Jail changed Spencer Reid.
At first, it was just little things here and there. But then it got worse and worse until he was out of control.
Now, he's doing the things he spent his whole life stopping. And then he meets her. Will she be the one to...
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Content Warning: childhood trauma, child abuse, neglectful and abusive parents, sexual assault on a child, murder/suicide mention. (let me know if I missed anything)
*Please take care while reading this chapter. There will be a trigger free recap in the next chapter. I love you all so much. My inbox is open if you need me ❤️*
Have you ever wondered how your life ended up the way it did? How one decision could've changed the entire outcome? I have. And it isn't the first time I've had this thought. The first time was after my parents died.
I remember the morning I found them.
It was warm, the June humidity suffocating as I got into my car. I'd went to a senior get together at my high school, my body reeling with excitement for graduation just a week away. I was finally going to have a chance to get out of my little hometown. A chance to see the 'more' that was out there. I slept at my best friend's house that night. Her house was closer and by the time we got there I was exhausted.
I used my key to unlock the front door. I knew something was wrong the second I stepped inside. The silence hit me like a ton of bricks. The air was stale, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was nearly noon on a Saturday. Saturdays were my mothers cleaning days, my father doing this outside while my mom cleaned inside.
But not this day.
"Mom? Dad?" I took notice of the key ring that sat beside the door. Both set of keys hung in their usual place. "Hello?" I called out.
I stepped further into my home, checking to see if possibly they were in the back yard. But when I got in the kitchen, I saw nothing. My heart raced. I knew that they had nothing going on. And if they did, I knew I'd have a text about it.
I made my way to the stars, my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest, "Momma! Dad?" I called once more as I climbed.
When I finally reached their door, keys between my fingers just in case, I paused. I was listening for something, anything. The door was slightly ajar but I couldn't see anything from where I stood. I practically held my breath as I pushed it open, the hinges creaking eerily. I saw my mother first, face down; the pool of blood that surrounded her was practically dry, the color a deep red. My father was next to her, staring up at the ceiling. He had this weird, satisfied smirk that I knew I would never unsee. The gun still in his limp hand.
It didn't feel real at first. Not when I slowly backed away, closing the door and running to the bathroom to empty my stomach. Not when I pulled out my phone to call 9-1-1. Not when I was interrogated by police. Not at the funeral. And not when I found out it was a murder, suicide. It didn't hit me until two years later when I graduated college. All's I wanted was my mother.
Most say I was lucky. That if I was there that night that I would be dead too. I never saw it that way. Maybe I could've stopped him. Maybe he would've just killed himself. And if he would've killed all of us, at least I didn't have to suffer without them. Without my mother.
