ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒗𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 ❜

chapter no. 052!

❪ 𝚃𝚆 ⠀ : ⠀⠀ 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙲 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴,
𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴,⠀⠀𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻
𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃, 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵 𝚅𝚄𝙻𝙶𝙰𝚁 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶-
𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴,  𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳. ❫

❝ CAN'T TOUCH YOU. ❞
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﹙ FEBRUARY 11TH, 2018 ﹚

     CARA VALENTINE WAS EIGHT DAYS INTO LIVING ON HER OWN AND, IN ALL HONESTY, SHE WAS QUITE PROUD OF HERSELF. Even though she'd been confident in her ability to take care of herself without anyone there to hold her hand or standing on the sidelines waiting to step in, there was a small part of her that believed the moment she didn't have someone by her side, she'd crumble. However, to her delight and surprise, she'd proven those beliefs false.

     So far she'd been successful in keeping track of her daily and nightly medications and taking them, attending physical and cognitive behavioral therapy alone, going out in public twice without a friend or loved one, and ensuring she ate three meals a day with occasional snacks. All of that sounded super simple and as if it were nothing, but for the recovering woman, it'd taken a year and eight months to get to this point. A point she never thought she'd live long enough to reach, especially when she was told she never would.

     But she did.

     Cara Valentine made it.

     "I could see right, no wrong. I could see good, no bad. I could see all the good things in life I've never had," Cara sang softly, pouring the homemade tomato soup Penelope made for her into a black ceramic bowl. Playing in the background in her mini library was Patsy Cline's song If I Could See the World.

     The unpacking process finished two days ago and all of the furniture had been delivered. The finishing touches were added yesterday when Rossi came over to help install an assortment of weapons around the place. In the case that someone broke in or she was in any form of danger, a weapon of defense was available in every room and stored in secret compartments only she and Rossi knew about.

     Additionally, they'd devised multiple plans of escape and had emergency go-bags stashed in the living room, kitchen, library, bathrooms, and the woman's bedroom. In the bags were a burner phone, copies of important documents, fake identification papers that the F.B.I. had approved of, cash, clothes and a set of shoes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, water, and nonperishable food. It was the necessary basics just in case.

     There was no such thing as being too careful.

     "If I could see the world through the eyes of a child, what a wonderful world this would be." Cara hummed, nodding her head along to the rhythm. With a soft skip in her step, she made her way to the microwave. "If I could see the world through the eyes of a child, smiling faces would greet me all the while. Like a lovely work of art, it would warm my weary heart just to see through the eyes of a child."

     Once she placed the soup inside the rectangular black box and shut it, she set the time to exactly two minutes and ten seconds. A ding went off to her left and she glanced over to see that her grilled cheese was done in the sandwich maker. The corners of her lips upturned and she grabbed a small plate.

    "I could see right, no wrong. I could see good, no bad." Cara opened the sandwich maker and used two forks to pull out the grilled cheese so she wouldn't get burned. "I could see all the good things in life I've never had," she muttered, unplugging the machine.

     At the sound of her ringtone, she abandoned the food and went to the kitchen island. The screen of her phone was lit up, showing that she received a new text message from Hotch.

     I'll be over in 20.

     Since she moved into the apartment, only Rossi, Hotch, Spencer, JJ, and Penelope had been over. Morgan and Blake planned on visiting sometime in the next month. Luke Alvez and Matt Simmons likely would in the future once Cara got to know them better.

     Tonight, she was having dinner with Hotch and Rossi. About an hour ago Rossi had informed her that he would be a little late. Since he was the one cooking much later than anticipated, she saw no harm in eating a snack beforehand. Well, it was more like a pre-dinner but she was hungry so it didn't matter.

     Responding to the text with a thumbs-up emoji, she made her way over to the front door. Undoing the two deadbolts, she returned to the counter. Hotch had a set of keys to the apartment, so he could let himself in.

     She broke off an edge of the grilled cheese and popped it into her mouth. An innate smile tugged at the corner of her lips when she heard I've Loved and Lost Again play next. "I've loved and lost again. Oh, what a crazy world we're livin' in," she sang, swaying side to side. "True love has no chance to win, I've loved and lost again."

     At the insistent beeping of the microwave signaling that her soup was done, she slid to the right. The first towel available was one off to the right near her third cup of coffee. Grabbing it, she muttered, "I ask you, what chance have I when each love I meet just makes me cry? He loves a while then says, "Goodbye." I've loved and lost again."

     Opening the microwave and wrapping the towel around the bowl, Cara carefully pulled it out. She placed it on the stovetop beneath it, humming. The tips of her fingers burned and she hissed in pain, dropping the towel and shaking her hands. She should have grabbed a thicker one.

     It was silent and still as she let out a soft breath. As she reached to shut the microwave, she found her eyes locked on her reflection in the glass. Titling her head to the side, she took in her attentive expression and the blonde pieces of hair sticking out of her tiny buns. There were minimal dark circles under her eyes and her skin was full and pale. Its sunken state had long faded. More and more each day, she recognized the face staring back at her. It was both comforting and relieving.

     Without warning, unexpected flashes of Le's sinister smirk covered the glass window and reality began to fade. Her face dropped and the hair on her arms rose.

     No. This wasn't real; she knew better now.

     She had worked on this extensively. The unprompted flashbacks weren't actually happening in the present. She knew that, but that didn't stop the fear creeping up her spine.

     In an attempt to prevent a memory from mentally replaying, Cara slammed the microwave closed and blinked rapidly. Everything was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.

     "String her up. Now."

     "Why? 'Cause I wouldn't suck your dick and tell you what you wanted to hear?"

     "Oh, ho-ho-ho-ho, someone's getting bold."

     "Leone, no one was talking to you."

     "Look... All I ask for is the truth, my dear Clementine. I can see it on your face that you've committed a crime. And those streaks on your cheeks are signs of crying. I know when you've been lying."

     Cara choked out a gasp, blinking rapidly.

     The Founding Fathers were not there. Nobody was in that apartment but her. That was a fact. The security system would have alerted her otherwise and Hotch hadn't arrived. This was just her mind tricking her.

     So, she grabbed the soup and had every intention of spinning around to go to the table when her eyes locked back on the cover of the microwave. Again, reality began to fade and Le's sinister smirk appeared.

     "Cara, Cara, Caralyn. Oh, my sweet, Caralyn Valentine." Le sang sweetly, twirling a crimson-stained blade in between his fingers. "Red really is your color."

     Shallow pants of air tumbled from her lips and her face was twisted in pain. It was taking everything not to verbally respond to the searing sensation she felt in her torso. He didn't deserve the satisfaction of knowing how badly she was hurting.

     There was a skip in Le's step as he made his way over to a table that was lined with bloodied instruments. In the past, he never used weapons to draw scars and blood. Skin-on-skin contact was his preference, but Johnston recently opened his eyes to the endless possibilities that tools offered.

     Picking up a Chinese ring dagger, he tossed it in the air and then grabbed it. "Mm-hmm. Immaculate."  Le took a sharp glance over his shoulder, smirking. This was the last chance for her to tell him what he wanted to know.

     The two locked eyes and the expression of torment clouding her facial features disappeared. That's what she had trained herself to do— work through the discomfort before the Founding Fathers could call her out on it. It was a form of protection.

     "What do I have to do to win your affections? I always believed that we had this magical, unspoken connection."

     Cara's chin was raised with the tip of the dagger and she clenched her jaw. "It was only unspoken because you beat me into silence." The blade pierced the skin on her neck, but she didn't elicit a response. Small cuts no longer held any effect.

     Le inched closer until their noses brushed. "Don't be so dramatic. You could have told at any time, Clementine."

     It felt like she'd been sucker-punched and the wind had been knocked out of her. Her breathing became rapid and shallow. She could feel the tension boiling into her limbs while she pictured Le standing in front of her with that dagger.

     Without realizing it, the bowl in her hands fell to the floor and burst into thousands of tiny shards. The sound of glass shattering echoed in the kitchen, but she failed to hear it. Tears welled in her eyes and she was worlds away. Her mind was no longer tethered to the present and another memory began to play. Le vanished.

     There was a pounding in her head. That much was for certain when she came to. Next, she registered the sensation of something thick and sticky plastered to the sides of her face and forehead. Eyebrows drawing together in confusion, she flinched when the movement caused something to drop onto her lap. Averting her eyes down, she wasn't surprised to see a small puddle of blood forming. She was curled into a ball on the floor with that white silk slip-dress. It was littered with crimson splotches.

     Wait... It was starting to come back to her.

     She and Johnston's fight. Johnston had thrown her around like a ragdoll.

     Multiple injuries were sustained, primarily on her end. Blood was spilled. She'd hit her head against the basement floor several times. Now, chunks of blood-stained hair were plastered to her face.

    Lifting her head with great difficulty, she winced when a sharp wave of pain was sent down her spine. "Fuck," she whispered as the pounding intensified. Every time she fought back, particularly with Johnston, the hangover was almost worse than the beating itself.

     "Fuck is right, princess," Matthew Johnston growled, grabbing her by the shoulder.

     Speak of the Devil.

     "It's such a shame that we had to do things the hard way," he grumbled, jerking the woman's body up and ripping the dress off. "I told you that all it does is prolong the inevitable. This could have been over so much sooner if you'd just cooperated." The back of her head knocked against the concrete after he let go of her. She grunted, eyes fluttering shut in anguish.

     Every part of her body was in agonizing pain and all of her strength was long gone. There was nothing left for her to hold on to for help. The will to fight back was gone. Especially since she could feel rushes of dizziness washing over her. Her body was shutting down.

     "There we go. Good girl."

     Whatever was happening, and she had a fair idea of what, Cara's brain was protecting her from remembering. This was one of the fortunate moments where she had the privilege of blocking the horror out. It didn't happen often, but it was a relief when it did.

     That didn't mean she didn't still feel all of it.

     "Oh, you're doing so good."

     Cara gasped for air when she felt herself back into a hard surface. She reached behind her to grab hold of the counter but fumbled. Her wrist hit the corner of the island and she grunted, feeling a sharp rush of pain briefly run up her arm.

     Shaking it off, she searched with a blind hand for the counter again and gripped it tightly for stability. Every inch of her body was shaking. The sound of her breathing was raspy and fast-paced; she felt like she'd just run a mile without stopping and was just now trying to take her first breath.

     Everything around her was obscure and she could no longer depict anything in her range of vision. She felt her legs give out and she collapsed against the floor. In a way, she almost felt lightheaded. There was a hollow pit in her chest and a lump so large in her throat that it threatened to choke her out.

     Blinking, she swallowed the mass to hinder the waterworks, but it didn't work. Tears began running down her cheeks and she couldn't control them. Then, her chest began to rise up and down rapidly as she quickly lost control.

     "Mm-hmm. Right there."

     It felt as if the walls of her apartment were closing in on her. The never-ending memories of pain and suffering were more than overwhelming. A river of inescapable panic whirled in her stomach, and she felt as if she could scarcely breathe. The memories were suffocating every inch of her as she involuntarily sobbed silently. Her lungs no longer contained the capability to let out a single noise.

     It was unclear to her how long she sat on the ground, curled into the side of the kitchen island. Panic attacks typically lasted five to twenty minutes, so possibly somewhere in between that timeframe. She couldn't keep track of what was happening; she couldn't focus. All she could fixate on was the sound of Matthew Johnston talking, her racing heartbeat, the trembling of her body, the tension in her muscles, and how out of breath she continued to feel.

     "You're perfect at this."

     More tears rose, and Cara flinched when someone spoke. The voice was familiar but sounded like it was coming from lightyears away. It was almost as if she was underwater, desperately trying to swim her way back to the surface, but a rip current kept dragging her away.

     "Cara..."

     It was Hotch. He'd let himself into the apartment.

     Being aware of his presence was comforting, but not enough to calm her down. Not even in the slightest.

     "Cara, breathe." Hotch's voice sounded a million miles away, and she recoiled at his touch. Shaking her head, she blinked back tears. "It's Hotch, Cara. Look at me." The tone he spoke in was the same soft one that always comforted her.

     Momentarily meeting his eyes, she caught a glimpse of the worry he wore. "They can't touch you, Cara. They can't get to you. You're safe," he vowed, crouching down to her level.

     Cara tried to focus on his eyes, but she couldn't. Instead, hers glossed over and she felt like she was being asphyxiated. Her chest heaved up and down as she attempted to catch her breath for what seemed like the millionth time.

     "In through your nose, out through your mouth," Hotch instructed, placing a hand on her shoulder. Unlike before, she didn't flinch and followed his instructions, closing her eyes.

     These images and words weren't real. They weren't.

     Maybe they were years ago, but they weren't now. Hotch and Rossi had promised her that. They promised her. She had promised herself that. None of the Founding Fathers were there and she wasn't being held in an undisclosed dark location or being dosed with harmful medications.

     Cara Valentine was safe.

     Once she believed those thoughts enough that it eased her nerves, she re-opened her eyes. The crying hadn't stopped, but the panic attack was concluding.

     Unexpectedly moving over, she coiled her arms around Hotch's torso. He returned the gesture and allowed her to be as close to him as she needed to be. He knew that she needed someone to hold onto so she knew that this was real and that she was physically safe.

     "In through your nose, out through your mouth," Hotch repeated, allowing her to cling onto his sweater. The sound of her breath evening out the slightest bit made his shoulders drop. "You're doing great. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

────

     EVENTUALLY, THE CRYING CEASED AND DAVID ROSSI ARRIVED. It took a bit of time for the two men to get Cara to her feet before guiding her to the living room. Per request, Hotch stayed with her on the couch. Meanwhile, Rossi cleaned up the broken glass and tomato soup that painted the marble floors of the kitchen. Then, he started making dinner— Pasta Carbonara.

     It wasn't until halfway through cooking that Hotch and Cara joined.

     Silently eating olives out of the humongous jar she'd put five cans worth into, Cara sat on the kitchen island with a pout on her lips. The pout wasn't intentional, her face had just sort of defaulted to that expression the further her mind wandered. Her legs were crossed and the jar was hugged to her torso.

     Feet away, Hotch and Rossi were cooking together. Something the blonde had grown accustomed to while living with the Italian man, but something entirely foreign when it came to her past Unit Chief. In all honesty, she had no idea the man could cook. She sort of assumed Hotch and Jack survived off of cereal, orange juice, and sandwiches, as those were the only things she ever saw them eat.

     The men were conversing over something trivial. Cara had tuned out long ago.

     Again, it wasn't on purpose. Panic attacks usually took a lot out of her and today's was no exception. Her body and mind were tired. That much was evident to Hotch and Rossi when one of them asked her a question related to today's events.

     "Figlia mia," Rossi called, adding a pinch of salt to the boiling pot of water, "are you sure this is what you want?"

     An eerie silence answered him and it caused the two men to divert their full attention to the short-haired woman. There was a faraway look in her deep blue eyes and she didn't blink. She was almost unresponsive.

     "Cara?" Hotch stood a bit taller at her countenance. Today's spell took more out of her than he thought it would. It'd been quite some time since Cara had a panic attack like that.

     Taking into account her withdrawn nature, Rossi turned down the heat on the stove. "Cara?" he repeated, aware of his tone.

     If she was in the midst of a flashback, they knew it was best to wait for her to come back to them. It was always better if she was left to fight her way out of whatever it was she was experiencing. If they touched her or attempted to talk to her further than they already had, a panic attack could ensue. This wasn't the first time she'd spaced out and it wouldn't be the last.

     Cara blinked. "Hmm?" It took a moment for her to drag her attention away from the jar in her arms.

     When she finally looked at the pair, she caught a glimpse of the time displayed on the stovetop behind them. It was a quarter to seven. The last she checked, it had just hit six o'clock. Time really flew by when one blocked out the world.

     "Maybe it was too soon for you to move out," the Italian man voiced gently, stirring the pasta around in the gold-plated pot.

     "What? No, no." Cara shook her head adamantly. She didn't want her silence to be mistaken for something other than her simply trying to keep herself centered. "I... I need to learn how to be on my own again and be my own person. I need this, Dave."

     Rossi frowned and shared a glance of concern with Hotch. Neither action went unnoticed.

     "Today..." she inhaled sharply, keeping the waterworks at bay. "Today was difficult, but it'll get better. I will get better. It's just going to take time like you said the other week. I can do this. I will do this."

     The strength and motivation the blonde possessed was incomprehensible and nobody was positive about where it came from. They were just glad it existed and that she had something to hold onto. If she wasn't so hellbent on facing her demons and learning how to live with what happened to her, she likely wouldn't be there.

     "As long as you're sure," Hotch said, rolling back his shoulders.

     Cara didn't hesitate in responding, "I'm sure."

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹     ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC       2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

╭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╮

Figlia mia ━━ My daughter

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     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the fifty-second chapter!

     i know this chapter is quite short and quite shit, but please don't kill me! the next one will make up for it and that is when things kick back up again! all of you will get to find out what really happened the night cara disappeared.

     more answers are heading your way! this is the last short chapter like this, i swear.

     meme time ━━ all the pictures i have saved of johanna braddy are finally being put to good use!!! also, yes, cara + hotch are one of the best duos. argue with the wall.

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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