Spencer Reid One Shots

Shake It Out (Chandelier 2)

“Maybe not. But you are drinking an awful lot and you are putting yourself into dangerous situations, you can’t deny that. I’m talking to you as friend here, not a colleague. You have issues, and you’re using alcohol to hide from them. I don’t need to be a profiler to see that. Come to the meeting, listen to other people’s stories, maybe it will make you realise that…. ”

“I’M NOT AN ALCOHOLIC. I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM!”

Spotting your heels and bag on the floor, you picked them up and walked as quickly as you could to his apartment door, hearing him calling after you. You fumbled with the locks on the door, trying and failing to unlatch them, your hands were trembling so much in anger, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer followed you, reaching into a bowl on a table by the door and stuffing his feet into a pair of converse.

“I’ll take you home.”

…

The drive home was silent, tears still flowing down your cheeks in a mixture of anger and disgust. Every so often Spencer would glance over at you and open his mouth to say something, but then he’d think better of it and close it again.

When you reached your building you turned to climb out of Spencer’s tiny car, feeling his hand on your arm stopping you from leaving.

“Y/N. I AM here for you okay, if you need me. Just call. It doesn’t matter what time.”

You nodded before yanking your arm away and exiting the vehicle, not even thanking him for coming to your rescue last night, or taking care of you.

When you got inside your apartment you went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out the glass bottle of clear liquid. This one was almost empty, but no matter. You had another one. You brought the bottle to your lips, feeling the burn as the liquid slipped down your throat and into your empty stomach. The urge to vomit was immediate and you spun around to the sink seeing the vodka reappear again, your head throbbing.

It was then that the stark realisation hit you.

You shouldn’t be spending your weekends like this.

You shouldn’t need another drink to help recover from the last binge.

You shouldn’t need to get so out of your mind that you could barely recall certain events.

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I’m always dragging that horse around

What were you doing with your life? Why had you let someone break you down into such little pieces that you didn’t like who you were and needed to drink to get away from it? How had you let one man leaving you, get to you and affect you so badly that you no longer wanted to be alone in your own company.

You turned the cold water tap on and stuck your mouth directly under it, rinsing your mouth out and spitting.

This…. this needed to stop.

Standing back up, you reached for the bottle of vodka and unscrewed the cap. You poured the liquid down the drain, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the second bottle and doing the same. Moving around your kitchen and living room you collected the various bottles and emptied them all, lining them up on the counter.

When you were done, you counted them. Fifteen bottles, a mixture of spirits and wines. Most had been half empty already when you’d drained them. Pulling a bin bag out of your drawer, you started to drop the bottles into the bag carefully, wincing as you missed and sent one crashing to the floor. Falling to your knees you made the huge mistake of trying to pick up one of the larger shards of broken glass with your hand.