Losing Control [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔

13. The Eyes of a Murderer

Before y'all read this chapter, I just gotta say: Spencer and Y/n have an argument at the beginning of this chapter and they are BOTH in the wrong for different reasons. I'm tired of y'all acting like Spencer is a saint—he can be wrong and toxic sometimes, too. Don't shit all over Y/n. Spencer can be at fault, too.

!!TW!!: mentions of death and suicide, descriptions of suicide
If anyone is struggling and needs to talk, I am here, just shoot me a DM. You aren't alone.

Waking up in Spencer's apartment is a feeling you have grown accustomed to. You've become familiar with the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, the heat from his body and thick comforter keeping you warm, the frenzy of kisses he'd litter all over your face as you woke. It's been four days since that night at the club—and the day after, Spencer told you he wanted you to be his, and only his. Now, you feel comfort in knowing he is your actual boyfriend, and not just some guy you may or may not be falling in love with.

That's why today, it felt weird to not feel the weight of his arms around you when you wake up. Groaning, you sit up in his bed, rubbing your eyes. It had been a few days since you had the recurring nightmare—your guess is sleeping with who the nightmare is about held it off for a little while. You look at the indention on the bed from Spencer's body, now cold. Yawning, you stand, walking toward the shut bedroom door.

Spencer's voice from outside the door stops you, and you hesitate, hand on the cold metal of the doorknob. Slowly, you twist the handle, opening the door just enough to see his figure.

"—have to take your medicine, Mom." Spencer is leaning against the kitchen counter, back to you, his phone held to his ear. "I promise they're not trying to poison you, they're trying to help you."

You realize you've never heard Spencer talk about his mom before—he's never even mentioned he has a mom. And whoever she is, she's paranoid.

"Just please promise me you'll take your medicine." Spencer's voice is pleading. After a moment, he sighs. "How would you like it if I came and saw you soon, hm?" His voice turns soft, almost like he's speaking to a child. "I promise, soon. Can I speak with Dr. Marx now, please?" He nods his head, a smile evident in his voice. "I love you, too."

You softly close the door, making sure not to make any noise. It's clear Spencer's mother is hospitalized—with what, you don't know. You wait until you hear him near the end of his conversation before opening the door, his body immediately tensing.

"Mhm, I understand. Goodbye." He hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket, turning toward you. He looks stressed—and tired. Always tired.

"G'morning," you whisper, shuffling over to him.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Spencer wraps you up in a hug, kissing your forehead before releasing you. You step backward until your butt hits the counter, putting a little distance between you and Spencer.