The Birds & The Bees | S.R.

Ch. 12 | Bitter Pill

Summary: Spencer and Tara discuss regrets over drinks. Spencer and Bunny discuss them, too.

Content Warning: Alcohol, binge drinking, counseling/therapy mention, discussions of sex/sexual regret, unwanted advances, SA (forced kissing)

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Alcohol is poison. People don't often consider it as such, even though we all know that depending on the dosage, it could prove fatal. That wasn't my particular goal at the moment, although I wouldn't lie if I said the thought of it hadn't crossed my mind a number of times after the fourth shot. Or maybe it had been the third. Possibly the fifth.

Regardless of the number, the idea remained the same:

"I'm so fucking stupid."

The woman who'd just arrived actually chuckled, rolling her eyes at me like she'd reached the conclusion long before I had. Tara rested her head against her hand as she tried to meet my eyes.

"Taking six shots of tequila? Yeah, I'd say."

"Not that," I sighed as I downed the acrid liquid in question. It hadn't even stung anymore, and something in my brain told me that was meant to be a hard limit. But I'd been breaking self-imposed rules more and more often lately. What would one more be?

"Believe it or not, this meltdown..." I explained, gesturing to the blurry mess in front of me, "It seems brilliant in comparison."

"I do not believe it," she replied with a pained smile.

It stirred yet another negative memory in a glass already overflowing, and my hand only made it halfway in a wave to the bartender before it was caught in a gentle fist.

"Okay, talk," Tara ordered.

I turned to her in my drunken haze. I opened my mouth and willed the words to come out, but then all that happened was a poorly timed hiccup followed by a very loud whine.

"It can't be that bad," she tried to assure me.

But it was. Even if it wasn't, it felt like it was. Still, she was right that I'd called her for her help. I knew she was capable of helping me, and she was the most impartial voice of reason I could get. Heaven forbid I'd called Derek. Or Emily. I could hear their lecture from miles away. I could hear the 'I told you so's' and the 'it could be worse's.' I didn't need to hear them from their mouths.

Then I looked at Tara while my mouth floundered like a fish and realized that I'd been a fool for thinking she wouldn't say the same thing.

"I can't do this," I groaned with both hands covering my face like it was actually possible to hide, "it's so awkward."

"Why? Because it's about sex?" she scoffed. "Reid, I'm a licensed couple's counselor."

She'd clearly taken my discomfort as an insult, and I supposed that made sense, all things considered.

"God, I hate therapists."

I probably could've been nicer about it, but my filter had faded with the fifth shot. Thankfully, she didn't seem to mind. It almost felt like she'd taken that comment as a compliment.

"I know you do, bud. Now talk."

With one last deep breath in, I let the words come out however they wanted to.  As expected, they were a jumbled, slurred mess. Just like the man who'd said them.

"I almost fucked my student."

I finally met Tara's eyes, and she kept the eye contact a second longer saying as clearly and concisely as possible: