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CHAPTER SIX ( sweet, mourning lamb )
☆ content warning ☆ details of past/present abuse, blood & gore, religious trauma
introducing jake gyllenhaal as LIAM MARLOWE &elizabeth lail as MARY WILSON
THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS FLICKERED, AND NATALIE SHUT HER EYES.
With her hands gripping onto the edges of the sink, she leaned forward, allowing the blood to fall slowly down the drain and into the rusting pipes.
Her phone pinged twice—Natalie knew there was a case—but she couldn't move, lest the crimson fall onto her white turtleneck, instead. Her blazer had been left at her desk; if she was bleeding, everyone would know.
No one could know.
Not even Hotch, who'd been aware of the nosebleeds for the better part of twenty years, because it wasn't just a nosebleed, anymore.
Natalie had always bruised easily, but her father had always been careful of where he placed them. Upper arm, wear a long sleeve. Wrist, wear bracelets. Back of the head, her hair covered it. Rarely had he grabbed her by the neck; never had he left evidence so visible to outsiders.
This bruise hadn't healed, not even a bit.
It still ached, a dull pain constantly thudding behind skin and muscle. It wasn't her first, and it surely wouldn't be her last, but never had it caused such agony.
Or maybe, it was all in her head.
Everything was, lately, wasn't it?
The memories of her father turning out to be nightmares; the peace she felt with Spencer turning out to be the calm before the storm. All of it was fake, unreal, a lie.
At this point, she wouldn't be surprised to learn that she'd been the perpetrator of them herself.
The quiet drip, drip, drip of her blood in the sink slowly came to a stop, and she wiped her nose with a rough paper towel.
Her phone pinged again, and Natalie braced herself, halfway opening her eyes and reluctantly focusing on the hazy image in the mirror.
"Get it together," her reflection said through gritted teeth. Belatedly, she realized that the words had come from her own two lips; it wasn't in her head, that time. "Not today."
