Picasso || Spencer Reid

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

After my routine morning coffee, I spent the afternoon in my studio organising online orders, ones of small prints containing flowers and small doodles, packing them neatly with pastel blue tissue paper and stamping them with a small wax seal. The process causes a familiar ache in my back after a long period of time. In an attempt to relieve the pain, I place my hands against my hips and lean side to side, the loud crack sending shivers down my spine.

I lean back against my chair, deciding that a break is well needed. I spin my chair around, looking at the room as a whole. My eyes meet an incomplete canvas, my fathers. He loved to paint. It was his favourite pass time, but he struggled with it when he got sick. When he eventually passed, he gave us his last gift. I found out he had left all of the property that he owned to myself; his beloved art studio; the house we lived in, in Quantico; and his parents' house in California which he rented out for some extra money. He left the majority of his personal belongings to my brother, Isaac, and then split any money left evenly between my mother, brother and myself.

His painting was still on the easel, and although unfinished, it was absolutely breath taking. It had started as an autumnal landscape piece, but was built upon with thick layers of paint, again and again until it had a unique texture to it, one that was almost irresistible to touch. I hope that he would be proud of what I was doing, making money off of my art, very small amounts nonetheless, but it was still a profit. He had always told me to do what I love and to go with my gut.

I only worked in his studio when I had the afternoon off of my part-time job at the local radio station where I worked as a broadcaster technician. Most often, I would work with the afternoon host from 2pm to 6pm, occasionally doing the overnight shift for extra side money, but only if Isaac was staying over at a friend's house. It was a job that I enjoyed, but not what I really wanted to do.

My phone ringing loudly interrupted the silence that filled the studio.

A sigh left my lips as I recognised the number that came onto the small screen. I flip open my phone and held it against my ear.

"Hello?" There was a small pause.

"Good afternoon. May I speak to Isaac's mother? I'm calling from Grace Point Academy." Her voice sounded cold and bored.

"I am his legal guardian. What's the issue?" What was this boy up to now?

"We're going to need you to come in and collect him from the principal's office. He's had another physical altercation with a student. The principle is required to speak with you in person due to the severity of this event. As discussed, he has exceeded his warnings and is facing possible suspension so it is vital you arrive as soon as possible."

My hand runs over my face as I let out another sigh. "Right, okay. I'll be there in 15 minutes."

"Perfect. We'll see you soon Ms. Lewis." Fake politeness flooded her tone once she realised that I was going to cooperate with her.

I shut my phone, placing it on my desk before resting my head in my hands. At the ripe age of 22, I will have a heart attack if this boy continues the way he has been.

I pack up my belongings and lock up the studio, frantically getting into my car.

As I approach the school, I realise that the outfit I changed into at the studio wasn't the most appropriate. I was wearing paint covered baggy sweatpants (they definitely belonged to an ex-boyfriend), an old university sweater that belonged to my father, with pens and pencils still sticking out of my bun from where I had placed them earlier for safekeeping. My spare clothes from the morning, however, were lucking in the backseat of the car.

Without a second thought I changed back into the jeans I was wearing this morning, and replaced my painting attire with my knitted maroon jumper. The jeans were easy enough to slip into once I had removed the sweatpants, but unfortunately the sweater decided to get stuck on my necklace and not let me fully pull it over my head. I tugged on it a few times, which only caused a thread to come loose, but eventually the jumper slipped over my body.

A sharp knock occurred on the window, making me jump in my skin for the second time today.

I get out of the car, my face turning bright red as I see a broad-shouldered man holding a tray of coffee's. He seemed to be amused at my situation.

"What? You think perving on women changing in their car is funny, do you?" My tone of voice lacking any emotion except anger.

He let out a small laugh. "No no no. However, I'm pretty sure that public indecency in front of a school is illegal." I feel the colour leave my face. Fuck.

"Shit, you're not a police officer, are you? I'm so sorry, I'm meant to be meeting with the principle about my little brother and... and I wasn't dressed appropriately so I had to change and oh god, you're going to arrest me aren't you?" The word stumbled from my mouth, panic visible through the tears coming to my eyes. He removes one of the hands from the coffee to move his hand side to side in a 'no' motion.

He chuckled again. "Don't worry, I'm FBI, so not technically a police officer. I was actually coming over to ask if you needed any help or directions to somewhere you could get changed privately."

"Oh thank fuck for that. Thank you, but I am really sorry, I have to go, I'm going to be late." That's the second FBI agent I've met today. What are the odds in that?

"Oh yeah, of course. But, before you do, and I promise I'm no creep, but how about a drink sometime? You could give me your number and I'll call you?" He had a pretty smile; I give can him that.

"I really appreciate the offer, but I'm very busy and I'm also not really looking for anything at the minute. But thank you, really, I'm flattered..." His face drops ever so slightly, almost like he didn't want me to see his disappointment. My eyes dart down to check the time on my phone. "Shit, I'm sorry, I have to go. It was nice to meet you..." I pause waiting for his name.

"Derek..." He reaches for my hand to shake. "Morgan." His phone begins to ring.

I smile at him again. "Faye Lewis." I release his grip and walk towards the school. I can hear him answering the call as I walk away.

The inside of the school is quiet as I make my way towards the front office, most likely because of the kids being in their classes rather than the hallways. It made me feel like I was the one in trouble, walking down these halls alone. Not many things had changed, other than the teachers, since I had attended the school. The walls were still covered in billions of posters about upcoming school productions and campaigns. It reminded me of when times were simpler. Times were all I worried about was whether the hot jock knew my name or if I would be able to get my essay in before it's deadline.

I eventually reach the main office, straightening my back and tilting my head up a little bit as my father had taught me, to assert my parental dominance. The dolled-up receptionist sat quietly looking at some kind of gossip magazine. I fake clearing my throat in an attempt to get her attention. Nothing.

"Excuse me?" She rolls her eyes before looking up towards me.

"Can I help you?" Her voice dull and monotone.

"Yeah, I'm here to see Principal Davis. I'm Isaac Lewis' guardian."

Her expression doesn't change as she picks up the phone on her desk and dials a number, tapping each button with her long nail.

"Hi... Yes, she's here... Okay, I'll send her in." She put the phone back on the rack before looking back at me.

"You can go on in." She points towards the door on her right.

I smile, thanking her but she was quick to return to her magazine.