Wildest Dreams

From the Dining Table

an// this is the first chapter to the sequel of this book: From the Dining Table. 

tw// alcohol consumption, mentions of drug addiction

Spencer's POV:

I wake up with a yawn as I rub the haze of sleep from my eyes. When I open them, I search for Y/n in the bright room, but I don't see her. I figure she is in the bathroom so I decide not to disturb her. I may not have much experience with women, but I know they like their private time.

I wait fifteen minutes before I knock on the bathroom door. The sound echoes through the small room on the other side, but I don't receive an answer. I hesitantly push open the door and peek my head in, only to find it empty.

"Y/n?" I call.

No answer.

"Y/n?" I try again, this time more frantic.

Again, nothing.

I shut the bathroom door and go over to her side of the bed and pull back the covers. The sheet and pillow are ice cold, almost as if she'd never been there at all.

I feel myself start to panic, so it sit on the bed and take a few calming breaths to clear my head. I rest my face in my hands and stare into my lap as I try to make sense of the events that transpired last night.

We came back to the room, he had sex, she talked me down while I was spiraling and we went to sleep. She promised not to leave me. She promised.

"Fuck!" I yell into the empty room.

How could I be so stupid to think that she wanted a relationship with me? I was just her free pass out of jail, Morgan was right. I let her into my life, she became a part of my family and she used me.

I stumble over to the minibar, tripping over my shoe in the process because I can't see through my tear-filled eyes. I pull the cabinet door open and blindly take out the small bottles of alcohol, not bothering to check what they are because I am going to drink them anyway.

I toss them onto the bed and sit back on my side, wanting to be as far away from her sweet-smelling pillow as possible. I crack open the seal of the first bottle and quickly down the contents. It is hard to ignore the harsh burn from what I believe is vodka, but I can't bring myself to care.

At least I know I'm not numb.

I spend the next hour like this: draining the contents of one bottle, then the next, all while staring at the ceiling, hoping Y/n will come through the door with breakfast. Now it's noon and I am completely drunk.

I don't drink often since getting clean from Dilaudid, but right now, it feels like the only option I have.

When I finish drinking everything I had taken out of the cabinet, I decide that it would be best to eat something. I find a granola bar on the counter and I reluctantly eat it.

"I hate granola," I mutter to myself.

When I flop onto the bed, a yellow piece of paper catches my eye. I lift up my water bottle and unfold it, revealing a page full of what I recognize as Y/n's handwriting.

Dear Spencer,

I want to start off by apologizing. I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I can't tell you where I'm going or why, but I am safe. Please don't try to look for me. I will be back as soon as I can. I know you're scared because hearts get broken, but I promise this isn't goodbye forever. I love you so much, Spencer Reid.

Love, Mrs. Y/n Reid

Y/n left, but she can't tell me why. I may not be in the clearest state of mind, but I know trouble when I see it, and here with her rushed writing and tear stain it's written all over the page. I throw the paper onto the floor and I take a deep breath that strains my lungs.

I need to help her, but I know I can't.

I roll over on the bed and bury my face in her pillow, inhaling the scent of Y/n. Of home. Before I realize it, my eyes fall closed and I am drowning in her sweet perfume.