FREAKING OUT ² ➢ spencer reid

I

Six months. Six months was all it took for everything to come crumbling down around me. I'd like to say I was surprised; to say that everything leading up to this point came entirely out of left field, but that would be a lie.

I laid on the floor of my flat, sucking down a bottle of scotch, while listening to Tony Bennett.

"Did Rossi die and take over your body? Jesus." Prentiss opened the front door, fanning her nose as she scrunched up her face and looked down at my barely conscious body. She let out a heavy sigh, kicking off her shoes as she walked over and sat next to me. She crossed her legs and reached out her hand, wiggling her fingers at the bottle in my mouth.

I sat up slightly, peeling the drink from my lips to hand it to her. As I laid back down I watched her take a swig, wincing at the pain as it trailed down her throat. She stuck out her tongue and shook her head. "Disgusting," she muttered.

I propped myself up on my elbows and grabbed the bottle back. I took another sip. At this point I barely tasted it. My whole body was so numb I couldn't even feel my fingers anymore. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I sat up completely, crossing my legs just like her. I felt my head spin in circles, twirling continuously until I opened my eyes to blink.

"How long have you been laying here?"

I shrugged. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure; all the hours seemed to blur together at this point.

She sniffed the air and nearly gagged. "Oh, my god. You need to have a shower."

I rolled my eyes and took another sip. Actually, it was more of chug. I felt it this time. The hot liquid pooling at the back of my tongue as I swallowed hard. I closed my eyes and tried to distract myself from the burning sensation in my throat. When I finished I looked over at her angrily. "I don't need to do anything," I snapped.

She stole the bottle from my hands, searching the area until she found the lid somewhere on the floor and twisted it on. She tucked it behind her back, giving me a stern look. "Look, I get that you're sad and all, but I have work to do. I need to know. Are you staying or going?"

"Going," I slurred, "I fucking hate this stupid job."

After arriving in London worked picked up quickly. Right off the bat I was put on a fast tracked training regime at the orders of Prentiss and within two weeks I was put on the field. Not long into our first case though, I knew it wasn't for me. While the job itself had some similarities to profiling it wasn't nearly as enjoyable. The long hours made it hard to talk to friends and the dirty politics made me sick to my stomach.

"Isla," Prentiss frowned. Even though I knew she was my boss, during our off hours I still talked to her like she was my friend. I knew that wasn't necessarily the most professional move on my part, but after everything we'd been through I really didn't care.

"Emily I can't do this," I wined, "I love you, really, but, I'm done. I quit."

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, staring down at the floor as she collected her thoughts. From day one she busted her ass to get me here and now here I was disappointing her. Just another person to add to the long list of broken relationships.

I stood up from the floor, my legs shaking as I took a couple of steps toward the kitchen. I could feel the pins and needles stinging my feet as I walked, causing me to clench my teeth as I leaned against the counter and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. I turned on the tap, checking to see if it was cold enough before sticking the cup underneath. I chugged the whole glass, letting out a sigh of relief before turning the tap off.