Vero Amore (a Spencer Reid love story)

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A/N: This chapter might be a little gruesome! I tried not to incorporate much visuals, but just a warning that there is mention of cutting and drugs! 

Natalia's POV

I don't know how long it's been.

I tried keeping the time in my head, but it's already felt like a lifetime.

They've drugged me, the vein on my arm has a large blue and purple bruise from all the times they missed trying to inject the needle.

They already began cutting me.

My arms, legs, even my face has slice wounds. Some large, some short, some so deep that I thought I was going to die right then and there on that chair. I was covered in blood streaks; my hair was all ruffled up from the countless times they threw me to the ground.

Just to enjoy their "last kill," as they'd like to say, they would slice me without giving me the drugs.

They enjoyed my cries; my pleading; my hopelessness.

I don't know how much longer my body could survive the blood loss. I don't know how much longer I could survive the suffering.

I just want to go home. I just want to curl up on my bed, wrapped around in ten blankets. I just want to see my family again. I just want to talk to my mom one last time. I just want my family to know I love them before it's too late.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of her footsteps clacking on the pavement was matched to the sound of my heart beat. I tried to convince myself that I was going to be safe, that the team was going to find me, but every single time she came around, my heart pounded harder and slower. My heart felt like a bass drum being hit only once every minute.

I took her features in, remembering every single detail about her: her tight posture, the winkles around her sky blue eyes. I even noticed the mole on the right side of her neck.

They were mad.

Michelle Wagner and Anne Pickett were creatures from hell:

"You better enjoy this last bit of heroin, because it's the last bit you're going to get for a long time," they told me as they injected the drug into my vein. The worst part was that I liked it. I liked the drug. I liked the trip. I liked not feeling the pain, and I slowly began hating myself for thinking that way.

It wasn't only me that I started hating. I slowly started hating everyone on the team, especially Spencer.

The ladies started muttering in my ear as they harmed me,

"If it wasn't for that spaz of an agent, then you wouldn't be in this mess," they'd say.

"It's his fault you're here," they'd continue.

"If they cared about you, they would have found you by now, but I guess you're not as important as you thought you were. You're just a nobody."

At first, I ignored them. I knew what they were saying was a lie, it was only a form of brainwashing me.

But after a while it made sense...

They should have found me by now.

They knew who the unsubs were. They knew who took me. Why haven't they found me already?

And from questions, it turned into anger:

I hate them. I hate them so much. It's they're fault I'm here. It's their fault I'm being tortured. It's their fault for being such an idiotic team that doesn't know how to protect their agent. I was fighting in that living room! I threw Wagner on the coffee table; I nearly won that fight if it wasn't for the chloroform! I shouldn't even be here!