ESCORT / spencer reid.

twenty three

     IVORY FELT nauseous as she entered her home, feeling like the floor was just made of jello. She grimaced, shutting her eyes tightly and immediately going back to her night with her client, his hands running all over her body. She felt her throat begin constrict into something so small that she couldn't even feel the air hit her lungs anymore. She couldn't tell whether or not if she was in more physical or mental pain.

That night, Ivory left the hotel on the brink of tears. It was so hard to keep it together on night like these where her client threw her around like some useless object. It made her hate herself afterwards, but if Ivory could say what was the worst feeling, she'd say that it was the regret she felt afterwards. Regret for that night, regret for this job, regret for herself. If Ivory could, she'd push the restart button on her life and do it again and make the right choice.

Because this wasn't the right choice. Being an escort wasn't the right choice for Ivory. It was too bad that she only found out too late.

She couldn't help but cry in the backseat of the cab on the way home—her driver didn't even give a single reassuring remark to her, which made her feel like an attention-seeking whore. A whore, just like everyone else called her.

Ivory buried her head in her hands and sobbed, the images of what her life could've been flashing through her imagination. She could've pursued her dreams of becoming a doctor, she could be saving people's lives and actually making a difference instead of this. Letting men who only needed a good fuck, just toss her around and use her. They didn't need help—they didn't need anyone. They were all the fucking same—selfish, cheaters, and misogynistic as hell.

She could had a family by now. She could've been married with a couple of kids running around the house. She could be spending the rest of her life with someone who she genuinely loved.

Ivory only began to cry harder when she imagined that man as Spencer.

It was so hard to except everything about her, and yet Spencer somehow managed to. He hung onto the good parts of her and ignored the blaring flaws that Ivory wish he'd see. She wish he'd just open his eyes and realize how much this entire thing could be hurting him. Because Ivory knew it did—she knew her being an escort hurt him.

And she hated it. She hated that he was slowly killing a part of himself to be with her. To stick around and make her happy.

She was so unhappy without him. It was clear to see that life without Spencer would just be the exact same as tonight. Her, entering her home with tears running down her face, exhaustion set in her bones.

But Ivory paused when she saw that the lights in her bedroom were on. The woman gulped hard and quickly wiping her tears away, peering through the crack of the door. She felt nothing but dread when she recognized the obnoxious chewing sounds and the messy mop of brown on his head. On any other day, she'd be so happy so see him, but not tonight. Not tonight, because all he was was a reminder of everything she could have if she wasn't an escort.

"Spence," She muttered in a hoarse voice, opening the door as Spencer peered up at her. The bright and happy grin that made its way up to his face made her own eyes well up with tears—he just looked so happy. And Ivory couldn't believe for one second that she was the one making him so happy.

The man was still dressed in his suit from work—most likely because he knew Ivory loved to see him in his work clothes. Spencer also had a bag of chips on his stomach which he chomping away on as he watched some nerdy documentary on her tv.

"Hey babe." Spencer said nonchalantly, the overtly casualness in his voice making her laugh softly. He didn't seem to realize her state yet.

"You're early." Ivory said softly, forcing a small smile on her face. She didn't come near as Spencer expected, not jumping in his arms nor smothering him with kisses, either. He paused, furrowing his eyebrows as he took in her appearance. Something was wrong.