COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

11

I cancel my next appointment with my therapist, scheduled for the first Monday of December. Now I will not see her again until January, a mistake on my part since I still haven't managed to show her my homework. The ticks on the sheet are getting long, and I am trying not to draw up any conclusions. That's her job, not mine. It's getting increasingly difficult to hide the habit from Spencer and Estelle now.

"Watch it," Rachel grunts.

I snap out of my stupor, but it's not me who's caused the problem. My grip on the sofa is loose, which has given Estelle the leeway to try to ram the sofa further up the stairs. Rachel's hair is a mess, from all the hefting and swinging of heavy objects, but she hasn't fallen and neither has the sofa.

We still have access to the old flat for a week. Perhaps Rachel had to move in on the first, as soon as possible, but we didn't. Estelle doesn't need to rush, but she's glowering so I don't interrupt her.

I let go of the sofa in the doorway as Rachel and Estelle start to try and squish it through the narrow doorway. I wipe sweat off my forehead.

Down the hallway, the elevator door dings open. I barely look over, watching as Reid carries a box up. He steps closer, slowly, and I meet him halfway down the hallway. I try to take the box of tools off his hands, but he shakes his head.

"I've got it."

My lungs are still catching up and I don't waste my breath arguing with him. I hear something bang behind me. Whipping around, I see Estelle half collapsed over the sofa, which is wedged, upright, inside the condo.

"Wasn't so bad," Rachel calls out.

Estelle looks at me, glaring. She's not happy. Fine by me, since I'm not happy with her either.

"She'll come around," Spencer leans down, glancing at me.

I shrug. These days, I don't know what to expect from Estelle.

The sofa drags, and I move back to help my new roommates. I start to scope the place out, checking for anything leftover by the previous owners. It's an easy task. The way they ripped apart the kitchen, selling the refrigerator and the stove and the countertops too, I'm surprised there are even shelves in the closets. There aren't curtains or blinds.

This is where we begin. Together, the four of us make quick work of helping Rachel get set up. Then, there comes the task of totalling and cross-checking everything Estelle has ordered against the measurements given to us by the realtor. Reid totals while I measure. Light fixtures are required in every room, and light switches have even been removed in some places. I don't blame the previous owners for the spite they put into these walls when the bank claimed them. Unfortunately, I'd rather not inherit their rage; I have more boxes filled with fury than all the rest of things I own combined.

When we are done, I sit down on the sofa, the single piece of furniture I own in the apartment. Estelle sits down on the arm and puts an arm around my shoulder.

"There," she points at the wall. "That's going to be where we put up a bookshelf. It's going to be actually stuffed with books, so there will be no room for photos. The photos will have to go on the fridge. We can buy fun magnets."

I shrug. She snaps her fingers in front of my face and I look back at her.

"There," she points to a spot on the wall. "I'm going to put a shelf and a radio. We'll also have one in the living room and the kitchen. We'll buy one bigger couch and then a love seat, and we're going to have my friends over for dinner parties, and Bastien and Stéphane are going to wrestle for the remote on this sofa, right here where we are sitting now. Okay?"