RUBATOSIS. spencer reid

| eighteen

SYLVIA CONNELLY.

        I DIDN'T KNOW WHY I WAS
crying like the world is falling apart at my feet. I didn't know why Spencer was bleeding out of his head right now in my arms, and I couldn't do anything about it except for cry like a child.

I didn't know why this is happening to me. Or him, especially. I shouldn't be selfish but I really couldn't understand why dying was a thing. Why couldn't people live forever?

But I was crying, because regret hurt. Not having enough time, not doing enough—all of those things. The desperation for him to be okay hurt. The fact that he might die because of me, hurt like a motherfucker.

I was sobbing into his shoulder like I was the one dying. And regardless of a chunk of metal lodged in his brain at the moment, his arm was running up and down mine slowly, soothing me. His lips were at my ear, murmuring soft spoken words that only made me feel more devastated, scared I wouldn't get to hear that again.

His body against mine sent waves of warmth and pure heaven down my spine. I wished that I could treasure it, but I was too afraid right now to even notice. I wish I had felt this earlier.

"I'm sorry." I croaked out desperately. "Spencer, I'm so sorry."

Spencer shook his head, chuckling lowly. His breath fanned against my neck, his face buried deep inside of it and making me tingle. At any other moment, I'd be silently happy that we were this close right now. But he was dying.

"I'm not going to die, Syl." He whispered. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're bleeding!" I protested through sobs. "I—I don't want you dying 'cause of me. That's-no. You're too young!"

"You're the one younger than me. And it's not your fault. Seriously, I'm okay." Spencer reassured me. "I feel...fine." The man insisted, but his weak and shaking voice said different.

Lie. They all lie.

I shook my head, burying my wet face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry." Spencer grunted, softly grabbing my hand. Warmth seeped through my skin, my entire head going light. His thumbs ran up and down my knuckles, shivers running down my entire spine.

I wish he had held my hand before. I wish I felt this before he was about to bleed to death.

I only cried harder, another laugh escaping his lips.

"Oh, Sylvia. I guess you care about me more than I thought." He said softly, his voice light.

"Of course I do." I said hoarsely. "I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you either." Spencer said softly, lifting his head to meet my eyes. I couldn't meet them and dropped my head, looking down at our hands instead. It was so warm, so blissful, regardless of the dark moment. His touch was so sweet and kind—I wondered if Spencer Reid was actually a warm and loving person. I barely knew him, and I regretted not knowing him.