Killer Affair | Spencer Reid Short Story

Origins

Gwen

"You love me, right?" I turn to Spencer, my voice light, casual. But inside, my pulse is racing. I feel his eyes on me, trying to read me.

"Yes..." His voice trails off as he turns toward me, giving me that soft look that almost makes me want to back out of this. Almost.

"Okay, good." I pause, glancing away. I can feel the tension hanging between us, thickening the air. I finally look back at him, and he's watching me with that familiar, gentle confusion, like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. "I love you too," I say, softer now.

His brow furrows, and he leans in a little, like he's trying to get a better look at me. "Why are you acting weird?" He almost smiles, a hint of warmth in his eyes, but he doesn't. I start messing with my hands, trying to find the words.

I take a deep breath. "Spencer, I haven't been... I haven't been completely honest with you."

There it is. I've said it. He freezes, the worry flickering over his face. It's a look I don't think I've seen before—not with me, at least. He reaches out, his hand gently closing around mine, and I almost pull away because I don't deserve this comfort, this softness.

"Gwen, what is it?" His voice is gentle, urging. "You know you can tell me anything."

I wish he wouldn't look at me like that. I wish he didn't trust me so much. If he knew the truth, he'd never touch me like this again. But I can't keep living this lie. Not with him.

I swallow, my throat dry. "Spencer... I have a... I need to tell you about something."

I sit across from Spencer, feeling his steady gaze on me, that quiet acceptance that only makes this harder. He already knows who I am—what I am. And somehow, he's still here. But tonight, I need to tell him everything. He deserves to understand just how broken I am.

"You already know what I am," I start, my voice wavering, "but there's... there's more. It's not just something I've done, Spencer. It's something I want."

I look down at my hands, hands I know he's accepted despite everything they've done. But he doesn't know what it feels like. He doesn't know that, deep down, a part of me... loves it.

He doesn't say anything, just keeps watching me with that quiet patience. Somehow that makes it worse.

"It's not just a mistake, or something I can walk away from," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "When I... when I kill, it's not out of anger or desperation. I can't even explain it, but it's like... like this need inside me that I can't ignore. And every time, I tell myself I won't do it again, that I'll fight it. But that urge—it just keeps getting stronger."

I look up at him, the words coming fast, raw. "Sometimes, I want it so badly it scares me. It's like this darkness that I can't shake, this thrill that nothing else gives me. It's like I'm... addicted to it, and I don't know how to stop."

Spencer's eyes soften, but I can see the worry flicker there, too. He takes my hand, squeezing it gently, and somehow, that simple touch nearly undoes me.

"I don't want to be like this, Spencer," I whisper, feeling the tears I didn't know were there. "I don't want to be a killer, but I don't know how to be anything else. It's like... it's in me, like it's part of who I am."

He's silent for a long time, his thumb tracing soft circles on my hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, but there's a sadness to it, too. "You're not just a killer, Gwen. You're more than that. You're... complicated. And as hard as it is for me to understand, I'm here."