MIDNIGHT PLEASURE, spencer reid ✔

chapter six

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FOR THE FIRST TIME in my life, I felt insecure, as if I were incapable of doing a certain thing. For example, I felt unprepared for field work. From all the stories I heard from Spencer, the job of a field profiler isn't naïve at all. It requires mental toughness that is at the extreme limit compared to physical strength. In such moments, it's of no use for you to have a high IQ if you understand your job only in theory. Your life has a question mark every time you go to a crime scene.

At that moment, I felt like I didn't belong in that world. That I was in the field, with a gun. Gun practise was the first time I was scared. Maybe I should stay in the office after all. Or were those just thoughts I had put in my head to quell that strange feeling before I went to Spencer's lecture. The local case was solved very quickly because the police already knew who the possible culprit was for a very disturbing murder. According to all news reports, one piece of information was always the same. The killer was messy, that gave him away immediately, he looked like someone who had read stories about famous serial killers and wanted to do the same as them. He was also very anxious, afraid of people. He definitely had a disorder that even the doctors didn't know he had. But he wasn't a copycat killer, he was a common amateur who was fortunately arrested on Sunday, just two days after FBI became involved in the investigation.

For many, Monday meant a new chance at a better life. In this city, Monday meant one less murderer on the streets of this state. People lived busy lives, and the city was crowded at almost any time of day or evening. And with the crowds came impatience, various curses, hatred for having to wait for a red light, a line at a coffee shop, a city bus or an Uber.

I hated waiting for the day I'd see Spencer again. It was more comfortable for me to see him, as long as I didn't have to address him as Professor

I did that once or twice. I couldn't help but ask him a question about a lesson.

It was 8:05 in the morning, and the psychology office was slowly filling up. I arrived in time to take the seat I usually sit in, lately my seat is always taken, I hate when that happens. In the lecture I see some famous people with whom I've shared other subjects, the rest will forever be unknown to me.

Spencer Reid was more than twenty minutes late to lecture for the first time, several of them leaving the office after he had been gone ten minutes. He hurried to his chair and tossed the leather bag carelessly on the table in front of him. He looked around the classroom before looking at me.

He cleared his throat twice before finally considering how to most effectively quell the frustration in all of us. I wasn't having it, the others were. Reid, too.

"As you know, part of the work at FBI is paperwork. Can you guess who among your colleagues was made to do hundreds of pages of paperwork? Yes, that's me," he spoke rather quickly, but clearly enough. He sounded funny as if this was his first lesson ever. He was confused, probably because he had just gotten up twenty minutes ago.

The dark circles on his face looked just as sharp. He still hadn't shaved, and his hair looked much shaggier than usual. "Since we don't have a full class because of my mistake, I'm going to change the order of the lessons and cover the shorter one first so as not to interrupt the lecture in the middle of the lesson. Pay attention, these things will be asked on the exam. I shouldn't tell you this, but I did much worse on the last exam than I calculated for myself. ", He turned to the blackboard and wrote down the name of the lesson. Stressor and aggressor.