING UP, OKAY? IT'S NOT A LOVE TRIANGLE. THERE WILL BE SHARING INVOLVED. PLEASE DO NOT YELL AT ME I AM JUST A (HORNY) GIRL. Thank you.
LARK
TWO DAYS LATER
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
There are five things to stay alive for: Great sex, great food, randomly finding a ten dollar bill in your jacket, cinnamon buns, and the sound of thirty thousand people screaming your name as the stage lights go down for the final time.
I had to keep those five things in mind when Spencer and Penelope didn't show up at the secret show in D.C. It was a great show, I never fail to entertain, but I felt sort of hollow when Blythe told me they couldn't make it. Apparently, they were still working that case.
I still haven't been able to shake his kiss, his quiet intensity, or his desire to please. I think I've fingered myself every fucking night since I dropped him off at that crime scene. All to visions of him.
The applause is so loud I have to cover my ears with both hands as a massive smile eclipses my face. My heart hasn't stopped racing the entire show. The second I put on the glitter and the rhinestone costumes, Lark Monroe comes out.
My real name is Jennifer Hawthorne.
Lark Monroe is just a persona.
David Bowie had Ziggy, Jim Morrison had the Lizard King, Marshall Mathers has Slim Shady and... well, it seemed like a good idea. Lark became the mask. She was confident where Jennifer was demure and shy. Lark was brash and brazen, saying whatever the fuck she wanted whenever the fuck she wanted to say it. Jennifer didn't have a voice; wasn't allowed to. So, I built Lark from the pieces of performers I admire. After all, we're just puzzle pieces of the things and people we love. I took Bowie's 70s brashness and combined it with Morrison's intense and poetic nature, and Mathers' outspoken nature and created Lark Monroe.
She got things done.
She knows what she wants.
Unfortunately, letting an egocentric alter ego run your shit isn't really good for you. I felt fractured, and eventually Jennifer Hawthorne slipped away.
I don't know what exactly led me to heroin, but I know that shit didn't help.
I stand there and soak in the applause as the rest of the band moves backstage. I can still see some of them in the crowd, their phones lifted as I keep my arms held out. This is where I feel loved. I'm not the girl who gets left out. Instead, I'm the girl everyone wants to be, wants to hate, or wants to fuck.
