Hidden // Spencer Reid

Fire White

I stare at him, no words able to describe my whirlpool of emotions. "You what?"

He looks at me through his sopping wet hair. "I lied to you about the results," Spencer repeats.

"What the hell, Spencer? Who is the fucking father of my child?"

The words still feel wrong coming from me. But I can only barely comprehend my overwhelming anger; I literally don't have the emotional capacity to worry about anything else.

"It's not Morgan," he mumbles, his voice on the verge of silence.

"Is it yours?" I demand, glaring at him icily.

His voice comes out as less than a whisper. "No."

No.

If I had never understood what people meant by "the room was spinning", I do now. I can't focus on anything.

"Do you know whose it is?" My voice is an unappealing squeak. I see the faces of my attackers in my mind, but I felt that something was missing. Something had always been missing.

"That's not the only thing I lied about," he replies weakly, avoiding my question.

"What?"

"I need-- I-I need to tell you the truth."

I understand why Jessica had stuttered yesterday when asking for the truth-- because honestly, I don't want to hear the truth. I know I have to, or I'll spend my entire life in the dark.

All I can say, again, is, "What?"

"I didn't just find you in the alley that day. Nobody.. Nobody found you until four in the morning, L-Lena. D-Derek heard you scream.. when he came, you were already gone. They took you away, and-- well, we know who 'they' are."

I can't speak.

"I- I'll get back to that. Well, I made the doctors lie to s-spare you from the pain.. When I found you, you were bleeding, and beaten, and you looked-- you looked terrible. B-but I found you outside your house."

He let me try to process everything he was saying.

"Who-- who took me, Spencer?" Tears roll down my face as I remember the days spent describing what had happened, how much of it I really couldn't talk about because I was blacked out.

Those days were for nothing, because I get the feeling Spencer does know who did it. The look in his eyes was so despairing, I had to fix my eyes on my hands.

The first time he says it, I can't hear him.

"Say it again, Spencer," I whisper hoarsely.

"Grant," he says without facing me.

I look at the bulge of my stomach instinctually, gasping in horror. "Oh, God," I moan, feeling absolutely helpless and miserable. "Oh, my God," I cry, wanting to wake up from this nightmare.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, but I can't form the words needed to forgive him. I can't forgive him.

"Please tell me you're lying," I wail, my face in my hands.

"I'm sorry, Lena," he pleads again, and somehow pulls me from my wheelchair and onto the couch, where I curl up in his arms and cry.

I don't have enough sense to be angry at him; all I feel is absolute terror.

I'm going to give birth to a baby whose father is a sociopath. A man whose cruelty exceeds the limits of anything else I have witnessed with my own eyes.