addicted {spencer reid}

Chapter 1

A/N: This book deals with self harm and depression. This could be a trigger warning for some readers, so please read at your own risk as this is a hard subject. Enjoy! 💘

Lights will guide you home.
And ignite your bones.
I will try to fix you.
Coldplay, 'Fix You'

Spencer's POV

"Spencer!" My mom cries. She's in my room, throwing all my stuff around. She thinks I'm part of the government, she thinks I'm spying on her. My books fly to the floor, pages flying everywhere.

She is a paranoid schizophrenic, and she's been doing this a lot lately. Been throwing fits, throwing my stuff around, and having attacks. She's always done this, but it's getting worse and worse every day.

I look at her tearing apart my room, and tears pour down my cheeks. I can't bear to see her like this.

"What is this? WHAT IS THIS?" She yells, holding up a disc in a CD player. Her schizophrenic brain acting for her again. I know she's a good person, and I can't blame her for her schizophrenia.

"It's just a copy of Shakespeare on tape, mom! It's not-" I try.

"Yeah, right! You're spying on me, aren't you? Oh god, you're part of the government," she hisses, running her hands through her blonde hair that is streaked with grey.

She leaves the room in a huff, and I fall on my knees, tears streaming down my face. I don't go after her, it will only make it worse. She'll become more agitated with me. My mom has been doing this for a long time now, and it's breaking me apart even more everyday.

I don't know if I can take it anymore, the constant blame of being considered a secret government spy by my own mother every day. The bullying that goes on, the things I have to go through- it's all too much.

I run to the bathroom and almost collapse on the cold bathroom floor. I reach for the blade that's sitting on the bathroom counter, dried blood painted on it.

I pull my sleeve up, revealing previous scars. I've been cutting for a few months now. The bullying has been getting worse, and so has my mom.

I press the blade onto my skin and cut. I watch the blood trickle down my arm and onto the floor. I cut three times, wanting to feel the pain, wanting to hurt myself.

Blood pools out of my wrists, and I watch as it does. The red soothes me, seeing myself bleed makes me feel a temporary relief.

I put the blade back on the counter and grab a washcloth, pressing it to my wounds. I put a bandaid over the wounds and pull my sleeve back down. No one knows about my cuts, but who am I to tell? I have no friends, my dad left me when I was young, and my mom thinks I'm a spy for the government.

I lay down on the cold floor and press my face to the tile, the coldness soothing me.

Is life ever going to get better for me?

**********

1:45. I read my clock in my head, it's 1:45 am. I've been trying to get to sleep for a few hours, but I can't fall asleep. My cuts sting, and I can hear my mom crying in the other room. I want to go comfort her.

I push the blankets off of my thin body and slowly stand up. I walk down the hallways, tiptoeing. I creak open the door to my mom's room, and find her sitting on the bed, crying. She's holding something in her hands: it's that DVD she took from my room.

"Mom?" I ask. She turns her head to look at me, her face streaked with tears.

"Oh, Spencer. I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you again?" She asks. I shake my head.