#ressler

Giving Donald crap from Episode 1.

When We Sat Down To Talk, I Was Surprised By How Quickly Jeff Dahmer Opened Up. I Asked Him About His Feelings While The Murders Were Happening And Whether He Actually Enjoyed That Kind Of Thing. He Said It Was As If He Was Acting Mechanically, As If He Were Observing Himself From Above, Watching Everything Unfold. This Is A Clear Indication Of Dissociation. Dissociation Taken To The Extreme Would Become Multiple Personality Disorder. It Was As If There Were Two Jeffs. One Enjoyed The Horror, And The Other Watched From A Distance. He Said, "I Would Cover Myself With A Blanket And Feel A Horrible Sense Of Loss." His Last Victim Told Me That When He Left, Jeffrey Was In The Room, Rocking And Singing, As If He Were In A Trance. When This Young Man Returned Several Hours Later With The Police, Jeffrey Was Still The Same.

FBI Profiler Robert Ressler📝

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋʟɪꜱᴛ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅ ʀᴇꜱꜱʟᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘꜱʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱʜ, ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

Each one on one end of the sofa, that's how it had been for the last few months and since you had started this 'extraordinary' relationship where physical contact barely existed between the two of you; just a sad hug in which you showed no feelings, just a sweet goodbye kiss in the morning and occasionally you held hands when you went out to dinner together outside the house. It wasn't his fault either, you couldn't point out and much less accuse him of all the traumas that a previous relationship had caused you; The mere fact of looking at him, at that end of the soft furniture, caused an uncomfortable churn in your stomach, as if your intestines were intertwining and knotting to make you feel worse than you already did. It wasn't your fault either, at least not entirely. Your previous boyfriend had not been an example to follow in terms of how to lead a relationship, not with the constant hitting, yelling and insults that made you feel physically and mentally null by his side, as if you were a simple rag that he could lash out when he felt helpless due to the stressful work he did and the constant tension on his shoulders; You couldn't escape from that prison that you had put yourself in many years ago, at least that's what the people who knew you and had given up on you told you. You couldn't blame those people who left in the end, friends and family who had seen you at your worst, with those bruises on your arms and legs, the cuts that were hidden under your shirts and the traumas that managed to cover your hair.

A sigh escaped your lips as you remembered that last night you were with that man. He wasn't the tallest, nor the strongest, but he could definitely lift you off the ground without problems and throw you down the stairs like he already did on one occasion; You were thankful that the emergency doctors didn't find out about the situation, or at least that's what you thought at first.

"What are you thinking?" The man with you in the living room suddenly asked, causing you to jump slightly in place as you returned to reality, turning your head to see the blonde, gently removing the nail of your thumb from between your teeth, a bad habit that you had taken to relieve stress. ·You know you don't have to tell me, but I would appreciate it if you did."

You grimaced slightly before returning your gaze to the front. You didn't want to ignore him, you wanted to tell him what was going on in your mind, but in the half year in which you had maintained the relationship, it was as if there was still something that was hammering in your head, as if you still thought that at some point that man who hurt you so much would destroy the door and take you back to the hole you never thought you could get out of. Donald, on the other hand, being aware of your evasiveness, decided to remain silent and not force you to give details of your thoughts, sighing softly as he calmed his breathing a little; Maybe he had come home and talked a little louder, maybe he had accidentally pushed you and hadn't realized it, perhaps he had accidentally kicked your foot under the table while you were eating dinner. There were many possibilities, but he didn't know what he had done to make you silent and barely look at him.

"It's no big deal."

Ressler couldn't help but sigh briefly at your response, having been the same as always. He didn't want to force you, he would never do it and you knew it better than anyone, he would give you the space you needed and be patient with you but, as your psychologist told you, he wouldn't wait forever and it would be a matter of time that maybe you could lose him; your therapist didn't tell you in those exact words, but you understood that and you couldn't blame him if one day he just walked out of your life and didn't come back. You had to start communicating more with him, explain your concerns, maybe talk about what the psychologist was telling you, and do some of the trust exercises that suggested you do with him so that your fears would begin to disappear.

"I had thought about taking a couple of vacation days, I still have some accumulated from last year and I don't think Cooper would mind if I took them," he commented suddenly, once again making your attention on him. Through the light of the television, you could see his small smile, barely noticeable, but calm and pleasant, a smile that you loved. "Aram told me about a retreat in the mountains, a secluded place where we could go skiing or skating."

The mention of a retreat in the mountains caught your attention even more and, with attention, you watched as he handed you a brochure that you took. You didn't pay attention to the name of the place, it was what interested you the least, so you quickly opened it and scrolled down to see the cabin offers, and their different outdoor activities, individually or as a couple and in groups; You had never gone so far from the city centre, you didn't allow yourself to go alone either and it's not like you had the opportunity to do it with someone else.

"I like it," you said, looking back at him, being able to see how his smile grew bigger as you expressed your liking for his proposal, but it quickly disappeared when he saw how you didn't seem to show as much enthusiasm as him; He didn't expect you to jump off the couch or run around like a little girl, but at least he hoped he could see you smile. "What's wrong?"

"I know that there is something that bothers you, that has you in a state of anxiety and I still don't know what it is," he responded, being able to see how you made that face again that in a way he liked because he thought you were charming, but it also bothered him, because he knew that there was something that kept you going. "I just want to help you, I want you to trust me, to talk things over,” he indicated, desperate, settling down on the sofa to turn his body towards you, to show that he was willing to talk about it, to listen to you. "Was it because of something I've done?"

That question left you completely speechless. You opened your eyes in surprise. You didn't expect that your lack of communication would make him understand that he could be the problem, that he was the one to blame for you being silent, not saying a single word and staying in your own thoughts instead of paying attention to the program that was playing you liked it so much and what was on television.

“No, no,” you quickly denied, turning your body a little more abruptly to begin that intervention with him. "It's not your fault, Don. Far from it, how can you think that? I mean… Damn it."

Ressler now grimaced seeing you like that, trying to find the right words to express yourself. Your eyes were scanning him quickly and your hands were expressing your frustration, your inner rage at not having been able to tell him everything that you should have told him before.

"Take your time, you don't have to give me the answers right now," he intervened, extending his hand towards you, which you didn't take at first. Before your intense gaze on him, on that part of him, he removed it and positioned it on the sofa, to make you see that you could be calm while you were in his presence, that there was no reason to get upset. "I just want to know how to help you. This situation will not be good for both of us in the future. I want to give you time, I swear, but if there are things I do that bother you, I need to know so I don't make that mistake twice."

Given his sincere words, and his willingness to help you, you couldn't help but feel that churn in your stomach again; You felt selfish for not letting him understand you, for not allowing him to see beyond what you allowed him.

“It's not your fault, you haven't done anything wrong,” you said suddenly, swallowing hard as you tried to collect all the points before speaking. You didn't want to mislead him, much less when you saw the worried expression in the way he looked at you, but you knew that something would always escape and you didn't want Donald to live in the shadow of what your mind made you think. "It is the memory."

"The memory?" He repeated, in the form of a question, making you nod slightly. "What remember?"

“The memory of what I once experienced,” you finally mentioned, lowering your head so he couldn't see you, or maybe it was a way for you to protect yourself from how he might react to your words. "I know I'm fine, here with you, I'm aware and many people tell me so, but something inside me tells me that's not the case. That he will return, maybe not today, but that one day you may not be there, he will knock down the door and take me to that hole from which this time I would not come out alive."

Ressler remained silent, static. He didn't think you could feel that way but, looking at it in perspective, that could be the justification for your absence when he spoke to you or the way you sometimes looked at the doors of some rooms or the apartment itself.

·He left and he's not coming back, now he's a ghost from the past that torments you, but he's not going to come back," the blonde murmured, noticing how your hair managed to cover your face in the right way so that he couldn't see you. "He's in jail, he's never coming back. Do you remember that emergency doctor? Thanks to him he is not here and you are here."

Donald didn't hear you say a single word and, at that moment, he remembered the day they managed to rescue you from the hands of your abuser. It was his eleventh case with Reddington, that criminal he hated so much, but whose help allowed him to catch a murderer who was responsible for harming those men and women who at some point had repeatedly and continuously inflicted harm on a relative of them; whether they were children, husbands, partners or any other type of blood relative or not. The last victim of his actions was your partner at the time, a man who was in a big mess due to his problems at work and a certain diversion of capital, who paid for the frustration and stress of being found with you, hitting you, burning you or just insulting you. On one occasion, your injuries were so serious that you had to go to the emergency room because of the trauma he caused you when he hit you with some blunt object, you don't even remember what he hit you with, he just did it and the next thing you remember is that you were in the hospital.

"No, thanks to you and Lizz, he is no longer here," you said after remembering the outcome of that fateful case. "You managed to save him, but he went to jail for that diversion of capital and for… Well, you know."

"Your handsome agent with a shiny badge came to rescue you, don't forget that part of the story," he pointed out proudly, smiling again and getting a little closer to you, making you laugh softly at his silly idea. "You were radiant the day I met you."

"I was wearing my winter pyjamas and I had a bruise on my eye, I don't know what's so radiant about that," you indicated, rolling your eyes at his attempted play, feeling his hand on yours, which caught your attention. "You're not sweet, don't be sweet."