You'll Never Be Whole Until You Lose Control- Spencer Reid

3.) broken

I like that you're broken, broken like me
Maybe that makes me a fool
I like that you're lonely, lonely like me
I could be lonely with you

Broken, lovelytheband

Anna

"You should call him."

Becca had barely believed that the FBI has come to question me about a serial killer planting Moldavite on his victims, but was even more shocked me talking about the instant crush I'd formed on Spencer.

"You were there today for a reason," she had been going on like that since I'd told her, because I could have easily been the one to visit the vendor. Her initial reaction had been to drop the box of jewelry she had been holding in shock and stare at me with her mouth wide open- I was just glad it was silver rings and not quartz points that would have shattered on the ground.

Now, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with her favorite Tarot deck, she was adamant.

"I didn't have you read for me, why are you so adamant?" I lifted my head up from the sketchbook that sat in my lap.

"Because I just know."

"He's working a case anyway, he probably won't have time to talk."

"Nice excuse, it's been two days, do it."

"What? It's true." Pessimism was one of my finest traits. It irritated her greatly.

"How often do you actually have a connection with someone like that? Come on, girl."

She was right.

How irritating.

I hadn't ever had a connection with someone like that, because Spencer wasn't like anyone I'd ever met. In the intensity of his gaze, I saw everything. He was both broken but strong beyond reason; and I wanted to kiss the broken, jagged edges until he was whole again. There was something about him that called to me, that drew me to him like a magnet.

My room was a sanctuary of chaos, from the garlands of flowers, art plastered on the walls and ceiling, it was decidedly my own. I stared at my altar full of crystals and adornments and picked up my own favorite piece of malachite and picked my laptop off of my desk and sat on my bed. I had taken a bath to clear my mind, and was waiting for my nighttime medications to kick in. I sighed, then opened the laptop, pulled up google and typed in Dr. Spencer Reid.

The first things to come up were press conferences about cases all over the country; from a man strangling women, spurred on by a book about bdsm (what a fucking dick!)to a woman who struck her victims with her high healed shoe (Okay, Cinderella.)There were pages after page just filled with 'The FBI's acclaimed Behavioral Analysis Unit is assisting in the look for...' or 'with the help of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, the suspect was apprehended...' there were scientific papers he'd published, articles from Georgetown's newspaper about him guest lecturing and teaching a course on criminology and then-

'Decorated FBI agent exonerated from all charges in Mexico border case.'

I clicked the link and almost instantly regretted it when his mugshot flashed across the screen.

Spencer, what happened to you? I thought again as I stared at the photo, looking at his almost vacant eyes and sweat-slicked curls.

Tears formed in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat.

And an ache in my heart that was deep.

I closed my laptop and pushed it away from me.

I picked up his card and ran my thumb over his name. I felt like I had invaded his personal space and I was suddenly filled with guilt.