Statistics Chapter 21

9.7K 237 48
                                    


"Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin."
― Danielle Bernock


Quiet... 


It's so quiet... 


hello?! Dad? Dad!

"Save us." 

I can't. I can't save you. 


I couldn't save her. 


I can't even save myself. 

With a gasp, Belle's eyes burst open, chest heaving with darkness, burning and scratching, memories of her failure. Memories of her death.  A whine, she'd barley recognized left her lips and she tugged her shirt away from her chest, suddenly a hand grasped her shoulder, grabbing at it in an iron grip, she yanked it away, swinging her leg over the person's arm and pulling them toward her. As they fell she used the momentum to wrap her other leg around their waist and swung, the attacker fell on the seat under her, a started gasp leaving the body under her. 

"Kid, kid, it's good! You're okay!" A voice stated, who was it? She didn't know them, arms came up under her, grabbing at her to heave her back and she let them, the scent of cinnamon and aftershave enveloping her body. Strong arms coiled around her, rocking her back and forth, soothing hushes in her ear. Finally coming to Belle saw Agent Hotchner pushed into the chair, Derek holding him and Reid watching with pitying sad eyes. 

"I'm sorry," She whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She repeated, a chant falling down her lips, voice hoarse. 

The vibrations of Morgan speaking lulled her panic, soothing her apologies. "You okay?" He asked,  his hold not loosening. 

Awkwardly, she looked down at her scarred hands, a redness filling her cheeks, shame. Not embarrassment, utterly blinding shame. "You, uh, you know more than 25 percent of kidnapping victims have PTSD," Spencer says, breaking the silence, making eye contact with the shivering girl held in Morgan's arms. "That number climbs when you take into account your parent."

"Reid," Derek said, incredulously,  Agent Prentiss sharing the sentiment gave him a look whilst Agent Hotchner situated himself in the couch he'd been placed into. 

Belle snorted, mirth filling her murky tear-filled eyes, the chuckle escalated to bouts of laughter, leaving her to gasp for breath. She felt Morgan laugh behind her and the plane, sans Hotch, broke into giggles. 

"Thanks, Doc," Belle smiled, her cheeks aching and voice scratchy. Derek helped her to her feet and she avoided Agent Hotchner's eyes as she was coaxed out of the plane and into an SUV.  

Morgan hummed as he headed toward the Quantico building, "We have to debrief," he explains, "Then I'll show you my, well our, home,  maybe we can get some things fo your room and wardrobe." 

Belle nods, quiet as she looks out the window, a feeling off her chest, something that wasn't familiar, "Is there uh," she pauses, unsure, "Is there any way we can make a stop?"

Derek turned, his brows furrowed, but not unwelcoming, "Yeah, where to kid?" 

Belle shakes her head, "It can wait until after you do what needs to be done." Morgan nods, his eyes still questioning.  She sighs, twisting her mouth, "I have a family friend up here, well a friend of a friend, he runs a church not far from headquarters." Belle admits much to the elder man's surprise. He should have realized she was religious, the Angel wings mixed with the Enochian passage, of course, she was religious. 

Green EyesWhere stories live. Discover now