Title: Eyes of the Beholder
By: Radical Pretense Gothica
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: character death, suicide
Summary: All you can do is watch...

***

All you can do is step out of your body and watch.

Watch as you spiral down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down into yourself.

Down into your mind.
Down into the darkness, leaving everything behind.

Watch as lonesome turns to anger, as guilt turns to loathing, as the deep pool of innocence turns to rapid oceans of grief and misery.

Watch as JJ sends you a look of sympathy.

Watch as Morgan pretends nothing is wrong.

Watch as Hotch passes it as exhaustion and send you home early.

Watch as Garcia feebly attempts to laugh you out of this heart-breaking state.

Watch as Prentiss blames it on Gideon leaving, abandoning you.

Watch as Rossi, seldom seen, asked you if you are okay.

You say you are fine.

You watch as you drive home slowly, pondering your own head, thousands of statistics telling you why you are feeling this. You ignore them as you enter your apartment.

Watch solemnly as your hand reaches for the ancient bottle of tequila you've had for two years. You grimace as it slides down your throat. You cannot feel it.

You watch as you sit down in your kitchen. Your elegant yet bony finger taps the counter nervously. Your other hand is halfway slid through your long curly hair. Your eyes begin to tear.

You watch as your hand leaves your head and reaches across the table. Gasp as it closes around the handle of a carving knife and draws back as if it's touch burns. More cautiously, they close around it again and pull it out of it's comfy little wooden holster. The gleaming steel blade grins at you in greetings. It invites you to it's tip, shines a welcoming shine.

Watch as you roll up your sleeve and let the greedy little knife sink into your pale flesh. A thin line of gleaming red liquid gushes out of the thin imprint, stopping after a second or two. You make another incision across from it.

You keep watching as your body heaves itself up, with the knife, abandoning the full bottle of alcohol, and walks down the hall. You follow it, unable to do anything else.

You watch as it gives a frustrated sigh and falls back onto the bed. You let it fiddle with the silver thing, shifting it from one hand to the other. You hold back tears as the being, unfamiliar to you now, raises the thin blade in front of his eyes, weighing his options.

An hour passes, and he does not move. You think he'll be there forever until, finally, finally, he lowers the sharp tool and sticks out his bony wrist. The blue veins pop out noticeably, the color toned by the scabbing red gashes. As the horrible shine slashes across them, pressing harder than he thought he could make it, you hear a knock on the front door.

"Reid?" A voice calls. It is JJ. A second voice, Morgan, calls for him to open up.

He, this gray, misery-weighed formation of what you were, sighed and made another deep slice. Blood now poured onto his lap and onto the comforter, drowning him in red. You think of closing your eyes and wishing the sight away, but you know you cannot. You must watch.

Wood splinters apart as Morgan crashes into his door, JJ following. Both run into his room.

You hear JJ scream. Morgan flips him to his back and grabs the razor out of his cold hand, which clenches and unclenches.

You watch as Morgan screams into his pale face, "Dammit, Reid!"

You watch as JJ sobs quietly, "Why'd you do that, Reid?" and pulls out her cell phone.

You hear sirens in the distance. You watch Morgan attempting to keep him awake, attempting to keep him alive. JJ takes the blanket and wraps it around his arm, continuing to cry.

You watch as his head lulls to the side like an abandoned rag doll.

You watch as they realize it is too late.

All you can do is watch.

***