Part Twelve: “The Peace”
find all parts here.
word count: 2002
Trigger warning for physical and emotional abuse and manipulation. Please proceed with caution.
The video went up the next day, completely unedited. You’d wanted the video to be as genuine as possible, so you and Spencer had decided not to cut out him asking if you’re okay, or him bringing you tissues.
You were on the couch right now, doomscrolling through the comments.
@ltloll: Fucking hell. I wish Y/N so much healing.
@ryans-gf: Nah, Ryan’s not like that.
@s2sb2: is it weird i kinda saw it?? in the last moose master vid ryan was giving WEIRD vibes cause y/n was behind the cam.
@99eliza: we love you y/n!!
@clarissrer: um…idk
You look up as Spencer enters with a smile, holding a take out bag. “Chilli’s coming in hot!”
You laugh and discard your phone, standing. “Is it weird we’re having takeout two days in a row?”
“Nah.” He laughs, placing it on the counter as you reach for plates. “It’s been a rough week for both of us.”
You sigh and nod. “Yeah, I guess. The video up yet?” You ask, trying to hide what you’ve been doing for the last hour.
“Yeah. Been up a few hours now.”
You breathe deeply. “Cool.” Spencer paused, which made you stop. You breathed out a stuttering laugh as he levelled you with a stare. “What?”
“You’ve read the comments, haven’t you?” Spencer probes and you sigh, shoulders slumping in shame. “Y/N! I told you not to for your own good!”
“I’m sorry.” You say sadly, shaking your head. “I just…needed to know.”
“And?” He probes gently, reaching for the cutlery as you fiddle with your ring.
“Mostly positive.”
“…Mostly? There are people that don’t believe you?” He asks, eyes wide.
You laugh without humour. “It’s a man’s world.” You’re quiet for a second, staring at the leaky kitchen tap that never stops dripping. Spencer’s quiet beside you, like he can tell that silence is what you need. You speak only when it begins to weigh on you.
“Every time I think of him…I get this sickening feeling of familiarity.” You say, voice practically a whisper. The drip of the tap feels loud in your ears, and you can suddenly hear the ticking of the hallway clock that you’d subconsciously tuned out. “Like…the wrong person knows me too well. And I know him too well.” You sigh, scraping your hair away from your face and tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “And then suddenly, I find myself aware that he wasn’t always the wrong person.”
Spencer’s quiet, blue eyes wide. You stand in his gaze, staring back. For the first time, you felt like somebody could fully see you. You felt like he was reading your soul.
“I’m amazed that you loved him.” Spencer responds, voice soft. The clock feels like it’s getting louder. “Having that much love in your heart…it’s beautiful. You’re amazing.” He comforts, reaching over and placing his hands over yours.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes and instead shake your head. “It’s amazing right up until I’m avoiding my own eyes in the mirror because I’m so ashamed that I stayed. Up until I was alone in the bedroom clutching my own chest thinking I could die from the pain— thinking I could choke on it and he wouldn’t even care.”
He says nothing, but his breath stutters. It’s silent a beat longer. “You could be a poet.” The quiet compliment breaks the tension, and it crashes down, like a wave cresting on the shore, splashing over your ankles. You laugh and it feels like you could finally breathe.
“I’m not a poet, I’m just a woman.” You respond.
“Amy March?”
“Little Women.” You confirm with a grin, as he followed you to the table.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
It’s later that night Spencer guides you— freshly showered, your hair still in a towel turban that always makes him laugh— to the couch. You eyes fall on the screen.
“What’s this?”
“Resident Evil 4 remake.” He responds, plopping down next to you with a loud sigh, controller in his hands. Your skin burns when his trousers brush against your thigh. “Thinking of showing it to Angela and Amanda.”
“Oh, hell yeah!” You respond with a grin and he chuckles. “Isn’t this the best one?”
“Disagree.” Spencer says loudly. “It’s arguably the 2 remake.”
“It’s subjective!” You argue with a laugh.
“It’s only subjective when you’re wrong!” He responds and you throw your head back and laugh. You expect him to hit play but turn and catch him watching you with a soft, loaded gaze and his cheeks red.
“What?” You ask.
“You’re beautiful.” He responds again, and you snort, rolling your eyes. He smiles and turns to the screen, already going on a rant about the game before it even loads. “So in this one you play a U.S. agent Leon S. Kennedy that’s sent to Spain to save the presidents daughter…”
You partially zone out, just watching him talk with a grin on his face. You didn’t have the heart to remind him that you’d played all of the Resident Evils in college and loved them enough to know the lore. You loved seeing him talk, the way he goes on small tangents and waves his hands around to emphasise his points.
He gets to a quieter part of the game when he finally notices you looking at him.
“What?”
It’s your turn to smile this time. “You’re beautiful.”
He snorts and whacks his shoulder into yours, shaking his head with a laugh, and your eyes trace the crinkles by his eyes. You feel like you could draw them from memory. “Shut up.”
You laugh along, letting him continue on with the game, but you continued to stare at him. It wasn’t a joke, he really was beautiful.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
The bathroom was illuminated only by the light up mirror as you rubbed in the moisturiser, humming under your breath. The knock was so soft you almost missed it but you turned your head to the door. “Yeah?” You ask.
Spencer opens the door, clearly almost ready for bed, old band t-shirt on and a stained pair of grey sweatpants, feet bare. You smile at him and he smiles back, sitting on the toilet seat, watching you continue.
“What’s up?” He says, voice awkward. You laugh.
“Nothing much, ‘sup with you?” You respond sarcastically.
“Y/N.” Spencer says, voice dropping an octave. It always did that when he meant business— it was the voice he used when the cast were fucking about to much and he needed them to get back on track. You felt a shot of lightening in your back that confused you.
“Spencer.” You respond, copying his serious tone as you grab your comb.
“Look. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want and I will but…” He paused and your hands stopped moving through your hair, just staring at him. “What you said earlier. Are you okay?”
You sigh and place the comb down, leaning against the counter. “No.” You say, and sigh. You don’t think you’ve answered that question truthfully for five years.
“You wanna talk about it?” Spencer asks, voice soft, like he was actually asking. Not demanding. It felt foreign to your ears.
“He used to be familiar.” You say quietly, avoiding his gaze, and subsequently meeting your own in the mirror. You can’t hold it for more than a second, fixing your eyes on the marble countertop. “The way he left…made him unfamiliar. I don’t know the person he was when he left me.” You say, feeling like you’re choking on the words. “I miss the boy who used to love me. The boy that wanted all of my tomorrows. I don’t miss the man he became.”
Spencer nods like he understands. You can’t help but feel slightly bitter about the fact he never will.
“I used to have dreams,” You continued. “Dreams where he’d hold me just to hold me, and not because of some possessive power play. Where he’d see me, sick with a runny nose and surrounded by tissues and call me beautiful. Where he’d kiss me in the middle of the milk aisle just because. Where we’d stay up until 4am because he wouldn’t stop asking me questions. And then I’d wake up, and he wouldn’t look at me. He’d hold me at an arms length unless someone else was around. He’d never ask me questions. Like he didn’t even care to know me.” You sigh, and ignore the stinging in your eyes. “I only felt at home in my dreams.”
Spencer stood and took you in his arms. Holding you just to hold you. He stroked your hair gently, and you let him sway you. You tucked your head in his neck, closing your eyes to the scent of Old Spice. “You deserve more than just your dreams.” He says softly. “You deserve someone who feels like home.”
His voice settled in your heart, and you could have sworn if your ribcage wasn’t there, it might have jumped out of your chest and landed at his feet.
You feel like home, a small voice in your head says. Instead, you say nothing, and hug him tighter, letting the swaying settle your soul into a begrudging calm.
Like a ship being swayed by unforgiving waves.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
a/n: if you can’t tell be the extremely sad chapter, i am not doing well 😝
this is based on a real conversation i had with my mam after my first girlfriend cheated on me (was not fun) and remains the most honest and best conversation i have ever had. also, she did say i should be a poet lmao but i though writer was the next closest thing (prose and rhyming schemes are not my forte).
thanks sm for all your patience while i fought my mind to get this written, i notice your support and every comment makes me feel good. love you all so much 💕x
if you liked this, please consider buying me kofi!
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