I Wouldn't Have Known

Prolouge

I impulsively decided to start an Emily Prentiss fanfic so y'all are welcome!

I was gonna make another one shot book but I need more motivation than that so let's go!

TW: this shit is gay

Rough lesbian sex (first and only warning unless things get real serious then I'll tell y'all)

Mention of homophobia, depression, anxiety, self harm, and suicidal ideation (ill put warnings on each chapter for these)

Let's get into it shall we

I scribbled down the notes as fast as I could trying to get every last word the professor said. I was never any good a taking notes so I would always copy the teacher word for word and then organize it all later. But that's only if I care.

High school didn't mean Jack shit to me. My goal was to pass it with good grades, absorb the material and then regurgitate it onto tests, midterms, and SATs. But afterwards, I would just ring all of the information out of my head like a dirty wet rag cut from old bath towels.

I wanted it over so I could actually learn about things I cared about. Things that were important.

I went into George Town thinking I was gonna leave the place with a fancy English degree and probably get some job as an editor or secretary or whatever I could get really. I just needed something to make money off of so my parents won't break down about the money there wasting on a school they wanted me to go to.

But freshman year rolled around and I was still undecided.  My friend, well boyfriend, of a couple months had convinced me halfway through the year to audit the criminology class he was taking for shits and giggles. He thought I'd really like because I watched some true crime documentaries that HE made me watch and seemed to think I enjoyed it as much as him.

I listened to him, and I'm glad I did, and attended the class. It was this day in history when Y/N Y/L/N's lightbulb went off.

Just listening to the professor talk lit this spark in me. It wasn't necessarily the thrill of being your own Sherlock Holmes or Nancy Drew, but it was more of how it was more than just finger prints and dna. The professor of the class I attended had only dabbled on the subject but the idea of analyzing the minds of people who could kill other people was morbidly fascinating to me.

After that day, I had switched my major to psychology and focused it on criminal psychology and mental illnesses. I figured I'd be the type of person to make documentaries, write books, and do interviews on these things.

To think a decision from six years ago lead me to sit in this very class is weird for me to think about. But on the other had so is space. Thinking about space hurts my brain. But anyway.

I cared about what I was learning and wanted to study it all night instead of going to parties that I'll just forget about. And so as I wrote the final notes of the lecture in my "Profiling 101" class I closed my notebook and looked up to see I was the only person left in the room.

I blushed with awkwardness. I hate being last or first or having to make awkward eye contact so I gathered my stuff quickly. And at that probably too quickly as my bag tumbled over the desk it was on and right infront of the professors desk, books sliding under. I cringe.

"What are you in a rush for" he said with a chuckle as we bends down grab the books from under the table and I run around to help him clean up my stuff.

"Just can't wait to go home and sleep." I respond honestly.

"You should do that, you're a hard worker Ms. Y/L/N".