a different type of high | s.r.

part twelve

"Good, she made it home safely. No one else got injured or died," he answered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Happy to be home."

"I'm happy you're home, too. Didn't realize it was possible to miss someone so much," I nervously laughed as he looked away from me. Spencer returned the laughter with a nod.

"What'd you do while I was gone?" he asked as he looked around his apartment. It looked pretty much the same as before he left, give or take a cup or two I forgot to put in the sink.

"Uh. I-I just hung out... Mostly in your bedroom..." I looked over my shoulder at the room I was just in. Part of me was worried he could see through my answer. My answer was truthful, but there was a little bit of a lie. Of course I hung out in his apartment, but I didn't want to tell him I also hung out in the allies and bought whatever pill I could get my hands on. Or how I went to my apartment one day to find whatever I had there.

But Spencer knows better. He works for the fucking FBI reading people for a living. He knows I did more than just hang out in his apartment. He probably already knows I've relapsed. Maybe his profiling skills are weak after being on a case. But he can't just turn it on and off like a light switch.

"I'm going to freshen up real quick. I'll be right back." He stared at me for a moment before stepping away from me. I watched as he pulled his bag off and put it on the couch, then walked past me and went towards the bathroom in his room.

I swallowed roughly as my heart started slamming in my chest. Bathroom... Right. It's not like I was in there 5 minutes ago with a labelless bottle of pills.

Spencer knows. He knows and there's nothing I could do.

I sat down on the couch, trying to prepare for what was about to come. But I couldn't even think of what was about to come. I was already feeling the inevitable shame I would feel when he called me out. There was nothing I could do to stop the sudden panic attack I was feeling coming on.

Spencer was in the bathroom for a very long time. He said he was going to be quick, and he's been in there for a long time. I couldn't keep my eyes off the door. My thumb was between my lips as I bit down on the nail.

Then he came out. He kept his head low as he walked into the living room. I watched as he took a seat on the arm chair opposite where I sat on the couch. Part of me wondered why he didn't sit on the couch with me. And it hit me why he sat where he sat.

"We need to talk about the elephant in the room," he stated so roughly. I swallowed roughly as I looked away from him, my eyes landing on the coffee table.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spencer," I lied. There were a number of things we "needed" to talk about. It could be the fact that I said 'I love you' to him. Or it could be my relapse. Or it's something totally different that I have no knowledge of.

"No, you know exactly what I'm talking about," he said so cooly. I hated the way the words sounded coming from his mouth. I hated that he sounded mad.

"Okay, okay, fine... What do we need to talk about, Spencer? What?" I looked back at him. In my head my words sounded strong and sure. But I'm sure out loud they were weak and soft. I didn't want to talk about anything. I just wish things could go back to how they were before I was kidnapped. Unfortunately, things wouldn't return that way.

"We need to talk about how you're using again," he kept his voice low. I stared at him before swallowing roughly. And there it was, the shame. The shame I was feeling moments before he came out of the bathroom. Except this was so much worse.

"I don't kn-"

"You can't lie out of this," then he said my name. And I hated the way my name sounded as he spoke. Usually he said my name and he meant it with love. But it didn't feel like he loved me. Of course, I didn't actually know if he loved me or not. "I know you're stealing from my medicine cabinet, and I know you're hiding drugs in my apartment."