Do You?

Six

     I followed Derek out to the black SUV. I bit my lip, feeling my nerves getting the best of me. I had wanted a relationship for so long with Derek, and now I was being a weird piece of shit.
     I silently slid into the passenger seat as Derek punched the address into the GPS. He started driving.
     "You ok kid?" He asked me gently.
     "Mhm," I said, scared if I said anything else I'd begin crying.
     Derek took my hand in his, leaving just one on the wheel. He pressed my hand to his lips. "I love you, kid."
     I blushed crimson, grinning stupidly. "I love you too," I whispered.
     We drove down the dark, curvy roads, the headlights only illuminating the slick, wet pavement, and the moss-covered trees.
     After a short drive, we reached the brother-of-the-latest-victim's house. (Did that sentence make any sense?) We walked up the driveway and to the front porch.
     Morgan knocked on the door. "Mr. Phillips? This is FBI agents Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid!" He called out.
     There was no answer. I pressed my ear against the door, and was met with only silence.
     I shrugged my shoulders at Derek, who motioned for me to step back. I obliged.
     He kicked the door open, and we stepped inside. "Mr. Phillips?" Derek called out again.
     We both pulled out our guns and flashlights, and started moving around the house. Derek began moving upstairs, but I stayed on the main floor.
     I ended up in the man's kitchen; I let out a small cry of surprise. Mr. Phillips lay there, in a pool of his own blood, gasping and choking violently on his own blood.
     I felt my blood freeze. "Der-" I squeaked. "D-Derek!" I fell to my knees and immediately started chest compressions.
     Derek was by my side in an instant. "Wha- oh my god," he breathed.
     In the beam of his flashlight, I saw the damage done to the man.
     Thin, deep bloody cuts ran along his bare chest, and probably the rest of his body.
     "Spence, stop," he whispered.
     "What? Why?" I hissed back, not stopping.
     "I think it's making it worse," he breathed. "Look at him."
     I brought my eyes up to his face and gasped. "Oh god."
     His mouth and nose were caked in semi-dried clotted bloody, and his eyes were bloodshot.
     "What do I do?" I asked Morgan, feeling myself shaking.
     "Nothing. There's nothing..." he trailed off. "I'll go call back up."