CHERRY FLAVOURED || Re-Write

THIRTEEN

i can be cruel. sorry...

tw: mentions of suicide.

SPENCER REID'S POV

We were looking at each other: focused on one another's forming wrinkles from being too stressed and getting too old, YN's freckles dotting her nose, one another's glassy eyes from crying while we had sex. What we did could have been seen as 'love-making,' but the term clawed at my throat and I would've rather used 'fuck,' or simply 'sex.'

My hand was swaying along her bare torso. My fingers dotted her skin that smelled of vanilla and a pinch of sweaty bodies. I inhaled her scent and took in as much beauty as I could before she was gone.

Thinking about how she'd be gone soon made my insides slam against my bones and my mind scramble for an answer to keep her here. Maybe if I somehow came up with a formula to time travel, or an anecdote to make her infinitely happy. YN was leaving and she was stubborn–more than anyone enjoyed–and begging her to stay was already crossed off the list. Having sex with her wasn't on the list either, but the entire time I crashed into her, I hoped a loose screw in her head was knocked back into place; that she'd magically decided to not kill herself.

I hated her stubbornness. She wouldn't stop hating herself, no matter what I told her: 'You're beautiful,' 'You know how to make me feel good,' 'You're the only woman to make me feel this way.' Nothing made her reevaluate. Nothing made her stop hating me, even though it was evident that she liked me after wanting to hate me.

"You're beautiful," I whispered. I brushed her hair out of her face and brushed my fingers along her body, up to her face. I held her cheek in my palm and swallowed the pain, or vomit, lingering in my throat. "You really are."

She shook her head and tried crouching away from my touch. I followed after her and trapped her in my arms to where she couldn't move. I hovered over her now and I could see her body again: breasts and tender stomach and only a sliver of where I'd been inside of for nearly hours.

"You're leaving soon and I've given up trying to redeem myself."

"You should."

"Why, though?" I asked. I placed more of my body weight onto her as I inched closer.

"You hate me," she replied.

I had nothing to say. I did, to an extent, hate her. She made life miserable for me at work, she was babied, and she had people threaten my work position. She could have risked it all for me; but I still liked her. I liked her face and her ability to like me regardless of my malicious words and actions, I liked her soft skin that never failed to smell like vanilla, I liked her mouth that spoke dozens of intelligent words and facts, I liked her momentarily wild hair that slapped the wind. I liked her. I liked her so much that I hated her.

She smiled. The corners of her lips tried working themselves up to her eyes and her teeth failed to hide themselves behind her lips. "You do hate me."

"I hate things about you. I've come to a conclusion that that's what it is."

"Oh?" She wriggled her eyebrows and pecked my lips.

I looked down at her as she drilled herself into her bed. She looked back at me but it seemed like I was deeper in thought than she was. She was floating around in her made-up 'happy palace.' She resided there when she wasn't working, or wasn't trying to slam me against a brick wall.

"I like having sex with you," she whispered, as if the room was full of people performing an experiment. They all brought their magnifying glasses up to us and watched our interaction. Our failed interaction at being mature adults.

"I do too," I whispered back. I wanted to tell her, 'If you stay I'll have sex with you as many times as you want,' but I gave it a few seconds. I didn't want to ruin the impeccable silence we had between us. But once the minutes were over, I said it. Well, an interpretation of my thoughts. "So why don't you stay? We can have as much sex as you want."

"Because I... I don't know. I don't want to be here. I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to feel lost so much. I don't want to feel hate anymore."

I looked away and then slid off her body. I crawled to the end of the bed and pulled on my clothes. My shirt was splayed across her vanity chair and I stood up to retrieve it. She was speaking to me but all I heard was static. At least that's what I forced myself to hear. I pulled on my shirt and put on my shoes and walked to her door.

"I don't want you to hate me when I'm gone."

I turned to look at her and couldn't hold the tears I didn't know were lodged in the corner of my eyes. They dribbled down my cheeks and down my neck and splattered my tousled collar. My lips parted to let out a string of words, but I couldn't utter anything. All that fell out was a mewl.

"I won't," I finally replied. "I won't hate you, hon."

She stood up and walked to me on her tip-toes. She wrapped her arms around my torso and nuzzled her head into my neck. She pushed me against the wall but I didn't have any force to stand. This was hitting me too hard for someone who wasn't going to kill themselves. I was watching the person I secretly liked to the core telling me goodbye.

I sunk to the ground and held YN against me all the way down to the floor. She sobbed on my shoulder and I cried into her hair. She caressed my face and kissed my teary lips and told me she'd be there for me even if she was dead.

She told me to tell her parents her entire reasoning. She didn't give me a letter, but she gave me her rings and jewelry, which meant she'd be gone sooner rather than later.

I cried harder at that moment.

I cried to the point where I could no longer see when I walked out of her apartment and slid into my car. I couldn't see when I got home and curled into bed with my suit still layered on my body. I couldn't see when I woke up with tacky glue stuck to my eyelids.

However, I could see when I got to work, and couldn't spot YN anywhere.

They said she was gone because of her feet, but I knew she was gone to prepare.

Which meant I couldn't be at the office.