Hi! This is where I post my writing for the couple Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh from the show Pretty Little Liars. I take requests so leave me a prompt!
Hi I just finished reading your fic and love it. Another good one. But there was one line in that story that bothered me. “Sometimes I would pretend she was you.” I think that’s kind of wrong to say because I don’t think Toby would ever say that. That’s just not who he is. I think Toby really loved Yvonne. He said he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Married her. She didn’t lie or cheat on him. Even though we saw little of them, you can see he loved her. Sorry, that’s just how I feel.
Aw, I’m sorry you didn’t like the line. I debated on it for a minute but in the end I left it in because it was meant to be a section where they were confessing their deepest secrets and feelings that they had been hiding for so long. I respect your opinion and if you truly believe Toby was in love with Yvonne but, to me, there is a difference in being in love with someone and just loving someone. Alex did have that line in 7x20, “he settled for Yvonne”, and that was clearly the writers sloppy way of telling the audience Toby didn’t love Yvonne like he did Spencer. Also mind you, he married Yvonne so she could die happily and he only proposed because he thought things were over for good with Spencer at that point. But I do respect that this is how you feel and I’m truly sorry if the line bothered you. Though, I will tell you the next chapter does have a heavy focus on Toby’s relationship with Yvonne and how Spencer feels that he married her. I just felt I should warn you about that, if you’re POV on Toby and Yvonne doesn’t match up to mine. It’s no ones fault, since the writers chose to refuse to deal with the drama they stirred up.
I was literally just thinking about how much I miss your fanfics so when I saw that you posted, I was truly overjoyed! After Marlene came out with her own "flash-forward" I couldn't help but pray that someone else, who actually understood the grievances of Spoby shippers, could write something else. Anything else. You write the characters so beautifully I forget that I'm even reading fanfiction. And I'm really looking forward to the next part!
Awww thank you I love you lord knows this means the world to me have a blessed day and night and life ❤️💕😍😘❣️
AN: Hi! So I wrote this actually last September. I fully intended it to be a oneshot but unfortunately I got stuck somewhere in the second part and realized it made a lot more sense to just split it in two anyway, as the storyline sort of shifts halfway through. I still don't have the second half done, but I figured why hold off on posting the first half? Haha.
But seriously, I do feel the need to probably warn you that if you are an Ezria shipper who is dabbling in Spoby fanfiction, this is not the story for you. If you are a Spoby shipper who also hardcore ships Ezria, I advise you to proceed with caution. This first chapter has absolutely nothing to do with Ezria at all-in fact, I think they are scarcely even mentioned-but the second half focuses on Spencer and them in a very, very negative way and I just want to give you a clear warning that this is truly not a Ezra friendly story (though I did ship them once upon a time. . . prior to 4B, let's just say).
Otherwise, I feel the need to maybe also throw out there that this is an extremely chaotic run-on-sentence style of writing I tried out and maybe it won't really work for you, maybe it'll be way too confusing, and I'm really, truly sorry if that's the case, but I started randomly writing without a plan-though the storyline in the first chapter is a more simplified version of a much more in-depth story I still have every intention of writing-and this is what came out.
Anyways, I love all you out there who are reading this. You all mean the world to me and I hope you enjoy this fic and that you do comeback for more. Your never-ending support for everything I write really means more than I could ever even express. (I sound so cliche right now but all my author notes kind of sound cliche soooo I guess this is just me hahaha.)
Oh and I basically forgot to even give you the time period this takes place in-though I hope it's apparent a few paragraphs in, hahaha. This is set after 7x20. And, if you didn't know, the title comes from the poem Spencer recited to Toby in the end of the finale. She didn't say the entire thing, but the poem's second to last line translates to the title of this fic.
Thank you and enjoy! (:
An ordinary day is a rarity after spending years upon years living in constant fear of an unknown figure, an all-knowing tormentor, a ruthless, violent psychopath. Ordinary days are unexpected blessings that no one who had an average youth could possibly even begin to comprehend.
But unfortunately some didn’t have the luxury of ignorance and were forced to bear the brunt of the past, forced to live every second of every day with skeletons and ghosts and demons and whispers all sitting at the threshold of their closet, begging to be unleashed, begging to be set free, begging to devour what was built in spite of the panic and the fear and the lingering anxiety that somehow, some way, it wasn’t over, and somewhere out there in the dark that no one could see, the game was still happening.
Some days the trepidation was so debilitating, it incapacitated them from doing anything more strenuous than inhaling and exhaling from the comfort of their beds.
Spencer was one of those people. The stunning, brilliant brunette, who spent her entire young adulthood looking over her shoulder, flinching whenever a new text came, evading cops and parents and the boy with blue eyes that she loved more than her own life, always terrified of looking behind her on the off chance of finding sociopaths or stalkers or killers--or her own family--waiting, had lived a life that most people couldn’t even stomach envisioning and somehow, by some miracle of strength and stamina, she managed not to let it destroy her completely.
It’d been two years. Two years since the game had officially ended. Two years since Toby and the girls and Caleb and Mona had all found Alex’s underground bunker, found their tormentor and their best friend fighting over an axe, found Ezra with a crack in his skull. Two years since Toby had alone deciphered which twin was the crazed mastermind and which twin was the girl who owned his entire heart.
“Une orange sur la table.
Ta robe sur le tapis.
Et toi dans mon lit.”
Two years since Alex and Mary and Mona had all but evaporated into thin air. Two years since a cop came and took Alex away and never booked her into custody and never reported the incident and never told any authority figure that there laid a bunker underground, underneath a beautiful blue house that meant for a girl with mocha eyes but instead had been permanently marred by her twin.
In the two years since that night, the entire group had struggled and faltered and fell and rose and made leap and bounds and failed and succeeded, time and time again.
Emily and Alison had taken a trip to Paris, just ten weeks after the game ended. They intended to go for two weeks, ended up staying three months longer than anticipated and when they returned, instantly went to couple’s therapy in order to save their marriage before it started. It worked but they still struggled, Spencer knew. Emily wanted to stay in Paris, stay away from Rosewood, stay in a foreign land where it felt like nothing that had happened in their nightmarish hometown could touch them. Alison though, the girl who stayed on the run for two years when she was nothing more than a child, demanded they return to Rosewood, demanded they raise their twins in the little disturbed town.
Spencer suspected that her cousin’s reasons for wanting to stay had everything to do with the childhood she never got to have and the fantasy of what could have been. Alison, unlike all the other girls, lived in a daydream that Rosewood could be home, that the picturesque small town wasn’t haunted or tainted or a living hell on Earth and that if they just stuck around long enough, if they just watched their girls grow up here, Emily would magically see the fog clear her eyes and would understand too, that this town wasn’t the problem, they just never gave it a chance.
Alison also clung to the memory of her mother, with all ten fingers. She clung to the woman who many would describe as deplorable and deranged and bizarre beyond measure. And they’d be right, in Spencer’s eyes. But the brunette also held more empathy for Ali than she would have when they were kids, as now she too understood what it was like to look at the woman who gave you life and wonder how you could feel so connected and drawn to someone who had done so many horrendous things. How you could forgive someone for committing unspeakable acts, just because they were your mother and for some inexplicable reason, you love them and they love you, in spite of everything else.
Leaving Rosewood would also mean leaving Jessica behind, leaving behind every good memory she ever had with her mom, leaving behind the illusion of what should have been, had her mom not been stolen from her too young.
Spencer never told Alison she understood, but when it was just the two of them, and a word or song or date referenced mother, their eyes would meet and neither of them had to say a word to know what the other was thinking.
Hanna had her baby nine months to the day she told the girls she was pregnant. She had a beautiful, dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy named Jett Rivers. He was precious and hilarious and silly from the moment he entered the world. He had all of Caleb’s looks and all of Hanna’s personality. He lit up every room he was in and every heart in it.
He was so endearing and so breathtaking and magnificent that Hanna forgot for nearly an entire twenty-four hours after giving birth that she should be upset she didn’t have the girl she had anticipated. She should have been disappointed that she lost her own bet, but one look into her little boy’s big, brown eyes and all she could feel was unequivocal happiness for the miracle she and Caleb had created.
Spencer, on the other hand, had gone through waves upon waves of emotional wreckage since that night when she was finally free from her tormenter, her kidnapper, her twin sister, once and for all.
The moment she’d recited the French poem to her beloved boy, the moment he knew who was Spencer and who was Alex, the moment their eyes locked and then, seconds later, their bodies, both of them felt their hearts became whole once again.
They clung to each other for days afterwards. He’d led her out of the prison she’d narrowly escaped and carried her into the hospital, as her limbs had lost all feeling, and sat by her bedside as a doctor checked her out. The man in the white coat had prodded the couple with questions of what exactly happened before insisting that they needed to call and report this to the police immediately.
But the cops already knew, both Spencer and Toby thought, and the last thing either of them wanted was to have to deal with another string of a dozen questions, so they insisted that they would go to the station for statements whenever called in, but Spencer pled that she just wanted to rest and the doctor saw the exhaustion and the despair in her eyes and he saw the boy anxiously squeezing her hand and signed off on the release papers.
Toby kissed her gently and whispered her name like it was a prayer and once she was signed out, he drove her to his apartment in Philly, curtsey of her brother Jason, and they quickly and shockingly easily fell asleep like not one day had passed since the first night they fell in love.
The days that followed they didn’t leave each other’s sides and Spencer didn’t even want to get out of bed and Toby called sick into work, stating he had come down with something real nasty and he felt terrible but he just couldn’t make it into work today.
They laid in bed and stroked each other’s faces with feather light fingertips and whispered secrets and confessions and promises and words no one else had ever heard.
“I have loved you every day of my life since we were sixteen.”
“You were the best thing that ever happened in my life.”
“I have missed you in ways I can’t even describe.”
“Sometimes I would pretend she was you.”
“I used to dream that you were the one asleep with me and wake up crying.”
“You’re my angel.”
“Nothing else ever measured up.”
And as the days turned to night and then back to day again, they moved towards the living room and the kitchen and newer, uglier, darker confessions came out.
“I knew she wasn’t you but I wished it, I wished it to be true so badly. I wished you had come back to me.”
“When she told me she’d tricked you, I felt like it was my fault. I felt like I’d failed you.”
“The next time I saw you after she tricked me in the cabin and you acted like nothing had happened, I thought I was getting the brush off. I thought you didn’t just want me. That being with me was a mistake.”
“Every time I saw you, all I could think about was Yvonne and her ring and how much you loved her and I thought that you didn’t love me anymore. Not the same way you had.”
“I killed Yvonne. I ran the car into a tree and killed her and the worst part is, when I woke up, my first thought was you. When Aria told me you got shot, for a second I forgot about her and I haven’t forgiven myself for that since.”
“It wasn’t until Alex said that you still loved me that I realized I wasn’t making it up in my head, I wasn’t just seeing what I wanted to see, that your feelings for me might still be there.”
“It wasn’t until I saw your word on the Scrabble board that I realized you didn’t know. I thought it was you who kissed me and who made love to me and I couldn’t even comprehend how you didn’t know how much I loved you. How much I’ve always loved you.”
They whispered things to each other, laying side by side on the futon, in their bed, on the carpet with the lights off and only the sun’s natural light shining in the tiny apartment, unable to get their fill of each other’s faces, their voices, their hands and their skin and their scent. All things they’d been deprived of, things they’d deprived themselves of, in fear of rejection and heartache and destroying the other’s happiness.
Mere days after they got back together, their relationship was stronger than it had been in years, than it had been long before the pregnancy scare and the distance and their own insecurities and fears drove a wedge the size of the Atlantic between them.
They attended Ezra and Aria’s wedding and held hands and stroked each other’s faces and drank overly expensive champagne–courtesy of Dianne Fitzgerald–and kissed sloppily in front of everyone and whispered honest words in each other’s ears.
“You look so beautiful.”
“I want to peel that suit off you.”
“I can’t get enough of your smell.”
“I like you drunk.”
“I love you so much.”
“Who in their right mind thought this wedding would ever happen?”
“Who in their right mind let this wedding happen?”
She’d giggled and held him tighter, despite their friends’ smiles and shameless pointing. By the end of the night they were so happy and drunk and carelessly in love that they’d completely forgotten whose wedding they’d attended and shared one chair and kissed like no one was watching–and a lot of people, including Spencer’s mother, were–and whispered more promises and danced some more.
“I love it when you laugh. You’ve never looked so beautiful as you do when you laugh.”
“I can’t believe I’m here with you now.”
“I can’t believe I ever let you go.”
“You’re not a bad dancer at all.”
“That’s because you’re leading, babe.”
“I love your scruff.”
“I love how you feel in my arms.”
“Toby?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna marry you someday.”
But the ups, the higher highs than either of them had ever felt, couldn’t exist alone. You could never feel the completely unadulterated and pure white-hot joy they both felt without also experiencing the lowest of lows to go alongside it.
Almost the lowest of lows, that is.
Two months after the wedding Spencer started having a series of nightmares. At the beginning, they weren’t any different from what she’d dreamt in her teen years.
There were black hoodies and break-ins and cops and murder raps and so much terror and so much rage and she woke up in a cold sweat with quivering limbs and tears cascading down her face and her only solace was Toby’s very tired but very warm and concerned and loving arms.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“I’m here.”
“It’s over, Spence. They’ll never touch you again.”
But soon the dreams turned more malevolent and she was being kidnapped and electrocuted and locked up inside her old bedroom and starved and beaten and tortured and isolated. Soon the dreams were being locked inside a glass cage and knowing that no one out there was missing her because no one even knew she was gone. Her life, her identity, her loved ones, everything that belonged to her was being stolen. Soon they even began to mingle with each other and with the night she found Toby’s “body” in the woods.
When those dreams occurred, especially when they occurred all at once, she was gasping and screaming and hysterically crying and throwing up.
And Toby was there. He was always there. He was cradling her and kissing her and rocking her back and forth and holding her hair as her stomach lurched and whispering the same thing over and over again.
“It’s over, Spencer. It’s all over.”
But the nightmares were even worse when they belonged to him. When Toby’s usually peaceful dreams got hijacked by Jenna and her manipulations and her clammy hands and long nails and thin dark hair and her threats. When she pulled his clothes off and swore if he told, she’d turn it all around.
“No one will ever believe freak Toby. Nobody likes freak Toby.”
“Not even your daddy likes freak Toby.”
“Not even your mommy liked you. That’s why she’s not here.”
The nights grew colder and darker as time went on and Jenna suddenly morphed into Alex and he was left powerless, knowing something was wrong, knowing he didn’t want to do this anymore, but having to go through with it anyway.
The worst part was Spencer could never reciprocate his comfort. She could never make it better for him like he did for her.
Her heart broke in her chest as she reached for him, as she desperately wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him it was all okay.
But she shared a face with his tormenter now and he couldn’t stand her touch on nights when these dreams occurred. He would cry and cover his face with his arm and scoot further to the edge of the bed, and when his rejection elicited her pain, when she busted up in loud tears because she couldn’t help him and couldn’t heal him and couldn’t go back in time and protect him and couldn’t even touch him, he began to sob in a way she didn’t even know he was capable of.
And she walked out to the living room, still herself broken and bleeding and falling to pieces, and curled up in the fetal position on the couch and let her guttural cries for help match his.
The next morning, like clockwork, she would wake up to feel his lips on her sore, tear-stained face and feel him rub his nose against her’s and cradle her in his arms and whisper how sorry he was and she never felt so much guilt in her entire life–not when she participated in Jenna’s loss of sight or when Sara was electrocuted or when she covered up the murders of Shana and Rollins–as she did when he apologized for his own PTSD.
After five and a half months, Toby suggested they both see a therapist. She agreed but only if they did conjoined sessions.
The first session she’d barely spoke two words about what had happened to her and her friends. Toby had been radio-silent. They couldn’t even meet the other one’s eyes for hours after they went home.
But when they did, much to her utter astonishment, Toby was the one who cracked. He burst right as they were about to eat dinner and suddenly everything he’d ever bottled up imploded out of him.
“She used to follow me into the bathroom and sneak into my shower. I couldn’t even make a noise or else she’d tell my dad that I was the one who followed her.”
“One time I got her to back off, I threatened to tell my dad and see who he really believed. The next day she burned me with her curling iron. She burned it into my skin and held it down and when her mom heard me scream, she started sobbing and said she was protecting herself from me. I got grounded for two months and they made me apologize.”
“I feel like I betrayed you. I feel like you’ll one day realize how much of a gigantic screw-up I am for not even knowing I was sleeping with your twin.”
“My mom would be so disappointed in me right now. She’d be so ashamed of what I’ve done. What I let happen.”
She was at a complete loss as what to say to his completely heart-wrenching confessions. Her voice stalled in her throat and her chest ached and all she could do was sit on his lap and hold his head to the crook of her neck and kiss him until he stopped crying.
The next therapy session he uncharacteristically talked for nearly forty-seven minutes and she gladly sat by and held his hand and rubbed his back and listened as he let out every little thing impugning his psyche.
Thirteen minutes before the session ended Toby turned towards her, guilt suddenly overtaking his expression and insisted she take the floor.
But panic welled up inside of her and she shook her head and resisted her turn at speaking to the paid professional, who, alongside her boyfriend, stared at her unwaveringly, both of them waiting for her to spill her guts.
She couldn’t force herself to speak the words her mind held captive. She couldn’t open up, as much as she hated herself from the inside out for it.
That night in bed, after they’d made love, while he was kissing the back of her neck and hugging her from behind, she realized with suddenly clarity that he was free. There was a certain aura about him now, a newfound tranquil that he didn’t exude before, and she realized he was closer to freedom than he’d been since Jenna had first come along and broken his already cracked spirit.
And she couldn’t stand her own emotions in that moment. In that moment, she wanted to claw her own eyes out, for feeling even the slightest bit of jealousy towards him, for envying the release she so desperately wanted and so ferociously repelled against, for resenting him for doing what she was too cowardly to do.
He didn’t need to be told what was happening inside her head. He could see it all over her face, in the way her mouth turned down and her breathing remained uneven and her eyes teared up and she couldn’t stop staring at the ceiling or the wall.
And unsurprisingly, when the next day came around, she didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to face the day, wanted to hide behind the covers and pretend this life wasn’t her’s. That the life she’d lived inside her memories was someone else’s and she was just watching their movie or reading their book and any minute she chose she could turn it off, put it down and everything weighing on her would dissipate.
Except for him. He was the only thing in any life that she wouldn’t give up. No matter how many hardships she endured, he was the one thing that made everything else worth it, that made everything okay.
He brought her breakfast in bed–her favorite, French toast and scrambled eyes and orange juice–and kissed her gently and rubbed her back and then dropped a bomb on her.
“I called Dr. Sullivan.”
“She’s coming back into Rosewood next week.”
“Please go see her. Please, Spencer.”
And she’s shaking her head and shaking it so rapidly and so furiously and blindly shoving away the tray of food he’d brought and she’s trying to get away, but when he traps her in his arms she breaks and breaks and breaks and breaks so hard.
She’d gone to Sullivan alone, telling Toby she needed to do this on her own and he needed to go to work because they’d both been playing hooky too often and they need to maintain some semblance of a normal life.
The session was horrible and relieving and gut-wrenching and liberating, and when it was over and done with, she was never so grateful for her boy, who always pushed her to do what was right, who always put her needs above even his own.
The moment she left the therapy office and got into the car, she drove on autopilot straight to the drugstore down the street and before she really considered what she was doing, she was in her and Toby’s apartment and she was staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, at the face that was no longer her own, that would always be associated with a sociopathic girl from the U.K.
And she did exactly what she had wanted to do since she saw her appearance, her exact face and body type and hair style all replicated back to her.
She pulled the hair dye out of her bag and within an hour her hair went from a chocolate brown to blue black.
But that wasn’t even change enough and she pulled out her scissors from the top drawer and chopped her hair to three inches below her shoulders, right aligned with her bullet scar and thanked her instincts that she had decided not to trim her bangs for the last seven months.
Toby did a double take when he came home from work that night but when she timidly–a sight he rarely saw–walked closer to him, he merely smirked and took her into his arms and whispered “beautiful” into her now black, curly hair.
They both went to their respective therapists, every week, consistently, for the next year and five months.
Within that year, they both began to heal, together as a couple and individually.
His nightmares got less and less frequent the more time he saw his therapist. Within six months of going, he was being bumped to once a month sessions. On the rare occasion he woke up, feeling violated and dirty and broken and stupid, he no longer rejected Spencer’s comfort. Instead, he sought her arms. Now, whenever he woke up in a dazed frenzy, he reveled in the feeling of her body wrapped around his.
She suspected, despite his protests that it wasn’t true, that her black and now completely one length hair, had a lot to do with it too. She no longer looked identical to the girl in his dreams.
It wasn’t why she did it, but it made her feel validated nonetheless.
Her therapy on the other hand, didn’t go so easy. Her sessions remained consistent with a twice a week fixed schedule. She cried herself out and often got stomach aches. She still didn’t feel safe sharing anything she talked about, even with Toby, who she trusted implicitly.
“It’s not that you don’t trust him,” Sullivan said when Spencer expressed guilt for not telling him more. “It’s that you don’t trust yourself.”
She still had nightmares and still woke up in a whirlwind of hysteria and still instinctively sought refuge in Toby’s very open arms. The fact that he was getting so much better and she was still falling apart at the seams brought her both great comfort and horrific guilt. When she apologized for being such a burden on him, during the days when she couldn’t get out of bed and he had cancelled on work just to be with her, his words always remained the same.
“I love you no matter what.”
“I love you even if you think you’re a mess.”
“I love you even if you can’t love yourself.”
After seeing Dr. Sullivan for nine months straight at two regular appointments a week–excluding the emergency ones she had when her dark days were too bleak and Toby pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed the side of her neck and promised to hold her hand the entire time but insisted she just go in and sit on the couch and talk and cry and breathe and breathe and breathe–it was suggested she start taking some medication.
The subject brought tears of shame to Spencer’s eyes and cut her vocal cords for the rest of the session and the entirety of the evening.
Toby knew not to push her but as they lay in bed, in the anonymity of night, both her legs sandwiched between his and her head on his chest, he couldn’t say silent.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.”
“I don’t want a pill to make me better. I should be able to do that on my own.”
“You used to be okay with the idea of taking sleeping pills.”
“It’s different.”
“Spencer.”
“It’s just different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
She took her first prescription—very warily and uncertain--seventeen days later, and within a week, she felt better, stronger, healthier than she had since she was just a kid, and once again she was wrapping her arms around Toby’s neck and thanking God that he was always around to guide her in the right direction.
They both still had times though, when the black of night settled on their minds and avalanched every little sinister, haunting memory they had buried, repressed, forgotten in the back of their brains, and it was in those moments that everything felt futile, they had made no progress at all, the uphill battle would never be won, whatever life jacket they strapped on would never be able to hold them above water again because the darkness was back and it was going to swallow them whole.
But they persevered. They got up most days and he went to build houses with her half-brother-half-cousin and she went to Hollis Law School and then to the law firm she worked at with her mom-not-mother.
“We keep our jobs in the family,” he teased her one morning, when they were cuddling on the carpet in the living room, lying in the space in front of the couch, staring up at the ceiling, watching the way the natural light from the window shone inside their apartment, bounced off the walls and hit the surface above them with impeccable force, creating shapes and shadows and rainbows and swirls and everything in life they both were blinded from seeing for nearly a decade.
They absolutely thrived in their individual areas.
She maintained a four-point-oh grade point average–thanks to Toby’s help making flash cards and quizzing her until two twenty seven a.m and bringing her black coffee with three sugars and a vanilla protein drink every morning she had an exam–and she did an immaculate job on all the cases her mother assigned her and every other day she drove to The Lost Woods and went over room counts and customer complaints and took phone calls and filled out and filed all the paperwork herself.
Toby built house upon house upon house for homeless veterans in Philadelphia, each one better than the last. Women cried joy and men with badges and battle scars shook his hand and whispered thank you with a gratitude that floored the carpenter and brought tears to Spencer’s eyes because this is how he always should have been treated and it killed her, it gnawed at her from the inside out, it aggrieved every atom of her body, because he deserved so much more than he had ever been given and only now he was finally receiving an inch of what he’d rightfully deserved all along.
After a year of living together in their small but cozy, bare but safe, simple but them apartment, Toby started spending his nights in front of their kitchen table after dinner, sketching blueprint after blueprint, often times erasing and drawing and erasing and drawing and erasing and erasing and erasing again and again, until the paper ripped and he had to start all over from scratch.
“Babe, why are you getting so stressed about these blueprints?”
“I just need them to be perfect.”
He wouldn’t say anything more on the subject and she couldn’t understand why, but when he started working late multiple times a week and brought home no extra money, she figured with his enormous heart and his pure, passionate nature that he’d met a veteran who’d touched his soul in a special way and he just wanted to do a flawless job, pro-bono, for the war hero that gave up a chunk of his soul to fight for the country.
But then her twenty-sixth birthday rolled around and he woke up her up just as the sun was rising and the sky was purple and pink and orange and red, all at once, shining through the cracks left between the branches and into their bedroom window, tossing rainbows onto their skin like pennies into a fountain. And he tugged at her arms and pulled her up and handed her his sweatshirt and pled for her to just come on, to just trust him, take his hand and follow him towards the door.
He drove her through quiet, peaceful neighborhoods she hadn’t ever been to and past parks she wished she’d known about before. He didn’t answer when she asked where they were going and only smirked when she said if she didn’t have implicit trust in him, she would have guessed he was taking out to the woods to bash in her head and bury her body.
He didn’t stop driving until they reached a lot that not long ago had been all grass and dirt and flowers for acres, as far as the eye could see.
Instead though, the once blank land now was home to a lavender two-story house, with a wraparound porch and white trim.
It was precisely detailed and unspeakably beautiful and the house she’d told him she’d always wanted, way back when they were seventeen and their future together was all a bright, shiny fantasy.
He stood there, measuring her reaction carefully, his eyes hopeful and nervous and insecure and she felt tears come to her eyes but for once they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy because no one had ever done anything like that for her before.
No one had ever loved her like that.
“Do you like it?” He asked, a smile forming its way onto his mouth, his hand still interlocked with her much smaller one.
“It’s beautiful,” was all she could muster, and she berated herself in the back of her mind for getting so easily choked up and instantly decided it was just because she was so tired and it was so early but she knew, deep down, it had nothing to do with sleep deprivation or her last intensive therapy session or the insane workload from her mother and the motel she was co-owned, and it really had everything to do with the blue-eyed angel who had built a house for her from scratch.
And when she believed nothing could make the moment any sweeter, he whispered in her ear, “I made it for you,” the same words he uttered at seventeen, holding a wooden rocking chair in the bed of the truck she’d bought for him with the money from her sister’s pawned ring.
It was only when she threw her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and thought this was heaven, this was what she never thought she’d have again, this was her second chance, this was her miracle, being with him, that she saw a second, smaller structure off to the side of her beautiful new house and instantly furrowed her brows and asked what else he built for her?
His baby blues lit up even brighter, if possible, and he carried her down the property as if she weighed nothing–because to him, she probably did–and it was only when she saw Bashful that she fully connected the dots and if she wasn’t already in his arms, she would have tackled him to the ground.
would you do one where set during the summer before spencer went to college and after she escaped from the dollhouse toby takes her to dinner with his weird uncomfortable parents and spencer has anxiety rashes all over her body from ptsd and his step mom notices it and makes her feel uncomfortable or self conscious about it and then a while later toby goes looking for her and finds her in the bathroom trying to scrub at the rashes with hot water? you can rearrange this any way you want :))))
hello hello! thank you for this lovely prompt! i changed a lot of it around, i hope you don’t mind - kept the essence of spencer and toby going to dinner with his terrible parents though :) i hope you enjoy!
/set post dollhouse, pre-CeCe reveal
She really didn’t know why she had agreed to this.
Rationally, it made no sense to agree to it. Toby didn’t like his parents. Spencer didn’t like his parents. It didn’t make any sense to go to his parents’ house for dinner, while she was in the middle of trying to get the hell over -
Get the hell over -
All of -
All of this.
“Spencer,” he said quietly, practically in her ear. She looked up to see his parents - especially his stepmother, both her eyebrows arched, God, she looked so much like Jenna - staring at him, it was like their eyes were digging into hers, their eyes their eyes their eyes digging into hers,
as if they were waiting, perhaps? Waiting for the crazy girlfriend to go crazier?
She unclenched her fist from the fork and forced a smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she said, putting on her AP Spencer voice. “What was that?”
AN: Okay, first of all, if any of you are still reading this, I believe I owe you an apology bigger than I can even begin to write. I know I've apologized for not updating so many times before and I don't know at what point it becomes repetitive but I know I crossed that line a while ago so I just wanted to say I am truly sorry for as long as it's taken me to write this and get it out there. A big part of it had to do with what the show did when it returned. I don't think there was ever a worse season for Spoby than 7B. We had to go through a lot. Watching Toby be there, present, at another girl's bedside and not Spencer's. Having to watch Toby marry another girl. Having to watch Spencer behave in OOC ways and screw around with a random cop, for no apparent reason. Having to watch Toby grieve for another girl, as if she were the love of his life. Having to literally see the only two scenes we got that displayed a real romantic connection between our ship turn out to be a random twin we never knew about. I know the reason the writers held off on Spoby for the entirety of the timejump was so they could do the twin storyline but, honestly, I don't see how that was a necessity, unless they were sooo hung up on raping Toby twice, and I don't think the storyline was worth it, I'm sorry.
But the truth is, there was something that happened in 7B that directly changed how I felt about writing this fic. I'm going to try to keep writing it, but after 7B, I'm warning you, there is gonna be a plot-twist in this story that'll probably leave you all hating me, but it is essential to what this fic is about. It is part of the core of this fic and if I were to take it out, I probably wouldn't continue writing this story. I know none of that makes sense now but in hindsight, hopefully, it will.
Anyway, enough of the depressing and enough excuses hahaha. Thank you for reading this, even after all the times I've let you all down by promising to update and then not following through. I probably would have never decided to finish this chapter if it wasn't for the out-pour of reviews I've received since I last posted and the people who have messaged and tweeted me. Thank you to everyone.
Oh and look at that coincidence. Me updating on Spoby’s anniversary. It’s almost poetic.
(:
It was strange how time could pass and yet, in certain moments, moments of clarity, it was almost as if nothing were different.
There was a certain euphoria that overcame her whenever she was with the one man who she loved with every atom of her body. A euphoria that appeared when they were close, both physically and emotionally. When they were so connected, it felt like there was nothing in this life that could ever seep between them again.
It was moments like those that she was the most honest, the most uncensored, the most emotionally naked.
"You wanna know something fucked up," she murmured, her voice husky and quiet and honest as she gazed tranquilly into his eyes.
"What?"
"A part of me-a bigger part than I even want to say-was almost a little happy in the hospital. When my parents were constantly there," she owned. The cop's expression was so understanding, so insightful, grasping exactly what she meant without her even having to vocalize it. Even still though, she wanted to. "It's terrible and bizarre and really, really unnerving because of the reasons I was there but… I liked the fact that I mattered for once to them. I was finally was the center of their lives. They were there, every second they could be, worrying about me and not Melissa." She paused to chuckle humorlessly to herself, finally breaking eye contact and subsequently looking downwards, at the sheets they were tangled up in. "It's really fucked up that I feel like that, isn't it?"
"No." He laughed and shook his head, his eyes offering her only complete understanding. Too much to just be sympathizing with her. Enough that he had to be emphasizing. He took a small breath before opening up as well, their love making also bringing him a tranquility that brought on a new level of honesty. "I used to have this really awful fantasy about telling my dad what Jenna was doing to me," he admitted. "I would imagine him flying off the handle and telling my step-mom and flipping out on Jenna and. . . and, I guess, protecting me." The sensitive cop paused for a second, shutting his eyes and taking in a small breath before lamenting, "At first, I just did it so I could imagine it ending. As a coping mechanism to get through it. But then, I still sometimes imagine it, even now. Just so I can picture my dad actually knowing and knowing that I wasn't the culprit and that I'm not the screw-up he still believes I am. It's all a daydream but it's nice to pretend that he would actually take my side. That he would turn on Jenna if he knew what she'd done to me."
At his admission, the brunette stared at him, at loss for words. "Toby," she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. She wracked her brain for something to say but all that came out was, "I never knew that. You've never told me that before."
He offered her a somewhat forlorn half smile. "I've never told anyone that before."
She bit her lip and felt her body physically sag, feeling the same as she always did whenever the topic of Jenna and his sexual abuse came up. Powerless.
Probably, she realized, akin to how he felt much of the time when he had to watch her be tortured ceaselessly. "I'm never going to let her touch you again," she promised definitively.
He chuckled, leaning in closer to press a kiss to her soft cheek. "My knight and shinning armor."
She cracked then and wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling into his throat as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.
The subject of Jenna dredged up an even worse taste in her mouth than usual, her stomach twisting into knots at even the sound of the vile girl's name.
Desperate to rid herself of this feeling, desperate to bring back the sensation, the ecstasy, the euphoria and, more than anything, desperate to give the boy holding her tightly to his chest a million memories of making love to her to replace the traumatizing, humiliating recollections of being raped by his step-sister, she vigorously leaned in and pressed her lips to his throat, down his neck, onto his chest underneath her's, his weakest spot.
That was all it took for him to follow her lead.
X.
"I'm so scared," she whispered, minutes after they were finished, cuddled together, her legs between both of his, her head on his chest.
"Scared?" He prompted, his voice as loud as a breath.
"That this will change me. Forever." She bit her lip, digging deep inside, to the ugliest and most vulnerable parts of her. "After what happened in high school, I did pretty much anything and everything I could to, I guess revert back to who I once was. Who I thought I was supposed to be. And we both know that didn't work but…" She paused to look up at him, shrugging slightly. "At least I was able to get back some semblance of who I once was. I don't even know if that's possible now."
His large, gentle hands rubbed her back slowly and softly. "But I thought you didn't want to go back to who you used to be?" He questioned, confused. "That's what you said. That you wouldn't want to go back to the person you used to be, that you just wanted to be happy."
She was nodding before he was even finished. "I know," she admitted. "I know I said that but, after the dollhouse, everything was different. Everything was so dark and haunted and blurry and it took me more than a year to realize that… it wasn't anything but me. I was the one who was different and I just wanted everything to go back to the way it once was. When everything was easy and simple and I was in control. I just couldn't be the person I was when I entered that bunker."
He accepted her admission, allowing it to sink in. "Why did we never talk about this?" He finally asked, nearly inaudible.
To his surprise, she already knew the answer to that without having to think. "You weren't there," she explained. "You weren't there with me and I needed you. You grounded me, better than any drug or pill and without you physically there I had to find a way to cope. I guess I ended up shutting you out in the process."
She felt his Adam's apple bob against her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me that?"
She leaned upwards, peering into his eyes now, his sad, miserable blue eyes, offering him nothing but the small, knowing gleam in her irises. "Why didn't you come to Georgetown with me?"
It was her turn to be taken aback by the fact that he needed no time to think her question over either. "I thought I was doing what was best for you," he confessed. "I thought you wanted space. You always complained that you were too dependent on me and that you needed to learn to cope on your own. I wanted to help you so badly but-"
"I pushed you away," she finished for him, sighing as she laid her head back on his chest. "I made you think I didn't want you there."
"I just thought I was getting your way. I thought if I gave you space, I could save us." He paused, running his fingers through her hair, before musing dejectedly. "Somehow I ended up losing you anyway."
She smiled humorlessly against him. "For the record," she declared sincerely, "I'll always want you with me. You're my safe place to land. There hasn't been a time that I haven't wished you were there with me, by my side, since the day you kissed me in this parking lot."
"For the record," he repeated, a grin finding its way across his face, "there hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I kissed you in this parking lot."
She smirked against his chest, pressing a kiss to his bare skin. "Good," she remarked lightly, running her hand down his stomach once again.
"Actually," he amended suddenly. "I should probably correct that. There hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I woke up to you spooning me, in room 214."
She flew upwards, her eyes wide as he'd ever seen them. There was a slight twinge of embarrassment hiding underneath her shock. "You knew that?"
"Of course." He snickered not-so-subtly, pulling her back into the circle of his arms.
She squirmed, pouting bluntly. "You let me think you slept through all that," she mumbled.
The cop chuckled now, leaning down to press a kiss to the stitches in her forehead, brushing her bangs back. "You were so cute, trying to pretend you hadn't been cuddling me the whole night."
"Oh, yeah, coming from the guy who innocently asked if I had slept at all?" She shot back and was rewarded with a wide, abashed smile.
"Okay, you're right," he agreed, his hand tracing circles on her hip. "We're both liars."
She smirked up at him, suddenly liking the term that she'd been identified as for the last seven years, when it was partnered with him.
"What is it?" He asked, noting the look beneath her eyes.
"Huh?"
"Something else is on your mind," he insisted, completely positive of his assessment.
She caved easily, still finding it incomprehensible how he always just knew every inner working of her brain. It was something she never would get used to but was no longer marveling at. "I'm just worried, that's all."
"About not being able to put this behind you? Because, Spe-"
"No," she cut off, a faraway look taking over the gaze in her eyes now. "It's not that."
He waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he gently pressed, "Then what about?"
"Becoming too different from the girls." She rolled her tongue around the side of her cheek, realizing how juvenile all this sounded. But this was Toby. He'd adamantly told her once she could tell him anything. That she was his, that he'd never think she was ridiculous or overly emotional or redundant. She didn't believe it at the time or maybe she just couldn't comprehend the idea that someone loved her that much, but either way, she held a ludicrous amount of confidence when she was in his arms and before she had time to contemplate it in her brain, her mouth was pouring out words that she'd only ever thought to herself. "When we were in high school and our lives were complete chaos, we were so connected, it was weird. I got to college and everyone was almost glad to be rid of their high school friends but I had such a hard time letting anyone new in. You remember that. The girls used to be like my family. When we were in high school, all we really had was each other. But now," she trailed off for a moment. "Now we're so separate and it's strange. I don't rely on them like I used to. I rely on you. But then I remember that I always did and it's just, this whole thing makes me feel so different from them. Like they can't relate and they don't understand me anymore and like they're trying but suddenly I'm an outsider, looking in, at the people who I used to know inside and out."
"Babe," was the first word that slipped out of his mouth, his voice tender. His soft eyes searched her's, understanding why she felt this way but feeling his heart break for her anyway. He wracked his brain for a response, but all that came to mind was the blatant reality staring them dead in the face. "Honestly, Spencer? You might. You might grow completely away from them. We don't know the future. We don't know what might happen. But what I do know is those girls love you, more than anything. Even Ali. Alright, they will always be your family and they'll always be there for you if you need them. Trust me, I know it."
She nodded, absorbing his words. She'd always trusted his assessment of people even more than her own. To the point it was almost unhealthy.
Even when she was so far gone inside of her own head, whether it be to drugs or trauma, he was the one who showed her right from wrong. He was her voice of reason. Her conscience. The one thing she could trust, above everything else, when her world was falling apart and there wasn't a soul in sight to rely on.
The true definition of her safe place to land.
With that thought playing through her head, on repeat, she leaned upwards and connected their lips one more time, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
Her safe place to land.
Her fairy-tale, once upon a time.
Her entire heart.
Her everything.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, his eyes falling shut. His words were no louder than a breath and had she been deep in thought, she knew she would have missed his apology altogether.
"For what?" The brunette instantly perked up, moving upwards from her position against his chest.
"For not fighting harder on staying here today." He offered her a heartbreaking, dejected smile, the guilt in his water blue eyes growing more prominent by the second.
"Toby," she murmured, staring up at him, both perplexed and baffled. "What're you talking about? You did try to get us to stay in."
"Not hard enough," he disagreed, his voice beginning to shake.
"Babe," she sighed, dangerously close to rolling her eyes. She fought the action, knowing what he was feeling was real, genuine guilt and her exasperation would not help. She worked to change her tone to an even level. "You had no way of knowing what was going to happen," she assured.
"I had an awful feeling about going there," he maintained still. "I felt like something would go wrong."
"But it didn't," she pointed out, a small, ironic laugh ejecting itself from her throat. "It didn't go wrong at all. Not in the end. Me and you are closer than ever. That's a good thing, isn't it?" To emphasize her point, she leaned down and placed a kiss onto the base of his neck, curling back up against him.
To her astonishment, her kisses didn't work. Not in the way they usually did. They were such a physical couple. They expressed their love in actions more so than words. Until recently, their I love you's only came in rapid succession when they were geographically apart. Whenever they were together, they both found their love language in affection.
Her mouth being unable to provide him comfort meant that this was something really weighing on him.
"I still should have known," he whispered after a second, his voice diminishing in volume once again.
She sat up, meeting his eyes with a defiant, discerning look in her's. "Why?"
"Because I love you," he stated, as if it were obvious. In his mind, it probably should have been. "Because no one knows you like I do. Because I learned to trust my instincts a long time ago. When it came to you and in life in general."
"Yeah, well, I knew that you thought it was a bad idea to go and I still chose to, so I should share in this guilt you have decided to take all for yourself," she declared, her tone light. She traced her fingers in circles around his chest, attempting to relax him, even just a little.
He offered her a cheerless smile, dismissing her statement. "You didn't think it would end that bad though. I did."
Her face changed, morphing into a somewhat dismayed expression. "Actually, I did."
His head snapped towards her. "What?"
She swallowed, adverting her eyes before coming clean. "I thought about the possibility of it ending badly too. I just wouldn't let myself really consider it happening though. Not once I saw that you did."
It was his turn to look at her with quiet shock. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to prove to you that you didn't have to worry about me," she admitted, feeling the same guilt he'd been displaying moments before. "I was determined to show you I was alright. That I was getting better."
His reaction caught her off-guard. He slowly shut his eyes, bringing up one arm to cover his face, groaning exhaustedly.
"Tobes?" She called softly, after moment.
"Promise me, Spencer, that you will never think like that again," he stipulated, clearly frustrated. But still, his tone was so calm and his eyes were so loving and it was all verging on the edge of an oxymoron but it was still so Toby and somehow she still felt so safe and so loved. Before she could defend her reasoning for why she did what she did, he continued. "There is no limit in my mind to what I think you can do. I don't get apprehensive about things because I think you're weak or unstable. But if there really is something that we both think could go wrong, don't decide to do it in defiance, because you think you need to prove you can."
"Don't you get it?" She pressed, attempting to get him to see things from her eyes. "That's what I do. That's what I've always done. I have always pushed myself through any obstacle in my way to show anyone who doubts me that I'm strong enough-"
"Spencer," he cut off, his voice even softer now. "I'm not your family. I'm not trying to challenge you or bring you down. And I know, baby, I know, that this is not easy to grasp because of how you were raised, but I would never do anything to try to make you prove yourself or challenge you. Okay, you don't have to prove yourself to me. We could be cooped up in this hotel room for the next ten years and you would still be enough to me. You are everything to me. And all I want is for you to be okay."
She shut her eyes to hold in the saltwater threatening to pour out, as he hit nearly every insecurity in her mind. "I'm sorry," she choked out, her already raspy voice hitting a new level of guttural. "I'm sorry," she repeated as she threw herself back against his chest with reckless abandon.
"I'm not mad," he promised, wrapping his arms around her the second she was against him. "I just don't want you thinking that you have anything to prove. Not to me."
"I know," she whispered, trying to calm her emotions once again as she felt herself getting choked up.
He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and she knew it was a lost cause as the tears began to fall.
"Toby," she murmured hoarsely, as he rubbed her back.
"Hmmm?"
"If you had such a bad feeling, then why'd you even agree to come today?" She peered up at him, her eyes genuinely curious.
He gave her a look, as if it were obvious. "Because, Spence, no matter what happens, it's still your choice. It'll always be your choice. I'd give up a limb if it helped you but I'm not the one in control. And I don't want to be." He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're still alpha. You'll always be my alpha."
She shut her eyes, his words eliciting a smirk now. "Yeah?" She prompted, her mood rising.
"Yeah." He nodded, returning her smile.
"Good," she quipped, her smirk growing wider as she climbed on top of his chest, pressing their bodies together suggestively. "I like being alpha."
His smile turned right into a smirk then too. Leaning up to kiss her, he whispered coyly, "trust me, I know."
"Tobes, can you get the door?" Spencer asked through clenched teeth.
He slowly got up from his chair, leaving her miserably sitting on top of the table, nursing her headache.
It was barely short of being a migraine, she concluded to herself, the pain too strong to be bothered to share her realization out loud.
She had woken up that morning with a pounding tension headache that relentlessly wouldn't let her go back to sleep. Laying there, passively, cuddled up to Toby hadn't forced the pain away and it hadn't helped with the ache circulating through the rest of her body either, as she was due for another over-the-counter painkiller.
She'd gone as far as to wake up her boyfriend and tried to kiss her headache away, but when the throbbing hadn't let up, she had to break off the kiss and resign herself to the misery.
The cop returned only seconds later, speaking in a gentle tone, as if her pain was caused by a loud noise. "Em's here to see you," he murmured quietly.
"I can see," she retorted flatly.
Her tone had little effect on him, aware that her irritability was solely about her headache. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, sweetly before sitting back down in his chair.
The brunette made her way over to her friend, not even bothering to hide her wretched expression, dragging her feet as she walked.
"Rough night?" The tan girl inquired when she was close enough, leaning in for a hug.
"Rough morning," Spencer corrected, her voice muffed by her friend's shirt.
"How are you?" Emily's eyes were filled with anxiety, clearly asking about more than the headache.
"Fine." The brunette nodded, her eyes shooting to Toby across the room, yesterday's events playing through her mind, everything he'd done for her flickering back to the forefront of her brain. She didn't quite understand how she ended up with such a selfless, compassionate, loving man, but she didn't care. He was her's and he was all she'd ever want.
"It's okay if you're not okay, Spence," her friend assured. "I can't even imagine how you must feel-"
"I'm fine," she insisted, realizing then that the last time her friend saw her, she was in hysterics, begging to be taken away. Working to liven up her tone, she attempted to force the frustrating ache in her head out of her expression. "Really, Em. I'm better."
The dark haired girl studied her for a hot second. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Spencer chucked slightly, sitting on the edge of the motel bed.
Emily took a seat next to her. "Does Toby have anything to do with your well-being?" She looked over her shoulder, peering back to the cop who was currently searching something on his laptop.
"Yes." The brunette nodded, smiling now in spite of herself. "Of course, he does."
Her friend returned the gesture. "He loves you a lot," she mused.
"I know. And I so don't deserve it."
Emily's expression turned south. "Spence," she nearly rebuked and for less than a second, it was reminiscent of Spencer's childhood nanny. "You, of all people, deserve to have someone who loves you unconditionally."
Spencer's smile turned into a grimace and her headache had nothing to do with it now. "I'm not so sure about that," she disagreed, almost inaudibly.
Seeing the brunette's stubborn streak beginning to resurface, Emily changed the subject without a segue. "Have you spoken to Aria?"
Spencer stared her, perplexed. "No? Should I have?"
"Oh." The raven haired girl's eyebrows pulled together. "No, I just thought she'd check in on you, at least."
The bruised girl still wasn't comprehending–and that was a foreign concept to her. "What's that mean?"
Emily looked like she wished she'd never even asked now. "Aria just got really upset after you left," she disclosed hesitantly, like she was telling her something she shouldn't.
Spencer blinked once, twice, three times, four. By the time she got to five, she pressed, "Aria got upset how?"
"She flipped out and started yelling at all of us, in front of what was left of that crowd. Said we were all at fault for what was happening to you. That if we hadn't always relied on you, maybe you wouldn't have been chosen to be kidnapped."
The brunette just stared at her for a solid minute on end, her mouth opening slightly. "What? W-why? What made her snap?"
Emily chose her words very carefully. "Aria had never seen you have one of your attacks before…"
The tan girl, quite obviously was trying to avoid upsetting her but somehow the words still managed to cut through her like a knife. Her stomach dropped before her brain could even catch up and it took her a minute to realize that it was culpability that was disturbing her. It was the fact that the girls who she even now still considered closer to her than her actual family, were falling apart along with her.
She felt like a drop of poison, slowly but steadily seeping into every single person she cared about's life and killing them, little by little. She felt like an awful friend, even if this was so beyond her own control. She felt like a terrible person for not even checking in on the girls, acting entitled enough that she expected them to come to her. She felt like a disaster for not even being able to keep her own thought process straight anymore, a feat that only had slipped away from her a number of times before in her life.
She felt like a murderer.
Emily interrupted her train of self-hatred. "I just came here to make sure everything was alright with you after yesterday. I was here last night too," she amended, glancing at the cop a few feet back, appearing seemingly oblivious to the girls' conversation. "But Toby said you were exhausted and passed out."
"I was," Spencer confirmed, as if she needed to prove that she wasn't avoiding her friends. Looking around, as if noticing for the first time the absence, the brunette asked, "Where's Hanna?"
"With Caleb, I think. I don't know really. I spent the night at Ali's. Hanna wasn't really in a great mood after Aria's tirade." Emily paused for a second before elaborating. "Aria sort of went off on Hanna especially. She said that if Hanna hadn't told you to date Caleb, we all would have been more focused on -A instead of relationship drama and you may have not been kidnapped."
Spencer bit her lip, knowing in that area, at least, she was guiltier than Hanna. "I'm really sorry," she whispered, her eyes falling into her lap. Shame overtook her body, almost overshadowing her headache.
The darker girl looked at her adamantly. "Spence, none of this is your fault. You're the one that we should be apologizing to-"
"No, Em, that's not true," the brunette cut off. "It's my drama and I have no business involving all you in it."
She meant it. This was her nightmare and her nightmare alone. She may not understand why she was chosen to be the one in the massacre, it may be a complete mystery what happened that night and, if she were being honest, a part of her didn't feel like she was going to get through this in one piece, but it was evident that her trauma was tearing her friends apart.
And she couldn't live with herself if she hurt them.
No matter what happened, no matter how isolated from them she may feel, she would never, in her right mind, allow herself to bring them down with her.
In the back of her mind, she couldn't believe she was really allowing Toby to suffer alongside her either, but she also knew, selfishly, that if he wasn't there, she would completely lose her grip on reality.
He was her lifeline, her light at the end of the tunnel, her fairytale and her safe haven. She didn't even know anymore where she ended and he began.
He was like her silver lining in this entire mess. The one thing that was still pulling her back when she felt like she was about to fly off the edge. The thing that still motivated her to get up in the morning, not matter what pain, physical or mental, undoubtedly awaited her that day,
"You should leave," the brunette murmured and she wasn't sure if it was the headache or the sudden insight of how many lives she was wrecking, but her stomach was cramping up and her neck felt hot and her vision was blurring and for the tenth time, she wondered if she didn't belong in a mental ward, more than Mona, more than Cece, more than Bethany Young.
"Spence," Emily called, her expression shifting to one of distress. Her head whipped around, searching for Toby in an instant.
He was already rushing over to them, not even meeting their friend's terrified eyes. "Spencer," he murmured, his tone even. Without an ounce of hesitation, he dropped to his knees in front of her, meeting her at eye level. "Breathe, Spence," he instructed, already knowing what was wrong.
When she didn't comply, he placed his hands on either side of her face. "Baby," he whispered, his breath hitting her pale skin. "Shut your eyes and breathe."
Somehow, peering only into his deep oceanic blues and nothing else, the wheels in her head turned and her brain kicked started back to life. Her eyes fell shut and she felt oxygen enter her lungs once again. Unconsciously, her body relaxed under her boyfriend's touch, as he ran his hands down her arms and back.
The first words out of her mouth weren't, surprisingly, to the man she loved and felt connected to with every ounce of her soul. They were to her best friend.
"This is what I was talking about, Em," she stated before her eyes were even open. Her tone now had gained a level of rasp that it didn't contain before.
The tan girl struggled to respond. "Spence-"
"I'm a disaster," the brunette stated, point blank, just as her eyes reopened, with a fierier gaze than even before. "I'm a ticking time bomb."
"Spence," Toby murmured, wounded by his girlfriend's words and the level of conviction in them.
She ignored him, knowing that if she let him seep in, if she acknowledged his tender words and his unhindered faith in her, she may never get what she needed to say out. "I'm going to blow up one day and I can't have you or any of the others standing too close. Go," she demanded, gesturing towards the motel room door. "Get out. Stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. Tell the others to do the same thing. No, better yet, make the others do the same thing."
Now it was Emily's turn to speak, as there was nothing left for Spencer to say. But when she opened her mouth, it was obvious that words escaped her. "Spencer," the baffled girl whispered, her tone almost as dejected and insistent as Toby's. "I'm not going to do that. None of us are. We're going to all get through this. Together."
"Em!" Spencer snapped now, only stopping to catch her breath once again when Toby rubbed her shoulder gently. "You're not listening to me. I said-"
"Spencer, I don't think you're listening to me," Emily cut off and strangely, in the back of her mind, Spencer noted that it pleased her that her strong-willed friend still wasn't afraid to fight with her, just as intensely as she always had. Same as it brought her relief when her parents took Melissa's side back in the hospital.
Old habits die hard.
Old habits, even the most unhealthy ones, bring relief to the deepest pits of your soul.
"We're your friends and we're not going to leave you, no matter how self destructive you may feel," Emily insisted, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Her voice, dying down as the throb in her head began growing stronger, dully croaked out, "You have no idea what you're saying."
She met Toby's eyes just as the words landed on Emily and her chest hurt, at the unconcealed pain in his eyes. He hurt, seeing her like this, knowing this is what she truly believed was best, that her friends shouldn't be dragged down by her burdens too. He hurt, knowing what she was trying to do was to protect those she loved and yet, knowing that it would kill her if they actually did listen.
Before either of the girls could speak again, Toby was actually the one to end the conversation. "I think you should leave, Em," he suggested and his voice was not unkind. He sent Emily a sympathetic look and for a second Spencer wondered if she wasn't being entirely irrational, if he wasn't grasping their friend's point of view better than her's.
His hand rubbing her thigh alleviated her insecurity a little and stopped her from feeling betrayed, knowing that he was always on her side, against anything. Even if he didn't see things the same or understand where she was coming from.
"Toby," Emily gaped. "No, that's-"
"I'm not saying don't ever come back," he quickly modified and relief filtered into the tanner girl's expression. Somehow when Toby told her to do something, it held more merit than it would coming from anyone else.
Evidently, it wasn't just Spencer who trusted the cop to show her right from wrong, to guide her to good decisions versus the bad, self-destructive ones she was naturally attracted to. Evidently, it wasn't just her who trusted Toby, like a guardian angel, without reservations, without doubts or questions or fears.
He deserved to have so many more people look at him and see him as he was. A kind hearted, good natured, dedicated, protective, forgiving boy, who loved with every ounce of his being.
He deserved a hundred times better than her.
"I'm saying," Toby's voice pulled her back to reality, "this argument isn't helping anyone right now. Give it time and cool off and come back. Neither of you need a blowout fight right now."
Emily nodded, clearly persuaded by the cop. She stood up from her seat on the bed, next to Spencer. "I'll call you later, alright," she swore as she headed towards the door.
"Okay," was all Spencer offered in return, a small, abashed smile working its way onto her face.
It was a strange thing, to dread and fear pushing those you love most away, and yet, still actively do it. To have an unkindness inside you, an unkindness towards yourself, that lashes out towards those in your vision, towards those who want to help you, towards those you think you're protecting. It was a strange thing to love your friends and still, at times, wish they never saw you again, knowing that the less they did, the less chance there was of you hurting them. That every moment you were surrounded by people, was a moment you could ruin them. Your tragedies could drag them down, rip them apart, away from each other, show them every dark and disturbing thing lingering underneath your skin, show them exactly who they could be if pushed hard enough, show them exactly what they have been afraid of for all these years.
It was even stranger to know that there was someone out there, who loved her more than words or rationale or life itself. Someone who could look into her eyes and see every dark thought she'd ever had, and still call her their angel. Someone who loved her beyond reason and morals and truth.
Someone who would give up everything in their life to be with her, in spite of who she was. In spite of all she could turn out to be.
She was like a gun, spinning round and round in a circle, the trigger so close to being pulled, the kick just moments away. And whoever was in her path became her target.
Once again, her thoughts were interrupted by the boy with sandy brown hair, who was still kneeling in front of her. As their friend exited the motel, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before pressing another an inch away.
"You know, I wasn't saying you were irrational?" He asked against her silky soft skin.
"I know." She swallowed visibly.
"I never want you to think that I'm insinuating anything." He pulled back to lock their eyes together, pressing his forehead to her's. "I just didn't want to see one more thing cause you pain. Especially after what you said this morning, about the girls-"
"Baby, I know," she reassured, her voice barely a whisper. "I know."
Her arms encircled his neck, burrowing her face in her shoulder, and she was surprised when she felt him pick her up.
He carried her, as if she weighed absolutely nothing, over to the chair by his laptop, sitting down with her arms still around his neck. "Does your head still hurt?" He asked attentively, moving one hand from around her narrow waist to massage her temple.
"Yeah," she confirmed, no point in even denying it. It was obvious from her still unhappy expression and tense body language that she was experiencing discomfort.
"Do you have any idea what could be causing it?" He inquired, his lips softly pressing against the stitches in her forehead.
"Brain tumor?"
"Spencer."
"I'm sorry," she sighed, giving him a small grimace. "Just trying to lighten the mood."
"Why do you look like that?"
"Look like what?"
"Ashamed," he murmured, his voice gaining an edge.
She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder, her ears throbbing and her neck growing tired and the ache spreading to her teeth. "I don't know."
"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Just because you're not exactly the person you were before doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. Emily knows that, Hanna knows that, Aria knows that. Even Alison knows that. No one expects you to be perfect right now, so stop expecting yourself to be miraculously better overnight."
She stared at him, his tirade catching her off guard. "They're snapping at each other because of me," she stated after a minute, though she knew that information was completely irrelevant to anyone but her. "Aria freaked out on all of them and they're not even speaking to each other now. They blame themselves for what's happening to me."
"That isn't your fault," he reaffirmed. "I get why Aria snapped at the others. I really do. But that doesn't mean it's up to you to fix it. It isn't up to you to still be their backbone right now."
Spencer snorted, closing her eyes against his shirt. "I'll always be their backbone." Before he could argue, before he could say anything else, she continued. "Just like you'll always be my safe place to land."
Smiling in spite of everything, the twenty-four year old whispered, leaning down to press his lips against her's. "Always."
"Babe," Spencer murmured quietly, soothed by the feeling of her boyfriend's hand massaging her scalp. Her headache remained persistent but he refused to give up. "Your phone's vibrating."
Shifting his leg from under her to pull his cell from his pocket, he causally took the call. "Hello?" There was a short pause before Toby's eyes widen faintly with recognition. "Oh hi, Martin," he greeted now, his voice only a little awkward.
Spencer couldn't help but smirk in spite of her pain. She loved him in every aspect, in every facet of life and in any situation, but she couldn't help finding him cute when he was forced to be, in any way, outgoing.
Already knowing this, already been teased about this a thousand times over more than half a decade, Toby didn't even look at her as he pinched her hip gently, upon seeing her grin out of the corner of his eye.
Before she could say anything or even wipe the smirk off her face, Toby's expression changed. "Thank you!" He murmured, his voice uncharacteristically extroverted. "I appreciate you calling me, sir."
As soon as he hung up, Spencer, still situated across his lap, deadpanned, "Sir?"
He gave her a look. "He's nearly double my age, Spence. I think sir is appropriate."
"Mmhmm," she hummed, pinching the bridge of her nose, hoping to end the throbbing in her head. "You're cute when you talk on the phone," she teased quietly.
Now it was his turn to deadpan. "Do you want to make fun of me or do you want to know why Martin called?"
Her muddled mind didn't make the connection until then. "Wait, is this about the apartment? Can we not move in now? The tenets changed their minds, didn't they? I swear, my luck is just–"
"Spencer," Toby interrupted, wrapping both his arms around her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Their noses brushed up against each other suggestively. "The apartment is ours. We can move in next week."
There was a beat of silence for approximately three seconds before the cop's throat was being strangled, his breath being cut off in her chokehold. She ejected something akin to a squeal, which seconds after was followed by a groan as the agonizing ache in her head intensified.
"Maybe we should get you to a doctor," he murmured softly, taking in his girlfriend's predicament for the hundredth time that day.
"I'm fine," she objected, but the ache did bring down some of her excitement. "Tobes?"
"Yeah?"
She opened her mouth before the words even formed on her lips, pondering for a moment. "Why are they letting us move in so soon?"
Toby blinked once before, very noticeably, masking some sort of expression. "People move into apartments quickly all the time."
She narrowed her eyes into slits, sitting up straighter now to peer over him. "I can tell when you're lying, Tobias."
He flushed slightly at his full name. "Alright, fine," he relented. "I don't know why the tenets are letting us move in so soon."
"Martin said at the open house it was going to be weeks, at least."
"I know." He nodded evenly. "But I really don't want to push our luck."
"Yeah, I guess," she agreed after a moment.
Already seeing where her mind was going, he disputed, "Spencer, you're not their charity case."
"Are you kidding me–"
"You're not," he promised, his eyes gaining a fiery adamancy she loved from the deepest part of her soul.
She rolled her eyes, her headache ripping a lot of the usual fight out of her. "If you're so sure, then call and ask why they're letting us in so quick."
Spencer knew in the back of her mind that really, when it came down to it, what truly bothered her about the idea of being someone's charity case, is the fact that it was a entirely foreign concept for her. She'd never really experienced people feeling pity towards her. Outside of the weeks following her abduction to the dollhouse, there wasn't a time she could recall when people weren't intimidated by her. She was Spencer Hastings. She was the bred to always be the best and the brightest, and when it really came down to it, as much as she hated to own it, as much as she prided herself on never being her sister, as much as she loved to claim she choked on the silver spoon, she had always been known as part of one of the richest families in town and that came with a certain confidence.
Even if she was the black sheep of said family.
She knew it made her self-righteous. She knew in a lot of ways, she hadn't entirely escaped the person her parents molded her to be. She was used to being powerful and sharp and bold and having that stripped away, having that taken from her in any capacity, no matter how much she tried to fight it, was a hard pill to swallow.
She could care less about the amount of money in her bank account. She had Toby and she had everyone she loved still breathing-at least, for the moment. Money didn't buy happiness, she knew.
But, in a lot of ways, it did buy confidence. It did create an aurora around her that she had barely realized, barely seen, as it had always been there. The way people regarded Peter and Veronica Hastings' second born, the way people saw the youngest Hastings daughter, the way people viewed her, had always been impacted by the rich and powerful family she was born into.
Even her friends realized it. Even the people she had lived through some of the worst moments of her entire life with said it, whispering in hushed tones under their breath, snickering and rolling their eyes while snapping back and forth witty retorts about the bottomless, Hastings bank account, all while fully realizing she was trailing right behind them.
"Well, it's the Hastings, so I'm guessing it costs more than your car."
"Not all of us have a Daddy that can write a check to make the boogeyman go away."
"You've never had to be charming. You get to act like a total snot-rag, 'cause Mommy and Daddy have a safety-net of cash to catch your fall."
"I told Yvonne that I was Green Acres and you were Park Avenue."
The last one, the freshest memory, the one of Toby and her and a girl who had invaded the sandy haired cop's pure heart, standing in the middle of the street, making small talk, snapped something inside of her. The memory stung her in ways she couldn't even articulate, especially now. Somehow the memory of that day, that specific moment in time, threw her stomach into tighter knots now, as she sat on Toby's lap, than it did as it was actually happening.
She never knew exactly what he meant by that quip. Whatever the meaning, it felt like a sharp stab in the gut and cracked Yvonne up like no other.
She remembered the words, "he's just kidding", which left Spencer with the impression that he wasn't just kidding and that the dark skinned girl worried as an afterthought that she would take offense to the phrase, and "we watch a lot of retro TV", which still made no sense to the brunette, whatsoever.
She'd never asked though and not even out of fear or embarrassment but because she literally hadn't even remembered it until this moment.
It felt like a different life, if she was being honest. But then again, five years ago in Rosewood also felt like another life.
Something about the memory shook her to the core. She'd been fine for all of four minutes-not counting the pounding, unrelenting headache-and now, she could feel herself slipping away all over again.
She supposed she should be happy because no memory from the massacre had come back yet today and at this point, after days upon days of repeated flashbacks, she should be counting her fucking blessings.
She wasn't. Because suddenly a memory of the boy she loved with every fractured piece of her heart, was forcing her neck to grow hot and her stomach to violently clench with a dread she couldn't will away and suddenly she felt an antsy trepidation, a harrowing scream buried inside of her, a fight or flight instinct yelling at her to choose.
"Babe, do you want to order in for dinner?" Toby asked gently, noticing instantly the change in her.
"No," she answered, her response quick and inattentive.
"Spence?" The cop murmured again, his concern rapidly mounting.
She refused eye contact, still trying to reconcile her confusion and the blind ache the comment sent through her with every single tender, loving interaction they'd shared since she woke up in the hospital.
It was ridiculous, she rationalized to herself, as she stood up from his embrace. It was ridiculous to feel so stung and so mortified and so self-conscious about an interaction that had occurred weeks ago, that was essentially null and void now, after everything that had happened since, after all they had been through again, after all that had been said and done.
Of course, if she were really thinking back to that day on the street, Spencer realized, with all consuming guilt and exhaustion, Toby had just been told the girl he still loved to his very core, was now officially with his best and nearly only friend.
Of course he had been angry. Of course he had been hurt. Of course he had been upset. He had every right in the world to be.
Maybe when you break up, you no longer owe each other anything. You don't have to be decent to each other. You don't have think of the other's feelings.
That all sounds so good on paper. But the truth is, how can you not owe anything to the person you said was your safest haven in this world? How can you not think of the feelings of the person who was your sole source of hope and understanding for years upon years on end? How can you not still try to do right by the person, who pulled you out of the deepest and darkest part of your life, who held you like a lifeline, who gave up everything for you to be alright, who showed you what it meant to love and be loved, unlike any other person in your life?
How could she really date his best friend and not realize the irreparable damage she was doing to their relationship? Whether they were platonic or romantic, how she not understand the repercussions of her own actions? Wasn't she Spencer Hastings? Didn't she meticulously plan out every detail of her life? Didn't she turn herself inside out for the people she loved most in this world? Didn't the pain she had inflicted, not only on Hanna, but also on the man she still loved with a stronger fervor than she could have ever conjured up for Caleb, ever drive home to her exactly what she was risking? Didn't it occur to her that her blonde best friend wasn't the only one she owed consideration to? More than a strangled apology–to which he'd instantly rebuffed–but a sincere heartfelt conversation?
She knew she would never have done that, under any circumstances under the sun. Because had she told him what she was about to do, had she ever sat down and talked to him about her feelings, had they ever discussed how it made them feel to see the other one move on, she never would gotten with Caleb Rivers. She never would have started the hurricane that threatened to rip apart everything. She never would have pushed Hanna to throw herself in the line of fire, the permanent wedge never would have been driven between the two girls, the fight at the party may have never happened.
And she may never have been kidnapped that night.
Handfuls of people wouldn't have lost their lives.
She wouldn't be a natural disaster, waiting to rain havoc everywhere in sight.
And all of this started with her.
Her and her, alone.
"Is it your head?" Toby asked, his concern for his girlfriend increasing by the second. "Is your headache getting worse?"
"Its fine, Toby," she assured, though her voice was flat. She hadn't looked him in the eye in nearly three hours, lying now in bed, with her back facing him.
"I don't believe you," he stated, his voice still kind, even when calling her on her bluff.
And she didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve to have someone like him love her.
And she didn't deserve to feel hurt or angry or betrayed, to hold him accountable for anything he thought or said while she was with his best friend.
But a small part of her couldn't completely let it go, couldn't entirely rationalize the hurt away and she didn't know if that made her angry with him or angry with herself.
"Let me give you a back massage," Toby offered desperately, being unable to see her suffering, feeling powerless, the same way he'd always had.
"Toby," Spencer murmured, her voice growing more and more stern by the second, only half focused on what she was saying to him. "I'm just tired."
"I can give you another painkiller," he insisted, his chair scooting across the carpet, already moving towards the pill bottle on the counter. "It's been a couple hours since-"
"I don't want one," she insisted.
"What about if we went for a drive?"
"I just want to stay in bed."
"I could run you a bath?"
"Toby-"
"I could-"
"I said I didn't want to!"
Silence filled the air, as her scream, her aggravated, furious, vulnerable scream, hung between them.
She hadn't yelled at him like that in years.
She had barely yelled at him like that in their first relationship. The notion that something was driving itself between them, that there was a gap forming in between their unbreakable bond, was both terrifying and heart-wrenching to both of them. It nearly brought the cop to his knees, she knew, to feel this wedge squeezing the oxygen out of the love that had sustained them through so much.
That was why he'd always ran away. That was why he'd always skipped town when they were about to hit the jagged, unforgiving rocks.
But, now, standing in the motel room with her, the notion that something was very, very wrong inside the girl he loved was even stronger, and it outweighed any other thing in his mind.
"Can I hold you?" He whispered after a minute of dead quiet, his voice inexplicably raw.
"Just leave me alone," she whispered, barely even looking over her shoulder to say the words.
She knew she was making it worse, cutting him deeper, selfishly causing him pain just because she hurt.
But after coming to the realization that all roads, roads that left almost everyone she'd ever cared about, heartbroken or shell-shocked, roads that got perfectly innocent strangers killed or kidnapped, led back to her, forced all other thoughts in her head to pale in comparison.
After remembering that day on the street, the singular thought that ignited all of this, Spencer just wanted to scream into her pillow and fall into a slumber in which she never had to wake up.
She realized then she was holding her breath and let out a violent exhalation, noting the lack of noise now coming from her boyfriend behind her. She heard him take his seat again before his laptop, but his eyes never left her back and she didn't dare to look at him now, knowing she had just driven a knife so deep into his stomach, driven a distance between them at record speed, destroyed probably any sort of trust he had in their relationship.
She knew if she looked at him, she would crumble. To pieces, bit by bit. Suddenly and all at once.
But when his eyes didn't leave her back, when she could feel his concern for her and his unyielding love and unconditional understanding, she could feel herself wavering, deep down wanting nothing more than to crawl back into his arms and tell him exactly what was going on in her head. To kiss him senseless, despite her headache–which was increasingly getting worse–and to make love like there's no tomorrow and they're the only people on this Earth and like a rapid fire explosion couldn't touch them as long as they were together, as one.
But she refused to allow herself to do that, to allow herself that reprieve, almost as if she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to be happy when all she could feel inside was appalling and horrified and selfish and liable.
Almost as a distraction, acting entirely on autopilot, she grabbed her phone off her nightstand and yanked it off the charger.
She hurriedly fumbled to type into her search bar, Green Acres Park Avenue.
Instantly, the World Wide Web met her with several million results.
Green Acres Theme.
Green Acres Lyrics.
Green Acres! - Review of 1049 Park Avenue, New York City, NY - Trip Advisor.
Green Acres is about Oliver Wendell Douglas (Eddie Albert), an erudite New York City attorney, acting on his dream to be a farmer, and Lisa Douglas (Eva Gabor), his glamorous Hungarian wife, who is dragged unwillingly from an upscale Manhattan penthouse apartment and the city life she adores to a ramshackle farm.
The last entry, the one speaking on the premise of the show, clarified all of the brunette's questions and dug the pit even deeper in her stomach.
It didn't take much to put two and two together on the street that day, it didn't take a genius to figure out him referring to himself Green Acres and her Park Avenue together probably meant he was calling her a snob. He was taking a swipe at her. He, for a split second in time, took on the opinion shared with everyone else in town.
It shouldn't have been such a big deal. It shouldn't have dug so deep inside her. It shouldn't have made her chest ache as badly as her head and her throat throb, the way it always did when she suppressed tears, like she had to physically swallow them down.
But it did.
The second the first sob fell out of her mouth, Toby was already halfway across the room, done with asking permission to console her.
Both his arms wrapped around her and instinct took over as she flung herself entirely into his embrace, molding her body around his.
He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, his face lingering there as another sob fell out of her mouth, her chest heaving violently.
This wasn't about the joke anymore, Spencer knew. It couldn't be. A stupid, petty inside joke couldn't wrack her to the core this way.
No, this was about everything surrounding that joke. About everything she'd done that led to that moment, standing there, with the man she loved and another girl who loved him. About the choices she made out of stubborn pride, that took her down a path that led to isolating Toby, that led to damaging her relationship with Hanna forever, that led to completely annihilating her once only male friendship. About the days that led up to the massacre.
About how if she'd done just anything differently, she may have never been kidnapped.
And if she'd never been kidnapped, she wouldn't be on the brink of insanity right now.
And all those people would still be alive and well. Half wouldn't be deceased, half wouldn't be assumed dead.
Toby was still holding her to him, rocking her back and forth as if his life depended on it. His fingers sifted through her messy curls absentmindedly, as he whispered in her ear, "It's okay, baby. It's okay."
But none of it was okay. Everything that had unraveled in their lives, every awful sensation they were experiencing, came directly back to her.
She may not have killed all those people but she was responsible for it. She could have stopped it. She could have changed it.
She could have saved them.
She could have saved that boy, lying on the ground, bleeding out in front of her. The nameless stranger that she was too afraid to acknowledge, too afraid that someone might know him if she told anyone besides Toby. Too afraid that knowing who he was might force her to come to terms with the fact that he'll never grow up into he was meant to be. He'll never get another chance to fulfill his dreams or right his mistakes or give his loved ones two more minutes.
All the things she still had, that she was still selfishly taking for granted.
She could have saved Eddie Lamb. The male nurse, that had been her only confident when she was lost to everything and everyone. Including the boy now cuddling her like no tomorrow.
Eddie had been one of the only people who consistently looked out for her mental wellbeing. Who cared to always ask how she was doing. Who cared to look her over and make sure she wasn't on her way back to the funny farm.
He had maintained being the sole male in power who refused to make a romantic advance, who refused to see her as less than a person who needed help, instead of a girl who's barely legal body was warm and soft and inviting and more than anything, as everyone had made clear as day in the past, easy.
"All the pain and disappointment and loss, because you were stubborn."
Mona had spoken the words, almost six years ago, not even realizing how true they'd one day be.
"Baby," Toby whispered into her hair after twenty minutes, when she still had made no move to let go of him, to explain what was so wrong with her now, to even wipe her face.
Pulling back a little, she felt her mouth contort into a soft, barely there smile as her boyfriend wiped underneath one of her eyes gently with his thumb.
She swallowed hard, rubbing her nose, with uncharacteristic haste.
When she still refused to meet his eyes, the cop spoke again, his voice still as gentle as ever, though his patience was starting to dissipate. "Spence, talk to me," he implored. "What's going on?"
She shook her head, at loss at how exactly to explain this. That one memory of him and his almost fiancé, triggered a mounting of self-hatred? That she suddenly realized the repercussions of dating his best friend? That she was a mess and felt like she was falling apart at the seams, and part of her, a tiny part that she pretended didn't exist, was screaming out in her head that she was losing it entirely. She wasn't sure how long she could keep going, how much longer she could last before she gave up or completely snapped or blacked out all over again.
She tried to remind herself that she was drugged the night of the massacre. She knew that now. She didn't just black out. Her memory didn't disappear and it wasn't playing hide and seek in her brain.
It was stolen from her, in one of the most violent ways imaginable, and now it was playing peek-a-boo whenever she, even for a split second, thought she could be alright.
"Spence, you can tell me anything," Toby whispered, alerting her out of her own thoughts. "If there's something new that came back and somehow I missed it, tell me. Tell me and I'll do anything you need, anything it takes-"
"Toby," she cut off, shaking her head. With everything inside of her, she wanted to reassure him that nothing was truly wrong.
He thought something traumatic and harrowing had come back. He was in his own personal hell, assuming the very worst, powerlessly watching the person he loved most fall to pieces one more time.
Wasn't he sick of this? Wasn't he done yet? How could he sit there and still love her with every atom of his body, without being utterly exhausted from all the drama she attracted? How could he not be seething with resentment for upturning his entire life, once again?
Did she ever even ask him how he felt? He wasn't a robot and he wasn't made to love her. He was a person, who deserved better than a half crazed girl, barely clinging to the sideline of sanity.
He deserved Yvonne, who was kind and sweet and pleasant and brilliant and had a family who loved and adored him, as if he was their own. Who didn't bring him down, who could be the loving, devoted girlfriend he needed. Who wasn't jaded or moody or nearly insane.
The brunette took several deep breaths, the thought of the dark skinned, raving beauty, almost forcing her stomach to upchuck all over the bed.
Yvonne always put a bad taste in her mouth now, and she didn't like to acknowledge it, even to herself. How could she be so jealous that she couldn't even bear the thought of another girl her boyfriend loved without feeling physically ill?
What was wrong with her?
Before she had the opportunity to say anything else, her cell saved her, ringing at the most opportune time.
Toby sighed before reaching for it, glancing at the caller ID. "It's your mom," he stated, clearly discontented with the abrupt ending to their conversation.
Taking the phone, caught completely off-guard by the call, she answered in an unsure tone. "Hello?"
"Honey," Veronica breathed, sounding like she wasn't sure if Spencer was alright before hearing her voice.
"Mom?" Spencer narrowed her eyes in confusion, peering at Toby who was as mystified as her. "What's wrong?"
There was silence on the other end and the brunette felt her stomach do a flip, anticipation churning inside her violently.
"Spencer, I heard about what happened. Both at that apartment and in town," Veronica finally stated, her voice now collected and level, though her daughter could feel something brewing underneath.
The twenty-three-year old bit her lip, unsure how to answer the elder woman. "Yes?" She finally offered, attempting to hold back the feeling of defiance building up inside her.
"That was one of the most irresponsible things you could have done," the woman scolded, sounding downright livid now. "What the hell were you thinking? The doctor told you to avoid big crowds and what did you do? Go seek them out-"
Spencer couldn't take it. Not now, not today. Not any day as of late. She couldn't handle being scolded and berated, for simply attempting to live. She went out into public twice. Only two attempts to do anything closely resembling a normal event and both had blown up miserably. Both had caused havoc and something deep inside of her shouted, through all the overwhelming emotions, through both the old and new scars, the pain and the anger and the resentment, something deep inside of her cried out that this wasn't fair.
She didn't deserve to be admonished because she chose to not hide out in a hotel room like a recluse.
She didn't deserve to be kicked out of society, for things she couldn't control. For PTSD she couldn't understand and that she didn't ask for.
And she didn't deserve to have to listen to this phone call, she decided.
Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was downright selfish and compassionless. But she felt no regrets as she tapped the End Call button on her phone, cutting her mother off mid-sentence.
Witnessing the entire thing and sitting just close enough that he heard majority of it, Toby sighed deeply and reached to pull her closer.
"Are you still mad at me?" He asked as he wrapped his arms around her thin body, swaying her slightly.
Her earlier distress fled to the forefront of her brain at once. Swallowing hard, she murmured erratically, "I was never mad at you."
"Yes, you were," he corrected but his voice remained gentle. "I know when you're mad at me, Spence."
It was her turn to sigh now, willing herself not to get emotional. "It's stupid," she whispered as she pulled back.
"Nothing that upsets you could be stupid. To me, at least," he insisted but he could tell just by her eyes she wished he'd drop it.
"I know." She nodded, her eyes dropping to the bed underneath them.
There was a long silence that dragged on, straddling the line between awkward and uncomfortable and just downright unnatural.
Before either of them worked up the courage to break it, Toby's phone went off obnoxiously, screaming in contrast with the noiseless room.
Standing up clumsily, the cop narrowed his eyes as he took in name across his screen, just as Spencer had a few minutes prior. "Hello, Mrs. Hastings," he greeted, turning back around to face the brunette.
The second he said her mother's name, she was climbing to the edge of the bed, straining her ears to catch any of the conversation.
When she couldn't hear a thing, from the less than two feet distance between her and her boyfriend, Spencer's suspicions were peaked.
Since when couldn't she hear a phone that was barely two feet away?
Sensing her frustrations, Toby glanced at her and instantly obligated when she mouth 'speakerphone'.
". . .got to be rational about this, Toby. She isn't getting better. She's getting worse," her mother was saying and Spencer had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.
It went deeper than just irritation at the fact that her mom believed so adamantly that she still belonged in the hospital. It was the fact that her mom heard everything secondhand and didn't even ask Spencer what had happened, from her own point of view.
The brunette had little doubts that it was her friends at the country club, possibly the same people who had actually been at Fiona's to witness her meltdown, that had filled Veronica in.
But how could her mother actually take their word at face value and not even ask Spencer why she went there? Why she was so tirelessly trying to suction her life back together? Didn't her mom care that she was searching for some semblance of normal? Or did the woman only care if Spencer made a public spectacle of herself?
Maybe she was being too harsh. Maybe she was on edge, for a million and twenty four different reasons. But whatever the motive, she felt like she was about to explode when Veronica kept talking.
"You need to get her to a therapist," the senator said. "A good one, that comes highly recommended." Toby glanced at Spencer, searching her face for her reaction. "Search for one in the area-"
"Mom," Spencer cut in. "I'm not going to a damn shrink."
"Toby, I called you," the woman reprimanded, her tone nearly one of betrayal, clearly taken aback to hear her daughter's voice.
"And you really thought you could have a private conversation with him, without my knowing? You overestimated the size of motel rooms," the brunette quipped, her voice without humor.
"Spencer-"
But she didn't give her mother a chance to finish. "You really thought you could go over my head? Tell my boyfriend to send me to a therapist, as if that'll solve all my problems? Is this your next step, after trying to keep me locked up in a hospital?" When her question, which was rhetorical, to be fair, was met with nothing but utter silence, she exchanged a confused glance with Toby. "Mom?"
"I think she hung up," the cop offered after another beat of silence.
"That's never good," she mumbled, too insulted to worry why the usually overly confrontational senator would end the call.
Toby's clear blue eyes watched her as she rolled onto her stomach again, burying her face inside one of the motel provided pillows.
Neither of them really knew where they stood at the moment. They hadn't had a fight—that almost would have been easier—but something went wrong and they still had yet to solve it.
Spencer sighed into the thin cushion, realizing none of her behavior had been fair to him and wishing more than anything she could shut off her brain for one day. Not receive any more flashbacks, not have self-deprecating thoughts that cause rifts between her and the man she loves most in this world, not have to deal with anything unpleasant. For once in her life she wanted to be happy and stay happy.
She didn't want to bring Toby down with her. She didn't want to hurt him or cause him this kind of duress any longer. She just wanted this to all be over and done with.
"I've had monsters under my bed for so long, that now that they're not there, I feel like I have to create them."
What she'd said to Alison still rang true and she wished more than anything she could change for Toby's sake, if for nothing else. She couldn't handle losing him again and she couldn't stand the hurt she was causing him.
She was so unfocused that she didn't even notice Toby had joined her on the bed until his hand began massaging the back of her head.
Groaning loudly, she peered up at him. "You should turn off your phone so my mom can't call back."
He gave her a look. "Spencer."
"If she can go days without checking in and then only bother after listening to a bunch of crap gossip about me, I don't think we're obligated to take her calls. Especially when she's acting like I'm insane and you need to get me under control."
"She's just trying to help," he murmured, sympathy for her mom leaking through. His hand found its way up her shirt and began massaging her bare back soothingly. "I know she sucks at showing it sometimes but she is trying her best-"
"Don't defend her," Spencer cut off, her voice not at all harsh. "Please, Tobes. Don't defend her right now."
"Okay," he said amicably, appreciating her softer tone after spending hours with her on edge. He leaned down to kiss her lower back before resuming the rubbing. "I love you. More than anything," he uttered after a moment. "You know that right?"
She chuckled indistinctly, thinking how ironic it was he was saying this even with no knowledge of why she was upset all afternoon. "I know," she whispered a moment later, because she did know. She knew that he must love her, a lot more than she'd ever truly been able to reconcile, in order to literally risk his life by running into that building, just to save her.
Just as it seemed he was about to say more, a knock interrupted them, much like the phone calls had too.
"Who is bothering us now?" Spencer complained through gritted teeth, as Toby peered out the peep hole.
A strange, almost comical, look cross his face before he turned back to look at her. "Your mother."
Before she could even process his words, there was another, more impatient knock, and acting completely on instinct, Spencer flung herself out of bed and tossed the door open.
"Mother," she greeted, looking at her, almost as if she were measuring her up for size.
Apparently the senator wasn't in the mood for greetings. "What is going on with you?" Veronica admonished as she moved her way into the room, as if she were entitled to their space.
"Excuse me?" Spencer shot back as Toby, in very much contrast with the two alpha females, shut the door quietly. "What's wrong with me? You haven't checked in on me once since I've been released and suddenly you think you have the right to scold me, like I'm six, for things I couldn't control?"
Guilt flashed across the senator's face for a split second before her eyes grew hard. "I had a lot of work to catch up on, Spencer. You, of all people, should understand that. You're in politics too. And your dad said he told you to call me."
"Dad told Toby that, not me, and last I checked, passing messages around secondhand doesn't count as caring."
"Of course I care, Spencer," the elder woman snapped, emphasizing the word like her daughter had become an imbecile overnight. "That's not the point-"
"What is your point here, then? To lecture me for having attacks in public? Is-"
"No," Veronica cut off sharply, and this time, her daughter waited for her to finish. "I'm here because clearly I'm not getting through to you over the phone and you need to see someone. Someone who can help you figure out this entire thing. Get the attacks under control. Help you get on with a normal, productive life."
There was a stretch of silence, where both Toby and her mother waited for her to say something, have some sort of reaction, relent or refute the suggestion but either way, do something.
Neither of them expected her to roll her eyes to the back of her head and mumble under her breath, "'get under control'", before breezing past both of them and heading towards the sink.
"Spence," Toby called as his eyes followed her movements. "What are you doing?"
"You were right, I need some fucking pills right now."
The senator's eyes widened with alarm and the cop couldn't amend her statement fast enough. "She's talking about over the counter painkillers for her headaches."
"She's having headaches?" Veronica repeated, somewhat baffled.
"She had them in the hospital too," Toby reminded, his voice reminiscent of Spencer's when she was talking down to someone. And then it become obvious she was starting to rub off on him when he couldn't resist adding, "Don't you remember?"
"Of course I remember, Toby," the elder woman quickly declared, shutting her eyes. "I just didn't know they were still occurring." Turning to look at the brunette, her movements slower now, Veronica stated, "This is even more of a reason you need to see someone."
Spencer took a deep breath before speaking. "Why?" She asked simply. "Because it would really do me any good or because you don't want the neighbors to talk about me anymore?"
"That is not the reason," her mother insisted sharply.
"Well I don't believe you really think it's going to improve my mental health or else you would have said it when I was in the hospital!" Spencer exclaimed, literally throwing her hands up. She may not have always had the best relationship with either of her parents but the one thing that had always been-and evidently still was-true, was the fact that she knew when they were lying. She knew when something wasn't right or when they had an ulterior motive behind their eyes. She knew that if her mom thought seeing a therapist was best for her, she would have thought of it a long time ago. "Mom, what aren't you telling me?"
"Fine," Veronica relented, her face still callous. "To put it blankly? If the cops come at you with any sort of allegations, it's not going to help your case that you have been a public spectacle and have reached out for zero help from any psychologist."
She knew it, she told herself. She knew that her mom wasn't pushing her to get help out of the kindness of her heart or out of motherly concern but for legal reasons. She knew it from the very moment the words left her mother's mouth.
But somehow it still stung and Spencer pretended to scratch at one of the cuts surrounding her eyes in order to hide the moisture, threatening to leak out.
Toby, though, recognized the cover up and moved right by her mother without a second thought. "Spence," he murmured, too quiet for Veronica to hear.
"I'm fine," she assured, her tone too quiet and too sugary to even begin to convince him.
Her mom didn't quite realize the depth of her daughter's emotions-then again, Toby's the only person who had ever realized Spencer's sensitivity-but still, her voice became considerably milder. "Honey, I told you once that most verdicts are decided in living rooms. I'm just thinking strategically. Take a preemptive strike. Avoid public places for a little while and see a therapist, and eventually we'll be able to put all this behind us."
"Us?" Spencer picked, her volume rising. "What do you mean, us?"
The senator looked taken aback by the inquiry. "I mean, all of us. You, me, Toby, your father and sister."
Somehow her frustration outweighed her self-preservation and she didn't try hiding any longer the crack in her voice or the wetness of her eyes. "We aren't going through this, mom. I am. You were not kidnapped and you have not been forced to live through flashes of that night. You're sanity isn't in question and last I checked, the cops aren't accusing you of anything, so don't act like we're all in this together, because we're not."
"Spencer-"
"I'm not going to see an effing therapist. Especially not to prove anything to the cops. So if that's all you came here for, the door is right there."
It was clear by the look on her face that Veronica wasn't used to being vetoed. For as long as Spencer could remember, what her mother said is what they did. Even with her lack of presence, she still controlled and dictated majority of things in both her daughters' lives.
Looking beyond her daughter, she eyed the cop standing behind her, somewhat warily. "You know, Doctor Barnes said it was your job to determine what was right for Spencer. Has the concept of therapy never crossed your mind, Toby?"
To both women's surprise, his response came out quick and even. "Not like this. I've never considered pressuring her into seeing someone to make her look better to a bunch of strangers. And I've never considered forcing her to do it unwillingly."
"Even if it were what's best for her?" Veronica pressed, her voice harder now.
"Do you know what's best for her?" Toby responded, his voice still just as gentle as before. It almost made it more difficult for the elder woman to swallow. Having a twenty-four-year old disagree with her and still keep his cool. "Honestly? Do you know what's best for Spencer or what's best for her case? Because I can promise you, forcing her to do something she adamantly doesn't want to do is the last thing that'll help her."
Oddly enough, as much as it baffled Veronica to hear him stand his ground, his words baffled Spencer more. How did he understand her better than her own mother? Neither Aria or Hanna could relate to this, as it was a no brainer that both Ashley and Ella understood them better than their respective guys. And that was fine. In fact, that was considered normal.
Males just don't get us, girls said all the time. No one understands me like my mom.
Somehow with Spencer, it was the exact opposite. And, for some reason, she felt lucky. There had been countless times in the past that she'd wished her mother was different. Countless times that she'd wanted to have the same level of connection and bond her friends all shared with their moms. Countless times she'd been overcome with jealousy when witnessing the relationship between her mother and Melissa.
How did Toby make up for everything she'd ever been deprived of, tenfold? How did he always manage to make everything feel alright, even just for a minute, even when she was so terrible to him? Even when she iced him out and punished him for things he didn't mean, for things he shouldn't be held responsible for?
How could someone love her so much when she felt like nothing short of an atomic bomb nearly every minute of the day?
"No one can guide us through this thing except Spencer," Toby was saying. "She is the one who this happened to. We have to trust her judgment. If we don't then she might as well still be locked up in that hospital."
She wanted to smack herself upside the head for snapping at him for defending her mom. He didn't deserve her irritation when all he'd tried to do was make things easier for her.
Apparently, Veronica had heard enough. "Alright, fine, Spencer." She shook her head, bordering on appalled. "You're an adult. You do whatever you like. If you say this isn't my mess, then I won't worry about it."
The moment her mom spoke, dread filled Spencer's stomach all over again and she suddenly didn't know how to feel.
How do you feel when your parent says they've thrown their hands up?
How do you feel when you essentially asked them to?
How do you feel when you realize that your own mother cannot figure out how to support you without controlling you?
How do you feel when you realize that the fault lines had been thrown around so many times, you don't even know who is to blame for how you got here?
She'd never been the ideal mother, Spencer reminded herself. Nannies had a large part in her upbringing and the only sort of affection she got was when she either was falling apart at the seams or when she proved herself worthy.
But at the hospital, after their heart to heart moment, she thought it might be different. She thought after everything, things might change. That maybe this tragedy would shift her mother's perspective a little.
It clearly had been in vain and as much as she would adamantly deny it aloud, Spencer couldn't help but realize that what she felt was crushed hope. She'd unconsciously let her guard down and hoped for once that things could change in a positive way.
She wanted to kick herself for allowing even an ounce of optimism to even form inside her.
As if he were a sign, Spencer felt a large hand come into contact with the small of her back, just as the door shut, signaling her mother's exit, and unconsciously she reached for him.
He easily lifted her up, pulling her tighter as her arms and legs both coiled around him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she buried her face into his neck.
"Spencer," he breathed, a slightly confused edge finding its way into his voice. "For what?"
"For taking you for granted. For not treating you the way you deserve." She allowed a couple of tears, more out of stress than anything else, to make their ways down her face and into the shoulder of his shirt.
"Oh, Spence," he chuckled, much to her surprise. His hand began rubbing from the middle of her back down to her thighs. "You don't get to apologize for anything right now. Not with the kind of stress you're under. I can't even imagine what this is like for you. I can't believe what you're going through and yet, you're still so strong. I am in complete awe of you, all day, every day. Okay, don't think that you need to ever apologize for having feelings."
It was her turn to laugh now. "I love you," she murmured, pulling back to look at his face. "You know that, right? You make me the luckiest girl alive."
And with her words, a light filled his eyes that led her to believe he knew what she meant. That he knew what it meant to feel that kind of love that changed even the bleakest circumstances for the better. That he loved her, just as hopelessly and selflessly and tragically as she loved him. That she was just as much as a part of him as he was her.
That he would love her no matter what else happened. No matter what the future held. No matter what else came to light.
AN: Soooo this is something I wrote months ago, during hiatus. Or rather, I started. I didn't even realize I'd finished it until the other day, lol. When the show came back, I was too nervous on whether Yvonne would live or die and it sucked all the motive I had to write and then. . . well, we know what happened. . .
Thank you again to all my loyal readers. You guys mean the absolute world to me. Thank you for understanding when I take 1029492 years and for never holding it against me. I love you all.
Summary: Spencer calls Toby in the middle of the night, after a nightmare. Set after 7x07.
He was dead. That was what the loud, invasive, penetrating voice in her head screamed out, over and over again. Until her ears felt like they were bloody and on fire and pulsing so paralyzingly harsh. Until she was sure she would never heard another renaissance for as long as she lived. Until she could no longer feel a single atom of her body, could no longer feel the forest floor underneath her, could no longer feel the chilly night’s air freezing her sickeningly pale skin.
The one person in this world, who had taught her how to love, who had taught her she deserved love, that had taught her what love looked like, was lying on the ground before her, still as a portrait, and lifeless as a corpse.
That’s all that was left of him now. A corpse. An empty shell of the blue-eyed boy who had been her safe haven, from the violent storms that ripped her life apart at the seams.
Except he didn't love her. He wasn't the person she thought he was, and at the thought, she heard a loud sob expel itself from deep within her core, but she didn't give it permission, she didn't anticipate it, and more than anything, she didn’t feel it.
She doubted she’d ever be able to feel anything again. She doubted there was a way to pull all the pieces of her fractured heart and mind sufficiently back together.
Toby, was all she could think. The name, the image, the feeling of him. The way it felt when he wrapped his arms around her, when he kissed her softly, when he laughed at whatever sarcastic, witty remark she had presented him with.
This was it. This was all she ever was. The love he’d shown her, the purity of his soul, the hope he’d unknowingly gave her, somehow had merged into the very lining of her soul and, now, without him, she felt herself fading as well.
Toby, was all she thought. The boy who she had loved recklessly and wholeheartedly and without reservations and the way you could only ever love your first love.
How was it possible that person had never really existed?
Or had he? Had he been faking his status as one on the dark side? Had he donned that black hoodie in loyalty to her? Had he loved her as much as he swore? Had she been right in believing in him, believing there was nothing in this world that could prove he had forged his feelings for her, believing that it was impossible to wake up one day and stop loving someone?
Had she gotten him killed?
Toby, was all she could ever bear to process. The name, the smile, the protective words and the bright, water blue eyes.
She could feel her own self slipping away, and instinctually, she clung to the memory of him, the memory of his golden brown hair, his solid chest, his black as night tattoo, his warmth, his smell of sawdust and cinnamon, his altruistic heart that had always pulled her back when she felt lost without an atlas.
She could feel his shirts on her back, his lips on her neck, his eyes boring deep into the pits of her soul. She could feel him brushing her hair back when she was upset, him rubbing her shoulder when she was tense, him tugging her into his arms when she scared. She could no longer feel her own body, but she could feel every essence of his being effortlessly.
Toby, was all she could focus on. His light, his strength, his accomplishments, his forgiveness, his intuition.
She could remember his name long after she’d forgotten her own.
And then she woke up.
She heard a raucous, breathless gasp followed by a strangled sob. She heard someone gag, their throat frantically choking, attempting to hold back bile. She heard the slamming of a glass falling over against the wooden nightstand and she realized in an instant, all those sounds were coming straight from her.
How is it possible that even five years-and ten months, one week and three days-after the fact, that night could still bring her to her knees. Still drive her to the brink of insanity. Still shatter every piece of her heart, identical to the first time she’d lived through it.
Of course, this wasn't the first time she had nightmares about that night. She had suffered from recollections and visions of sitting in the woods, helplessly screaming her heart out, screaming out the name of the supposedly dead boy who she had loved with every fiber of her being, screaming until her voice died and her sanity along with it.
It was the only reason Toby had ever even known about what she went through that night.
After their reconciliation in the Edgewood Motor-Court, after he’d broken down and she had felt her own walls crumble and they’d allowed the love they so blindly believed in to encompass them whole, after that night, Spencer had viciously and adamantly refused to go into depth about finding his dead body.
It had worked, for the most part. For a short time, at least. Toby knew it was a sore subject. He knew her like the back of his hand. He knew every facet of her mind, every nuance and change in her demeanor. He knew she couldn't talk about what had happened to her in those woods. What it had done to her, to believe he was never again coming home.
He knew not to push her, that it could force her to relinquish what little control she had somehow grasped again, that it could irreparably damage her mental health, that it could rip open her still bleeding heart all over again, like having stitches pulled out of a fresh stab wound.
But all that went out the window when he stayed the night and witnessed his girlfriend in unparalleled terror and hysteria. He had seen her frantic tears, her harsh sobs and violent screaming and brutal thrashing and had known then exactly what his actions had put her through.
And, despite the complete envelopment of guilt and self-hatred, he had been ridiculously good at bringing her back to reality, at comforting her storm, at wiping away any traces of anxiety welled up inside her.
He had held her and soothed her and let her cry herself out against his shirt. His arms had created a cage of protection that she had never known from anywhere else and his lips danced over her wet, tear stained face, into her hairline, the crown of her head, the side of her neck, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach. He held her, unflinchingly, until she pulled back and apologized for alarming him.
After the third time it happened, after he had witnessed such an upset in the person he loved most in the world, not once, not twice, but three times, Spencer knew she had to tell him what was happening inside her head that was rupturing both their hearts.
He had been patient and supportive, listening tentatively, stroking her hair and silently rubbing her back as his arm lay, flung across her hip. He never asked her to share more than she was comfortable and never failed to beg for forgiveness, his own eyes always swarm with tears.
The last time she had a nightmare about that night, she was a sophomore in college. They were already falling apart, their relationship breaking up fraction by fraction, their paths splintering off. And yet, when she called him in a frenzy at two in the morning, by every definition bawling her eyes out and scaring the living shit out of both him and her roommate, he hadn't hesitated for a second to drive down. Without a doubt, he broke every speed limit, he had to call in sick to work, he only acquired three hours of sleep, but there was nothing in this world that could stop him from rushing to her, from rocking her back and forth until she could breathe again, from kissing her and furiously trying with every part of him to steal her pain away. Just like every other time before, he had held her until she decided to let go. He had always said that it was his fault she had to suffer from these dreams, that all the other pain and traumas she’d endured had been caused by someone else, but this one was entirely on him and that he would always be there to fix it, as long as she still needed him.
He had been her anchor, her support system, her strength, her safe place to land.
She needed him now. Every inch of her body ached for him desperately, knowing that until she saw him, until she heard his voice, she would never been able to relax, never be able to stop the shaking, stop the tears, stop the anxiety from overtaking her entire being. She’d never be able to truly believe that he was still alive, out there, living, breathing, functioning, until she heard his voice firsthand.
Without thinking twice about it, without truly considering the repercussions for once, she grasped her cell phone, still reeling from the harrowing nightmare and dialed his number from memory.
It rang once, twice, three times, four. Just when she was sure it was about to go to voicemail, she heard a low and exhausted, “Spencer?” on the other end.
She shut her eyes, knowing already this was a bad idea, that she had no business seeking out his comfort when he was engaged to someone else, that this wasn't his problem anymore. She wasn't his problem anymore.
But, before she found the courage to hang up, Toby recognized the familiar raggedness to her breathing. He recognized the similar hour of the night and déjà vu must have hit him like a semi-truck because the next words flew out of his mouth instantaneously. “You had the dream again, didn't you?”
A tattered sob fell out of her mouth without warning. “Yes,” she whispered thickly.
“Everything’s okay. I’m here, Spencer,” he promised and his tone slipped backwards in time three years. He still remembered the exact words she needed to hear, to force her brain into accepting what she had witnessed had been a set up. That she had been lied to, in an attempt to break her apart, like a real life Humpty Dumpty. That the man she had fallen head over heels in love with wasn't the same one that laid on the forest floor, the life stolen from his body.
His voice, his soft tenor, brought her back to reality once again. “I’m alive. You just had a nightmare of someone playing a malicious mind game. I wasn't in the woods that night,” he swore, and she could hear him standing up, could make out his footfalls against the ground and it dawned on her he was leaving the room that he shared with Yvonne, so not to wake her.
Remorse filled her entire body, almost as prominent as the embarrassment she felt for calling at this heinous hour a man who had a fiancé. “Toby,” she blurted, shutting her eyes at her own stupidity, revving up to tell him how sorry she was for bothering him.
Before she could though, the cop cut her off, his mind on a completely different track. “Is this the first time you've had the nightmare?” He asked, his voice still consumed with concern. “Since we. . . you know. . .”
She swallowed hard, bringing up her hand now to furiously scrub away the tears still left on her face. “Yeah. I don't know what triggered it, but. . .” She sighed, words escaping her as well.
She hated this. She hated how the person she loved more than she even loved herself, the person whose death, even inside a nightmare, still left her more shaken than any dream of being stalked or chased by an ominous black hoodie, the person who had shown her what it meant to love someone unconditionally, was so hard to talk to. She hated how it felt like she was talking to a stranger. A stranger who knew her inside and out, and yet, could barely even utter her name anymore. She hated how awkward they both had become, how they both didn't understand how to not be there for each other and yet, still actively pushed the other away, how neither of them really understood the other person’s actions and yet, still knew their heart like the back of their hand.
“I’m really sorry I bothered you with this,” she finally offered, about to hang up when he quickly refuted her apology.
“You are not bothering me with this,” he insisted, and she could hear his voice beginning to waver. And as if he knew what she was about to do, he added, “Keep talking to me or else I'll show up at the barn to make sure you’re okay.”
She let out a silent chuckle, her demeanor lifting ever so slightly. “I’m fine now, really,” she insisted, working to lighten up her tone. “I just needed. . .” I needed to hear your voice. “I just needed to make sure you were alright.”
“I’m alright, Spence,” he assured again, and she felt her heart involuntarily flutter at the nickname. “It’s you I'm concerned about.”
“Toby, really-”
“No, please, hear me out,” he pled, and she realized that he had rehearsed this spiel, that he had practiced this in his head before, that this was something that he had given a lot of thought to. “I made a colossal mistake back then. I was trying to save you but I ended up being the reason you got hurt. I caused you so much pain and I. . . I never apologized enough for that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for that night in the woods, for that night in the kitchen and for everything in between. I should have done something-”
“Toby,” she cut off. “You couldn't have done anything and we both know it. It was too dangerous. You made the right decision to back off. Cece might have killed you--or me, for all we know--if you hadn't.”
“That doesn't matter,” he disagreed contritely. “It doesn't mean that I wasn't at fault for what happened to you. You’re still to this day suffering from nightmares on my account, because of my screw up. I should have stepped in before you were institutionalized.”
“I’m not angry, Toby,” she murmured gently, their roles reversing like so many times before and suddenly she was the one consoling him.
“You should be. You have every right to be,” he insisted. “You have every right to hate me.”
Her response was quiet and firm and simple, entirely unswayed by his repentance and self-loathing. “But I don't.”
She heard him swallow hard on the other end and in her mind, she could see him shaking his head as liquid salt gathered in his eyes. “No,” he finally whispered, disagreeing with some part of her words. “No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel better right now.” He cleared his throat, seemingly making an attempt to pull himself together. “Spencer, do not let me off the hook this time. Tell me that what I caused was horrific, that it was my actions alone that brought you to the edge, that I stripped you of your sanity.”
“But you didn't,” she fought. “You didn't bring me to the edge. I was already there. I had been sitting on the brink of snapping for over a year. You didn't cause my breakdown. Mona and Charlotte did. All you were was a pawn. Same as me. They used you to destroy me, Tobes. You weren't the villain. You were a victim.”
“You’re saying that I had nothing to do with what happened to you that night?” He challenged softly. “Spencer, I was there with you for a solid three years after that night. I witnessed how much that night changed you. And I know it was because of me.”
“Toby,” she sighed, shaking her head even though he couldn't see it. “You're right, okay? You were the reason I fell apart that night. . .” She bit her lip, contemplating her next words for a brief moment before letting go and allowing them to spill out of her. “When you died, when I saw you dead in the woods, when I saw you lying there… the truth is, a part of me died with you and… it never really came back alive. I never was the same.” She heard him let out a disconsolate sigh, heard him sniffle almost silently, noticeably fighting back tears. “But you didn't do that to me,” she reinstated. “They used you. Charlotte and Mona. They were hell bent on destroying me by any means necessary and that’s what they did. But you weren't a part of it. So don’t let this eat at you. Don't carry around this burden when you were just trying to protect me.”
“I just,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I was taking care of Yvonne when we came home from the hospital and I realized that, I didn't do enough for you. All those things you went through and. . . I don't think I was there for you like I should have been.”
She didn't know what reaction he expected out of her, what he was really anticipating, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t the laugh, the disbelieving chortle, that fell out of her mouth without warning.
Before he couldn't ask what was wrong, why she would laugh at his words, she was already speaking.
“Do you remember the summer after I graduated? You were always there. All those nights when I couldn’t fall sleep and you got up and drove all around the county, at three in the morning until I fell asleep in the car. All those times I laid awake and you rubbed my back until you had to go to work. When I gave myself stomach aches and headaches with my anxiety and you stayed up and watched movie after movie with me. Or when I did manage to fall asleep and woke up in a panic. You held me until I could breathe again, even if it made you late to your shift. You were always there for me, Toby. You’re the one who was always there. I couldn’t have made it through that summer without you. And I know I never thanked you for that-”
“Spencer," he whispered, and she could practically see him shaking his head. "That doesn't count. I didn't do anything special."
"Yes, you did," she implored. "No one has ever done anything for me like that. No one has ever loved me like that."
She heard him swallow hard and knew her words had put a lump in his throat. "I did it because I loved you," he admitted hoarsely. "I would have done anything for you to be okay."
"I know," she assured and her voice was quiet now too, as she felt her eyes well up all over again. This time for completely different reasons. Exhaling loudly, she murmured, "anyways. Thank you for talking to me. I didn't know who to call or what..." she trailed off but he understood what she was getting at.
"Spence. You can always call me. Always. I'll stay up talking to you as long as it takes until the nightmares go away. Even after I'm in Maine."
Her brows furrowed in surprise, though he couldn't see. "Really? You would do that?"
"Of course."
She couldn't contain the tears as they spilled over once again and trickled down her face. "Thank you, Toby," she rasped out. She heard him sniffle on the other line and her chest ached, her desire to be with him, wrapped up in his arms, growing stronger by the second. "I'll let you get back to sleep," she murmured finally.
"Yeah," he mumbled quietly and she could almost hear the tears in his voice.
Just as she was about to hang up, her mouth acted without permission from her brain. "She's really lucky to have you.”
His breathing hitched and she wished more than anything then, that things were different, that the universe didn't pull them apart, that the all consuming and completely incapacitating love they had for each other had been enough to sustain them. She wished it were her he was leaving town with, her that had been enough to pull him out of Rosewood once and for all. She wished it were her wearing his ring and sleeping in his arms and for a split second she wished it were her preparing to have his babies and she nearly broke down then, because if she realized that now, if she thought that now, she may never recover. If she had lost him because of what turned out to be a mistake, she would lose her mind entirely.
Once upon a time, losing him had been her undoing. It had been the catalyst for her mental deterioration. It was the worst thing to ever happen, in her mind.
“What do you do, when the worst thing has happened?”
Even when it was just losing their relationship, losing the love that had been her constant for four years straight, losing the one person in her life that taught her she was important and kind and enough, a part of her died. Losing what they had, was like losing a limb to her.
"It was like my...my heart had just stopped."
They may not have seen the same future anymore but the thing that never failed to paralyze her was the fact that when they both pictured their future, they never pictured it without the other. They never pictured a future where they weren't together. Never in either of their minds was this a plausible outcome.
She couldn't imagine her life without him.
Now it was him uttering those words and it was about a different girl. He had managed to love someone else more than he'd ever loved her and that was what stung worst of all.
She would have given anything to hear him say those words about her. Anything to go back in time, back to when she was the only person in this world that mattered to him, back to when he was still her fairy-tale.
He was still her once upon a time but she could never be his happily ever after. She could never measure up and she was the first to admit that.
She'd sat there for so long, drowning in her own thoughts , that she just about forgot he was still there on the other end.
Just when she was about to hang up, his voice rang out, lower and huskier than she'd heard it in years. "Am I still your safe place to land?" he asked and she knew just by the rapidity of his tone that he hated himself for asking, hated himself for wishing for this, wishing to still partially belong to a girl who wasn't his fiancé, wishing that a part of her heart was still his.
Without a second thought, without a moment of hesitation, without a question, she murmured, "Always."
Soon! I'm sorry, the show sort of takes away my motive to write when it effs up the storylines, even when what I'm writing is AU. It takes a while of not seeing Spoby on screen to find my motive to write them again.
Okay, so I admit that this took a bit because I had written nearly 15,000 words before I decided to cut the chapter into two parts. That's just me. Overwriting everything lmao.
Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews, especially my repeaters. You guys mean everything to me.
Also, should I continue posting these chapters on Tumblr too? Because I notice that no one else really posts every chapter to their stories anymore on there and so I'm just wondering, is there anyone who solely reads this story on Tumblr?
The unyielding morning sun peeking through the blinds ripped her out of her slumber, unapologetically.
Before she could complain though, before her mouth would even cooperate, she was instantly acutely aware of her boyfriend's fingertips rubbing the bare skin on her back in circles, trailing down over her ass and legs.
"Mmm," she murmured instead, sleep still prevalent in her voice. "That feels nice."
He didn't say anything in response, but she heard his almost silent, blissful chuckle that always accompanied his genuinely elated smile. The smile she mostly saw when the tragedies in their lives were halted to a minimum. The smile she pretended only ever existed for her.
Her emotions, for once, matched his, as the events the day prior came back to her. After their first time, their first love making in over three years, they'd laid, basking in each other, for nearly an hour before going at it again. And again. And again. Until they'd realized they'd forgone all but one meal of the day and ordered the entire Sarrono's dinner menu.
She'd fallen asleep, after one last round, entirely on top on him, exhausted and full and more relaxed than she thought she'd ever been and more soothed than she believed she'd ever be again. Even all things considered.
Her ecstasy, her pure euphoria, that had only and always appeared whenever she was truly with the man that she loved with everything inside of her, had lasted all night and carried through into the morning.
That was, until she decided to roll over.
"Ah!" she yelped, clutching her side, unsure where she was even trying to grasp, so much of her body suddenly in distress.
"Spence," Toby's tone shifted to one of terror, panic seeping into every inch of his body. "Spencer, what is it?"
His palm made contact with her shoulder and another cry slid from her lips. "It hurts," she moaned, grinding her teeth.
His skin paled as he stared at her, tears already gathering in his eyes. "Is it-" he cut himself off, shaking his head, his thoughts too awful to vocalize. "Did I hurt you?"
Even in her current distress, she managed to refute his worries immediately, seeing where he mistook her words. "It's not that. I don't hurt there."
"Oh," he murmured, embarrassment and slight confusion evident in his voice. "Oh. Spence," he realized, his eyes softening as he took in her bare body again, as if seeing her for the first time.
"What?" she demanded, desperate to know what epiphany he'd just had.
"The medication is out of your system. Completely." He ran his hand down the length of her back down, rubbing gently, trying to alleviate a fraction of the discomfort. "Of course you're in pain. I should have realized-"
She narrowed her eyes, cutting him off, her body aching too badly to care she was being grumpy. "They were out of my system yesterday," she disputed. "I didn't feel like this."
"They were working their way out of you," he corrected evenly. "Now they're out."
Her chocolate brown orbs disappeared behind her eyelids. "Fuck," she spat, bringing her palm up to her face only to whimper miserably when it made contact. "Do you think it'll get worse?" She asked, warily.
The cop kissed her hair delicately. "I don't know, baby."
"Great."
"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" he asked, his eyes tortured from her suffering. But it was evident he was still relieved, on some level, that her pain had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't him that caused her pain.
The brunette shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut again as her face and neck screamed out at her, causing frustrated tears to well up in her mocha orbs. Countless places throbbed relentlessly and ruthlessly, all over her entire body.
"We can give you more of your prescription from Dr. Barnes," he offered desperately. "Okay, you don't have to stick with your resolve to stop taking them."
But even in her miserable state, she repudiated. "No," she shook her head, her voice attempting confidence.
"What about half a pill?" It was clear that seeing her like this left him fumbling for a concrete solution. The same way he always had in the past, doing whatever it took to make her life even the slightest bit easier.
"Toby."
"I don't want you to be hurting," he whispered, helpless and exposed, his fingers still gently running through her hair, the one place he knew he could touch her without eliciting further suffering.
"Its okay, Tobes. I'll survive," she promised weakly, resigning herself to suffering through this. She turned slightly, ignoring how her body viciously fought the action.
Toby chuckled humorlessly. "You are not supposed to be comforting me," he remarked, smirking slightly.
She let out a soft laugh before regretting it as her chest rejected that act too.
The cop saw and brought his lips lightly down to her bare skin.
Oddly enough, the sensation didn't add to the ache but actually diminished a little fragment of it. Feeling her body relax under his mouth, the sandy brunette moved higher, brushing his lips against her collarbone, the side of her neck, underneath her jaw.
When he'd pulled back, she pouted playfully. "Keep going," she ordered, attempting to tug him closer again.
"Spencer."
"It was helping," she insisted. "Let's just stay in bed today and you can keep doing that and we can-"
He cut her off, seeing where this was going. "I don't think sex is going to make your body feel better, sweetheart."
"It might," she argued.
He chuckled, using his hand to sweep her hair back from her face before vaguely complying with her request and bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth, the gash in her forehead, a bruise on her cheek. "Why don't I run us a bath and we'll see if that makes you feel better?" he suggested, his lips still against her tender, soft skin.
She sighed, not requiring excess persuasion. "Okay," she agreed, her smile already returning as he carefully lifted her in his arms and carried her, front to front, into the bathroom.
As he set her down, as gently as humanly possible, the brunette caught a glimpse of her full body reflection in the mirror, for the first time since massacre. Her jaw nearly hit the ground.
"Oh my god."
"Lean forward," Toby directed, rubbing her back softly with a sopping wet cloth. "Relax."
"I'm trying," she murmured as she took a deep breath in, allowing her boyfriend to continue his ministrations.
He worked the cloth all over her arms and chest before an involuntary howl expelled itself from her mouth. "Did that hurt?" he asked sympathetically, his lips planting a kiss on the back of her neck.
"Yeah," she admitted, her voice wavering. He knew how much she hated admitting weakness. How much pain she must be in to be this upfront about it.
"Come here." He dropped the cloth into the hot water and guided her back, leaning against his chest, her head laid against his neck. He ran his hands up and down her arm, raising goose-bumps in their wake. "Do you feel any better at all?"
"Yeah," she smiled against his throat. It wasn't big but it was genuine and that mattered more to him. "Yeah, I do. Thank you."
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "I'll always take care of you, Spence."
"I know," she murmured cheekily and her smile turned into a smirk.
"Is the water getting too cold?" he checked abruptly, unwrapping only one arm from around her and testing it with his hand, as if he wasn't engrossed in it.
"No," she rebutted adamantly, pulling his arm back. "You made sure the water was scorching. Even in my opinion."
He gave her a sheepish look. "I just wanted to make sure it was hot enough to help you."
"I know, babe. And it was," she assured. "It was hot enough that polio patients would have had use of their limbs again."
"It's amazing to me that you think Hanna exaggerates more than you."
"That's insulting."
"Truth hurts, my love."
She let out a laugh, a real, authentic, legitimate giggle, before gazing down at her beat up figure once again. "God, how did you manage to find me attractive enough to sleep with last night," she marveled.
"Spencer."
"No, seriously. I knew I was sort of beat up but I didn't have a clue it was this bad. I wouldn't have stripped off all my clothes the other night if I'd known I was covered head to toe in bruises."
"You're not," he disagreed.
"The mirror begs to differ."
When she'd caught a glimpse of her full body in the bathroom mirror, she had been floored by the number of scrapes and bruises laid on her stomach and legs. She'd known from the hospital that she'd obtained cuts and bruises all over her face and neck, some even extending to her chest and arms. But she hadn't anticipated finding countless more, scattered all over her body.
No wonder it hurt so bad to even move.
No wonder the hospital had practically proscribed her morphine.
"There's not as many as you think," he insisted, rubbing her legs tenderly, avoiding placing pressure on the dark bruises. "And how did you not notice them until now? You're losing your detective skills in your old age, Nancy Drew."
She gave him a look. "I'm not the most observant on drugs."
"I thought the drugs were out of your system yesterday?" he shot back.
Instead of a witty comeback, the brunette just grimaced up at him. "I wasn't in this much pain yesterday."
He shut his eyes, his demeanor shifting, as his arms tightened around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her for what must have been the thousandth time.
"Not your fault," she murmured back, touching the area around her nose, where she could now feel the slices cut through her delicate skin, feel the slashes around her eyes, feel the angry, battered skin that was splotched across her entire face.
She felt her boyfriend's lips on her forehead, kissing her stitches, and let out a breath she didn't mean to hold.
"They're actually healing really quickly," Toby noted, hoping it would console her.
Of course though, Spencer took the negative approach. "How much worse did I look in the hospital?"
"You didn't-"
"Please, Toby," she cut off, not in the mood to be comforted with well-intended white lies.
He rolled his tongue around his mouth once before answering. "You had a black eye when you were admitted. It's basically gone now. And a lot of your bruises on your stomach have turned purple."
Her brow furrowed. "What the hell were they?"
"Black."
The brunette shuddered against him and he pressed his lips to her hair. She knew he hated telling her these things. He hated having to tell her anything that solidified the reality they were both facing. The horrors that had happened that night, that couldn't be escaped, no matter how much love they had for each other.
He wanted to fix everything for her. After years and years of dedication to alleviate her nightmares, even when they weren't together, she knew it killed a part of him that he had to live with the fact that unspeakable things had been done that night to the person he loved most and he couldn't protect her from them.
She also knew, just by the way he caressed her body, the way he affectionately rubbed her back, the specific places she now realized he'd been kissing all along, that he felt responsible for the physical abuse she'd suffered that night.
In the back of her mind, she made a vow to never tell him about the latest memory that had come back. There was no reason he had to hear about her, quite literally, getting the shit kicked out of her.
No question where the black bruises on her stomach came from.
"They also thought your head wound was a lot more serious when the paramedics first saw you," Toby added, drawing her out of her thoughts and back into reality.
"When the paramedics first saw me?" She snorted. "You mean when you rescued me and brought me to the paramedics?"
He chuckled, somewhat abashed. "I keep forgetting you know about that."
"Well it's a pretty serious thing for someone to do for you. Doesn't happen every day," she teased. "Makes it kind of memorable."
He raised an eyebrow, matching her expression. "Aren't you lucky?"
"I think so," she smirked and raised her head up to kiss him.
The kiss was chaste, as they both knew her body wasn't in the mood for sex. Nonetheless, their mouths moved together in perfect, lazy synchronization, as if this were an old song they were singing, that they'd belted out a million times before. As if they were literally so connected, they could feel the other's thoughts. As if this were their comfort blanket, sheltering them from every awful thing they had to endure out in the world.
When they broke apart, it wasn't because they wanted to. It wasn't because she was in pain. It wasn't because the water was dropping in temperature-which it still was not. It was because a cell phone started to ring and suddenly, the realization that the real world still existed dampened both their moods.
"I'll get it," Toby murmured, resigned to ending their time alone.
He pressed another kiss to her shoulder before slipping out from underneath her and grabbing a supplied towel.
Gripping his shoulder as she hobbled unsteadily onto the bathmat, she complained, "Even living together, someone is always constantly interrupting us."
He snickered as he accepted the call. "Hello?" The cop greeted, reaching for another towel. "Uh, hi, yeah, this is him."
Spencer shot him a questioning look as he wrapped the second towel around her dripping body, but he kept his eyes trained on the ground, listening intently to whoever was on the other line.
Choosing to do something more productive with her time than watch Toby on the phone, the brunette walked-or stumbled would be more accurate- towards the bed, thanking her rare lucky stars that motel rooms were so cramped.
She grabbed her clothes while listening in, like the nosy girlfriend they both openly knew she was. "Thank you so much, sir!" she heard the twenty-four-year old's voice raise an octave. "Thank you!"
Her chocolate brown eyes narrowed into slits, confused about who the hell he was speaking to. Toby was shy and introverted, even on the phone. He wasn't big on exceedingly flamboyant emotions until he practically knew someone, inside and out.
Before Spencer could debate if it was worth the hobble back into the bathroom, she heard her boyfriend's voice sober up. "Before you go, can I ask what changed their minds?"
Almost as if he knew she were listening, he turned on the faucet and-for some reason-decided to get his toothbrush ready to clean his teeth. "Thank you again," he repeated appreciatively as he hung up.
She was still pulling her clothes on when he joined her. "Oh, Spence," he murmured to her, catching her pained expression at attempting to hook her bra. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I got it," she maintained, even though her voice was completely void of volume from lack of breath. Ignoring her words, he carefully hooked her bra before leaning down and planting a kiss in the center of her back. "Thank you," she murmured, contradicting her own self.
"I like helping," he insisted, as she let out a sigh, leaning back against him.
"So who was your friend?" she asked precipitously, looking up at him through her long eyelashes.
"My friend?"
"The guy you thanked over and over again on the phone?"
"Oh!" Comprehension flickered across his face, and Spencer was caught off-guard once again by his enthusiasm. "That was Martin Kayne."
"The realtor?" she verified, turning around to stare at him, utterly confused.
"He said we can have the apartment this month, for less rent."
Spencer just stared at him for a long moment, not comprehending. "But I thought-"
"The current tenets agreed," he stated softly, a grin on his lips as she processed the information.
"Are you serious?" she asked as it sunk in.
"Spence, would I be telling-"
"Oh my god! I'm getting my apartment!" she exclaimed, flinging herself straight into his arms, biting back a scream at the way her body rebelled against the action. Her exhilaration brought temporary adrenaline. Enough of it that her emotions outweighed her physical pain.
"Um, I thought we'd both live there."
"Oh yeah, don't worry. You can have a corner."
"Thanks, babe. Your generosity astounds me."
She smirked, pressing a kiss to corner of his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I suppose you can share the bed with me."
"Mmm," he murmured, leaning in to connect their lips once again. "Throw in an old futon and I'm in."
"I'll do you one better. We can even bring your old quilt."
"You know how to get to me."
She giggled as she brought her head back down on his shoulder, planting her lips there too. "Thank you, Toby. For more than just this."
"I didn't do anything," he insisted, rubbing her back. "The tenets just changed their minds."
She stiffened against him, hearing the words for a second time. Something about them felt extremely off, all of a sudden. "Why would they, out of the blue, have a change of heart?" The cop simply shrugged, his hand trailing up into her hair to massage her scalp lightly. "Toby," she pressed, in the demanding tone she reserved only for him.
He sighed, his chest pressed against her's, his hand stilling in her hair. "They may have heard about…what happened during the open house."
Instantly her manner shifted, her excitement evaporating and in its place came her pride and shame. "I can't do that," she stated evenly, her voice quieter now. "We can't move in there."
"Spencer-"
She cut him off, already knowing what he'd say. "Toby, I'm not moving in some place that I'm only getting because I acted like a lunatic!"
"You did not act like a lunatic!"
"I'm not going to be these people's charity case!"
At that, his expression softened. Rubbing both his hands up and down her arms, he shook his head. "You're not anyone's charity case, baby."
His words made her lose her defensive edge. "They're going to take less money and move out faster, because some girl they saw on the news lost her shit during their open house? That's a charity case. Plain and simple."
He reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, his expression turning introspective. "Do you remember when we sat in your hospital room and read your mail? All the letters you got from random strangers, full of money? Do you remember what I said?"
"What, that people want to help those who have been through hell?"
"Yes. And that doesn't make you a charity case. It makes them nice people."
The brunette sighed, looking down at her lap. He was doing everything he could to ease her shame and all she was doing was being difficult. "I'm really sorry that I'm putting you through all this."
He was shaking his head before she was even finished speaking, his turn now to narrow his eyes. "Don't even start on that, Spence. There is nowhere on this planet I'd rather be than sitting here with you."
She smiled faintly. "I'll think about it," she amended as she leaned back into his arms, her head finding it's place on his chest, right above his heartbeat.
"Okay," he agreed, pressing his lips into her chestnut hair. "That's all I ask."
The cop ran his hand up and down her back, gently, attempting to alleviate her aching pain. It was impossible for him not to notice the tension that still resided in her body.
"Hey, what is it?" he asked, peering down at her face.
"Nothing," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
"Tell me."
She sighed, before relenting. "I'm just not happy that my spazzing out during the open house is public knowledge."
"You were not spazzing out."
"Toby."
"Spence, it's not like it was on the eleven o' clock news. It was probably just told to the tenets."
"Yeah, right," she snorted. "This is Rosewood. People have nothing else to do but gossip about things like me."
"Things like you?"
"Tragedies. Novelty. Disasters. Psychos."
"Spencer."
"Come on, Toby. You've been the town pariah. You've been an outcast. You've been one of Rosewood's finest. You know this town, inside and out. Tell me that everyone who saw me at that open house isn't telling anyone who'll listen what happened."
The cop sighed but had no way to deny it, had no way of protecting her from the residents of the town and their rude, invasive, insensitive ways.
When he couldn't respond, couldn't find a way to amend the broken truth, he chose to comfort her physically instead, trailing his hand up into her hair again.
"Mmm!" she complained, but now not in pleasure, but utter pain. "That fucking hurts," she whimpered.
"Sorry," he whispered contritely, his lips replacing his hand. "I'll go get you some Asprin. See if that helps."
He kissed her head once more time before climbing off the bed, leaving her lying against the stiff mattress, too exhausted and sore to bother sitting up again.
If she thought the dizziness was exasperating, the constant and complete pain she was in now was a whole new kind of irritant. Instead of having to struggle to get through the tasks she was determined to prevail through, she had no motive to do anything but lie with her boyfriend in bed.
Which was all she planned on doing, when her phone out of the blue started chirping. "Hello?" she murmured into the speaker, her voice weary, already recognizing the number.
"Hey, Spence!" Hanna's voice rang brightly from the other side. "What're you doing?"
"Nothing, just… lying around," she answered truthfully as Toby returned with her pain pill and a glass of water she didn't need.
She dry swallowed the pill with no effort, smirking up at the cop. He rolled his eyes, mouthing, "impressive," at her smug expression.
Hanna scoffed noisily. "Spencer Hastings is vegging out?"
"Spencer Hastings feels like she got hit by a car. It changes a person's motivation."
"Okay, that actually happened to me, and I literally felt no different."
The brunette chuckled. "You claimed you needed to be waited on hand and foot," she reminded.
"Yeah and that's not much different than usual," the bubbly girl laughed. "Listen, I didn't call you to compare how pathetic our collected pain is."
"Collective," Spencer automatically corrected, gazing down at a particularly dark bruise, barely listening now.
"I just wanted to know if you want to go out to breakfast?"
"Sure," she automatically answered, gazing up at Toby who had moved towards his own phone and was pondering through his own messages. "Is Toby invited?"
"Duh." She could practically see her friend rolling her eyes. "I meant breakfast with everyone. Me and Aria and Em and Caleb and Ali and Jason-"
"I like how you snuck in Caleb's name, like I wouldn't notice," Spencer called out.
She heard Hanna take in a deep breath, her demeanor shifting into a much more sober one. "Listen, Spence, I want to go out for you. So if you have a problem with him being there or you feel like it's too awkward or strange or bizarre or whatever, I'll make him stay home-"
"Han, it's fine. I was just giving you a hard time," the brunette promised, chuckling. "Bring Caleb, bring whoever, I don't care. Did you ever break up with Jordan, by the way?"
"No, Spencer, I just got back together with Caleb while still planning my wedding to another guy," Hanna snorted. "No crap, I dumped him."
"How'd that go?"
"Surprisingly uneventful. I did it over text."
"Hanna!"
"I know! I'm awful, okay? But I was scared and plus, this way I get to keep the ring-"
"Hanna!"
"Spencer! It's a diamond!"
She cackled once, peering over at Toby who was giving her a peculiar look. She shook her head once, knowing he really couldn't care less about Hanna's drama.
"So you're definitely up for breakfast?" the blonde confirmed.
"Yes," she assured. "Just give me at least an hour. I need the Asprin to kick in before I'm going out to eat."
"Sure," her friend agreed, chewing now into the speaker.
"Are you already eating?"
"I'm starving, you twig!"
"Sorry. Uh wait, can we not go to The Radley?" The mental hospital, turned hotel was probably the very last place the brunette wanted to be.
"Oh please, my mom runs that place. Like I need to eat there every day. What about that place in town that you used to like?"
"Han, you hate that place."
"Yeah but you don't-"
"Is something wrong?" Spencer suddenly cut off. "Do you know something I don't?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You hate Fiona's and you hate waiting. You always complain that you want to go when you want to go. And you-"
The blonde cut her off, already knowing what she was going to say. "This isn't about what I want. It's about you. I just wanted to see you and make sure you're okay."
But they'd been close for far too long for Spencer to let it go, just like that. "Hanna, what's going on?"
Her friend let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "Fine. I heard about the open house." At her words Spencer's stomach dropped, her gaze instantly meeting Toby's across the tiny room.
His eyes were instantly on alert. "What's wrong," he pressed, making it over to her in three strides. She shook her head, turning away from him, adverting her stare. "Spence."
"Spencer," Hanna called her attention back. "We all just wanted to see you. Okay, please. We worry about you."
The brunette shut her eyes, hating the way word traveled around town so fast, hating the way humiliation spread across her entire body over something she had no control over, hating the way she was always right.
But she couldn't blame the girls for being concerned and, if she were being absolutely truthful with herself, she appreciated the fact that there were people in her life that wanted to check on her, wanted to know if she were alright.
As if he knew exactly what she was thinking-and sometimes she thought he did-Toby placed his hand gently on her back, further reminding her how different things could be. There were times in that boy's life, so dark, so bleak, so completely hopeless and desolate, and he had no one in his corner. He had no one there to make sure he was alright, to hug him and to worry about him.
He had no one but himself to pull him through heartbreaks and abuse that most mid-aged adults couldn't even imagine.
So how could she take for granted the people who cared about her?
"I'll see you guys in an hour."
"Are you sure about this?" Toby asked for the third time as he pulled on a blue t-shirt.
Spencer sighed, gazing at him from the corner of her eye. "I told you, babe, that Advil really did work wonders. I mean, I still kind of feel like I got my ass handed to me, but it's not at the forefront of my brain anymore."
"I'm glad." He shot her a small smile. "But that's not why I was asking."
"Is this about Caleb? Because I swear I really don't give a crap if he's there or not. I have way too much going on in my brain to-"
"No, Spence, I'm not talking about Caleb," he disputed. "I mean, are you sure about going out to eat?"
She shot him a perplexed look, reaching for her brush. "Why would you ask me that?" she questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We went out to dinner two days ago and I was fine? Not only that, but you didn't even question if I would be? Why is th-"
"I made sure that we went to a relatively empty place," the cop admitted, solemnly. "I made sure there was next to no chance if anything triggering you."
She stared at him, taken aback. "You did what?"
"Spence-"
"Why wouldn't you tell me that?" she pressed and his gut twisted into knots at the betrayal in her chocolate brown eyes.
He stared at her, at loss for words. "I just…"
"What?"
He sighed, adverting his eyes, almost like having to admit this to her physically pained him. He never wanted her to believe he thought there was anything she couldn't handle. He always believed in her, under any circumstances under the sun.
But at the same time, they both needed to be realistic about her condition, whatever that may be. Pretending everything was rainbows and sunshine wouldn't get her better, wouldn't heal her or give her any semblance of a normal life and, if they both weren't careful, the doctors-or even her parents-might force her back into the hospital. And this time, it would without a doubt be to the psych ward.
"Dr. Barnes said we need to be careful about going into overly populated places," he reminded, his eyes begging for her to understand. Understand him, understand his anxieties, understand that he loved her and all he wanted was for her to be okay.
She didn't show him that exactly, though he really didn't expect her to. She didn't lash out at him either though, like he feared. Instead she forced her tough exterior, her Hastings face, and stated evenly, "I'm fine, okay? I can handle a crowd."
"Baby," he knelt down in front of her spot at the edge of the bed. "What happened yesterday-"
"Was a fluke," she insisted, pushing his hand away as it tried to cup her cheek. "I swear, Toby, I'm fine."
He looked at her, a heartbroken gleam in his eyes, before nodding. "Okay," he whispered, picking up one of her hands. "It's your choice," he promised. "It's always going to be your choice."
And even in her irritation, even in her aggravated state, her heart tugged the slightest bit at his words.
He really did everything out of love for her.
She sighed before moving to wrap her arms around his neck, her face finding residence in the space where his neck met his shoulder. Breathing in his scent, the smell to her that her brain registered as home, she murmured, "I promise you, this will be okay."
He shut his eyes, reciprocating the hug and prayed to God that she was right.
She knew his bad feeling about going out to breakfast didn't evaporate with her reassurances. It didn't relieve him at all to hear her promises, as they both knew she couldn't keep them. When it came down to it, the trauma she'd suffered, the demons in her head, the fractures in her heart, were stronger than her.
But she was going to fight like hell, until she managed to beat them.
That was what she told herself.
That was the strength just being with him gave her.
By the time they arrived at Fiona's, their friends were just barely getting out of their car.
"Spence," Aria called, flying towards the brunette as soon as she had shut the passenger's side door.
"Hey," she returned the embrace, grimacing slightly as her sore body rejected the shorter girl's tight squeeze.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry," Aria's expressive green eyes instantly widened, the notion of unintentionally hurting her friend dawning on her.
But Spencer was no longer paying attention to Aria or any of the others gathered by the door.
Instead her focus was on the people inside the restaurant. The people staring out at her, unashamed, through the grimy, unwashed glass.
The stares didn't bother her. Not in a way that left her feeling self-conscious or ashamed, at least. No, they pissed her off. They burned a fire inside her, a rage that was so familiar to her, it was like an actual facet of her personality.
Because she knew them. She knew every last one of them.
They were all friends-or at the very least, acquaintances-of her parents. Every single person staring at her, like she was a spider, like she was the walking embodiment of a contagious illness, had known her since she was practically in diapers. They watched her grow up. They attended every last one of her parents' stupid parties for her and Melissa. They pretended to give a damn about her accomplishments.
And now they looked at her, like she was a disgrace to society.
She was simmering, her blood boiling underneath her skin, when she felt a much larger palm-far too large to be Aria's-slip into her's and propel her forward.
Toby met her eyes and she could tell he knew exactly what she was thinking. Better yet, his thoughts were aligned with her's.
He had never taken well to seeing her experience any sort of maltreatment, no matter how unavoidable or expected it was in her circumstances.
As she walked through the entrance, right on her boyfriend's heels, she almost had to bite back a sardonic laugh. Not one pair of eyes had adverted from her figure. Not one person was ashamed to be caught staring at her.
And she realized this was the first time she had gone out into such a public place since the massacre.
This was the first time she was truly in the presence of the residents of Rosewood.
This was exactly what Toby had feared.
No one hid the fact that they were whispering about her. Their words were quiet but their mouths moved noticeably, as if she was on the oblivious side of a two way mirror.
She felt the eyes, not just of the noisy country clubbers, but of every of her friends now on her face. They were all more than aware of the attention she was receiving.
It was Toby who spoke first, drawing her closer to him before whispering in her ear, "Babe, we can go somewhere else."
"No," she instantly rejected. "We're not going anywhere."
All seven pairs of eyes shot her quizzical looks.
"Spence."
"Are you sure?"
"If they're staring at her face, I'm going to cut them in half."
"Do you want me to go over there and tell them to fuc-"
"Han!"
"You don't need to be brave, Spence."
Waving her hand to cut them all off, the twenty-three-year old simply shook her head, hearing Toby's words in her head yesterday, hearing the truth behind them now.
It didn't matter what a bunch of strangers thought of her. These were people who would move onto the next tragedy–and Rosewood never failed to have another-whenever it came, forgetting all about her in the drop of a hat.
She had problems too big to worry about what they thought of her.
"So," Hanna started, staring down at the menu in her hand, scanning it undoubtedly for the unhealthiest thing she could find. "Spence."
"Yes?" The brunette barely looked up from the menu sitting in front of her and Toby.
"Do you ever have to go back to work? You know? In D.C?"
Her question elicited a strange reaction from Spencer. One she didn't predict.
"No," she snorted.
"No?" Emily's head snapped up. "Really? You quit?"
Toby flexed his jaw, already knowing the story and disgruntled with the outcome. "I got fired," Spencer informed, her tone completely blasé.
"You got fired?" Aria's mouth fell open. Down at the end of the table, Jason dropped his menu in uncharacteristic surprise.
"How could they fire you?" Hanna pressed, unable to process the idea that their brilliant and ambitious best friend, that had been called D.C's brightest young lobbyist, had been terminated.
All the response the brunette offered was a shrug. "They called and talked to my dad while I was still in the hospital. I don't know, evidently they called more than once but I was too focused on other things, and eventually they just told my dad that," she eyed Toby, licking her lips for sardonic emphasis, "they felt these extenuating circumstances would keep me away from D.C for an extended period of time and thought it was better to just make a clean break."
All the girls glanced at each other, wanting to say something, do something, have some assortment of words that could make it better.
It was Jason though that spoke first. "That's complete-"
"Bullshit?" Toby finished for him, his expression irate. Same as it was every time this topic came up.
"Spencer, you can sue them," Caleb pointed out from the opposite end of the table.
"I know," she nodded, because she knew it was true. She probably could sue them for wrongful termination. "But I'm not going to bother. It's not that big of a deal."
She remembered when she'd been told-she could barley retain what day it was or what exact events had occurred before or after. She remembered her mom's uptight expression and how her dad had told her he'd figure out a way to fight this and how Toby had been caught completely off-guard, clearly not privy to this information prior to her and how Melissa had raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer's reaction almost challengingly.
She remembered being more relieved than anything else as this meant she didn't have to worry about keeping her bosses updated on her condition. She didn't have to explain when she was-or was not-coming back to D.C. She didn't have to worry about being tied to another city, especially when the only person who could ground her right now was anchored to Rosewood.
She was especially grateful that she didn't have to explain to her bosses that her memory was coming back in random snippets, that left her hysterical and incoherent and terrified. She didn't have to let anyone else in on her potential mental deterioration.
Once upon a time, it would have disturbed her parents to witness her lack of reaction to losing something she'd worked so hard for. But when they took in her detached demeanor, when they watched her cork an eyebrow and struggle with relief and disappointment and apprehension, before deciding it was for the best and she had no interest in forcing her job back, they'd both given her uncharacteristic support, telling her she didn't need that job, that she was better off, that she was right to let it go.
It had floored Toby almost as much as her. When they were alone again, soon after, he had commented that maybe, after all these years, her parents had finally gained perspective on what truly mattered in life.
She'd liked his words, but as much as she wished they were true, she couldn't help the small, nagging part of her that suggested that they may have just been happy to minimize her drama so they didn't have to deal with it.
Her bubbly blonde friend's voice tugged her out of her thoughts. "So," she prefaced loudly, eying Spencer anxiously.
The brunette just stared at her, unable to decipher what she was asking. "So?"
"Have you, like…remembered anything?" Hanna finally asked.
"Hanna," Emily cautioned, as both Aria and Toby shot her menacing looks.
"What, Em? I'm her best friend-you're her best friend. Why can't we ask?" Hanna defended, her gaze shifting back to Spencer, who still hadn't answered.
"Spence, if you don't want to," Aria started, instantly on guard, scared of setting the brunette off, like a gun with the trigger already halfway pulled.
"Yeah," Emily agreed, her tone placid. "If you're not comfortable, you don't have to tell us anything."
Both Aria and Emily were attempting to put her first. Both of them wanted to make sure they didn't trigger her. They were going out of their way to protect her.
And she hated it. She should have been grateful and she felt a large pang of guilt seep its way into the pit of her stomach, because she should have unbelievably happy to have friends who loved her. Who wanted to shield her and wanted to defer any sort of panic they could. Who would ignore the large, ever present elephant in the room, for her.
But what she truly appreciated was Hanna's bluntness. Hanna's blithe, unashamed attitude. Her inability to walk on eggshells around the brunette.
Nothing irritated her more than being treated like a piece of glass.
Especially by people who had expected her to be their backbone for almost the entire last decade.
Her irritation flared up and, before she could find it in herself to care how inconsiderate it was to take it out on people who were trying to make her life easier, she snapped, "Why wouldn't I be comfortable talking about it? It's just a bunch of memories resurfacing of being kidnapped, beaten and watching strangers be either petrified or murdered. Who wouldn't want to have story time with that?"
At her words, every pair of eyes stayed glued on her face, stuck in a trance, their vocal cords suddenly severed.
Except for one person, who had seen enough darkness in her life, especially recently, and had less sensitivity and less of a filter than anyone else seated at the table. "Was everyone a stranger?"
Spencer snapped her head towards Alison, the words a shock to her psyche. "What?" She stared at her friend, completely mystified now.
"Was everyone with you in that building a stranger?"
"Spencer," Toby's hand rubbed her shoulder, quivering slightly. She could feel the agitation in his body language. This prospect wasn't news to him, but he had hoped she wouldn't put it together. He'd hoped she would remain oblivious to this fact for as long as she possibly could.
She knew some people in the massacre.
Suddenly, as if her brain was rapidly clicking buttons, swiftly adding a missing piece to the puzzle in her head, she heard with absolute clarity, Tanner and Lorenzo's voices the day they'd questioned her.
"How would you describe your relationship to Sydney Driscoll?"
"What about Noel Kahn?"
"Are you friends with Lucas Gottesman?"
"How well did you know Kenna Greenbrook?"
"What about Maddie Coffman?"
"Do you remember Krystal Loot?"
"What about Eddie Lamb?"
"Toby," she gasped, her voice suddenly breathless, akin to coming up for air after being suffocated underwater. "That day. That day in the hospital when Tanner and Lorenzo came to the hospital. They were telling me something. They were telling me the names of all the people who died," she implored, her eyes as wide as saucers.
"Spence," Emily whispered, reaching out to touch the shaky girl's arm.
But the brunette's eyes never left the cop. "Why didn't I put this together that day? Why didn't I realize…"
The twenty-four-year old just stared at her, heartbreak in his gaze and for a split second, she wondered if he knew something she didn't. If he thought protecting her from every last facet of information she could get her hands on was best. If he, despite knowing she needed to remember, wanted to keep her from reliving that night.
She wondered if he thought she was better off not knowing.
"Spencer," he finally said, breaking her out of her reverie, his voice was no louder than a breath. "It's not like that."
"Toby, I know the names of the people who were killed," she exclaimed, her gaze flickering over their entire table of friends, relieved for reasons she didn't comprehend that most of them seemed as taken aback by the revelation as she was. "I was so caught up in the fact that they were accusing me playing some part in it, that I never stopped to realize that they were telling me the names."
The cop bit his lip before answering, his voice low and only audible to her. "Do you remember after you woke up when I first told you what had happened? Or what was known?" Her eyes narrowed at his words, waiting to see where he was going. "Not everyone who was in that building with you was murdered."
"Eight bodies were found."
"The other nine are still missing."
Her breathing hitched as her eyes remained locked with his. "You mean the nine people. The nine people whose bodies were never found," she corrected, reminding him of his own words.
"Yes."
"Spence," Ali whispered, seeing where her coarseness inadvertently led the conversation. "I'm sorry-"
"It's not your fault," the brunette instantly murmured, not even bothering to turn and look at her.
The cop didn't seem to agree but he wisely chose to pick his battles. "Sweetheart," he whispered, seeing how her eyes were filling up, more so out of stress and consternation at the sudden revelation than actual sorrow.
His hand rose up to cup her cheek when she squeezed her eyes shut and mumbled, "I'm sorry," to the rest of their friends. "I'm really sorry, you guys, I just-I can't do this."
She backed away from the table, not waiting for her boyfriend or friends to follow her outside.
The second the fresh air hit her face, she gulped it up, desperate for breath.
She noticed that it felt like she hadn't exhaled in days.
Her lungs were shaky as she tried to take oxygen in, tried to calm herself down, tried to get a grasp on herself.
She knew all along though, it was futile.
She heard Toby and their friends behind her, heard them slow their pace, halt in their tracts in order not to startle her. She wanted to turn around and tell them everything way alright, tell them they had no reason to worry, that she was fine now and they could head back inside, have breakfast and pretend she wasn't an anchor, dragging them all down.
But before she could find the words, a loud distress signal sounded from down the street.
A loud, blaring siren.
A sound that was all too familiar to her.
"Get him away!" screamed the girl next to her. "Get him the fuck away!"
Spencer felt herself being tugged in tighter, being pulled right up against a much larger, broader body. A body that could only belong to a man. A man in the Navy.
The man was trying to protect her. He was shielding her. He was trying to save her life.
Her arms were entangled so tight with the screaming girl next to her, their hands fused together so firmly, that when she was pulled into the man's arms, she brought the girl with her.
Before them laid the body of the now deceased boy. A boy they had all watched be shot to death. A boy that she didn't recognize, didn't know by name, didn't even know if she'd ever spoken a word to, but now she'd never be able to forget.
A loud siren blared from above, the speakers blasting out of the ceiling.
But the alarm bell wasn't what scared her, wasn't what forced her heart to skip a beat in the most horrendous way possible, wasn't what made her back grow damp with swamp, wasn't what made her involuntarily gag.
It was what happened when it stopped.
She couldn't help the sob that ejected itself out of her mouth, the cry of utter confusion and devastation and anguish and she knew, right then and there, that she would never see the light of day again. That everything she'd worked for in her life was completely redundant as she sat on the ground, huddled in a three person ball, wishing she'd spent more time with the people she loved. Wishing that she had been a better person, a better friend, a better daughter even.
Wishing she'd been better to Toby. Wishing she'd not let her pride get in the way. Wishing she would have put everything on the line, regardless of who he was with, how he felt and the infinite possibility of rejection.
The one thing she was grateful for, the one moment above all else that she was truly proud of, was her confession of love the night before. She'd told everyone exactly how she'd felt about him.
He knew.
Even if she didn't live to see the next hour, he'd always know how she'd felt. That there was no one and nothing that could ever take his place in her heart. That no matter where she went, and who she was with, she would always somehow end up in front of him, with her heart involuntarily in her hands, begging him to love her the way only he knew how.
"Shhh," the man hushed, hugging her closer to him, smothering her face into his white polo shirt. The girl on her other side, separated their linked hands and brought the pads of her fingertips up against Spencer's face, wiping away the tears and blood that coursed down her cheeks.
Before anyone could utter a syllable, the siren stopped, silence filled the air, and then a gunshot rang so loud and so clear that it felt like the only thing that existed in the world.
Her chest heaved as the girl next to her dug her nails deep into the underside of the brunette's arm. Deep enough that she could practically feel her skin being torn open.
"Please, stop," Spencer whispered, too quiet for anyone outside their huddle to hear, too quiet for anyone else to notice. Her words weren't to the girl slicing her skin open though. They were to their tormentor. "Please, please, please, stop."
She felt the girl's thin arms wrap around her neck and squeeze her tighter, as if they were best friends, as if they had known each other forever.
But it was the man protecting them at the forefront of her mind. The man who was willing to lose his own life, in order to save theirs.
And, unlike the boy on the floor, splattered in blood, cold as an ice cube and still as a thousand year old portrait, she knew this man.
Hey! I haven't read any Spoby fanfiction for a little less than a year and was wondering if you had any good recommendations? Specifically post time jump/au 7b type stuff!!
Okay so this has been on my mind for a few weeks now. I truly have no perfence where people read A Bleeding Heart but I've noticed in the last two chapters, I've gotten more reviews on Fanfiction.net and less notes on Tumblr. Which in a way is nicer because I can read actual thoughts and words people think and say about the chapter (though I mean it when I say I have no preference). But my question for my followers is should I continue to post here or solely on Fanfiction.net? I ask mainly because I am the only person who posts their full length story here, chapter by chapter and can't help but wonder if I'm filling up the tag too much? So just let me know if you only read A Bleeding Heart here or if you read it on Fanfiction.net, and where you think I should post?
AN: Okay so I'm awful for taking this long to update but I've had a paper due for my class and it took me like 20939348 years to edit all this. I broke it up into sections, so some of it I edited days ago. So forgive me if there is typos, please. I'm going to stop apologizing now for all the delayed updates because I'm pretty sure that's all my author's notes for the last five chapters.THANK YOU, BABES FOR STILL READING. LOVE YOUUUUUU. (It's exactly 4:34 in the morning, forgive me for being exhausted and loopy.)
When she woke up the next morning, bright and early, at the brink of six am, Toby was already awake and staring at her. His eyes, blue as the sky and the sea, filled with adoration and tender affection.
“Hi,” she croaked, her voice still hoarse from the events of the day prior.
“Hey, baby.”
“How long have you been awake?” she asked, roughly clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes.
“About an hour,” he shrugged, his fingers running through her hair softly.
They'd fallen asleep in their usual position, him spooning her, his arm tucked over her waist, his face buried in her neck. But somehow in the night they'd ended up rolled over and facing each other, his arms still flung across her middle, her legs both between his.
The events of last night still flickered across their brains, like a movie that never evaporated.
The brunette’s embarrassment was still present, her indignity still evident in her demeanor.
He didn't comment on it, hoping if he let it go and moved on, so would she.
“How do you feel?” he asked, bringing her hand up to kiss gently, his lips pressing themselves down her palm, over her wrist and forearm.
“Achy,” she murmured, a slight element of surprise in her tone. “Faint. And tired. How long did I sleep?”
“Ten or eleven hours.”
“What?” She lunged up, despite the way her body protested the action. “How the hell was I out that long? I never sleep more than four hours. Five, if I'm lucky!”
The cop chuckled, sitting up too, kicking the covers back and climbing out of bed, still bleary, despite being awake for an entire hour prior.
“The meds are probably just keeping you out longer,” he assured, offering his hand to help her up.
“Tobes, I'm fine,” she swore instinctively, her knee jerk reaction.
“Are you sure?” he asked, studying her face carefully. She threw him a sardonic look, causing him to, wisely, backed off. “I’ll go take a shower,” he murmured as she climbed out of bed, more awkward than him, but still steadier than she’d been in a long time. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I’ll just flash you the bat signal if I'm dying,” she promised wryly.
“That’s my girl,” he smirked as he headed towards the bathroom.
She followed behind, needing to relieve herself after eleven hours of sleep.
She made it parallel with the television set before the room began to twirl. “To-Toby,” she tried to call out but all that was audible was a faint whine, too high pitch to be recognized as her raspy alto.
Her legs trembled and gave out. She heard her impact with the wall before she felt it and she braced herself for a brutal landing to the carpet.
Instead she felt two sturdy arms wrap around her, just a second before collision, a second too late to completely prevent the fall.
Instead, she toppled over on top of her very loving, but also very solid boyfriend. It wasn't the most comfortable landing, feeling akin to landing on top of a rock, but it beat smacking the back of her already contusioned head on the ground.
“Toby!”
“Are you okay?” he asked first thing, before even making sure he, himself, wasn't hurt.
“Fine,” she assured, a little breathless, scooting higher on his torso so that she could brace her elbows on the ground. “What about you? Are you alright?”
He chuckled. “I’m fine, Spence. I'm the one who should be worrying about you, not the other way around.”
The brunette snorted, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “Try and stop me.”
“Hmmm,” he hummed, wrapping both arms around his girlfriend suggestively. “This is a romantic position, isn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes. “You're such a weirdo.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, kissing her nose.
“You should probably go take your shower,” she suggested evenly, as she pulled herself up and off him, hanging onto the wall as she hobbled towards the table and chair, where his laptop sat. “I’ll wait out here for you to be done.”
“Do you want to join me?”
She shot him a mordant look. “That’s not going to help the sex issue,” she pointed out grimly, her mood taking a dive.
He sighed, the lightness dispersing from his expression. “Spence, please don't be embarrassed-”
“I’m fine,” she waved off, adverting her eyes to the cop’s laptop in front of her. “Seriously. Go, shower. I’ll be okay for twenty minutes.”
He made a face. “Twenty minutes? What exactly do you expect me to be doing in there?”
She shrugged, fighting a smile now. “I just figured since we weren't having sex, you’d need-”
“Spence,” he cut off, laughing now, somewhat baffled by the innuendo.
“Sorry, just trying to be sensitive to your needs.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll be in the shower,” he called over his shoulder.
“Twenty minutes is your limit!”
“Goodbye, Spencer.”
“Oh, wait!” she halted, remembering something. “I almost forgot. Last night I was thinking I should send thank you notes to all the people who sent flowers to me in the hospital.”
He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, waiting for the inquiry. “That sounds like a nice thing to do.”
“Except I don't have everyone’s address,” she explained.
His brow furrowed. “I doubt I would if you don’t?”
“Well, do your parents still live in that same house?”
“Like they would ever leave,” he laughed humorlessly. “They’d get their groceries delivered if they could.”
“Did Dean say where he lived?”
“No, but I’m sure your mom would know.”
“And what about Mrs. Ackard?”
“I think it’s the same as it was five years ago?”
She took in a deep breath as subtly as she could, anticipating his reaction to her next question. “And where do Yvonne’s parents live?”
Just as she imagined, the name alone changed his manner completely. She couldn't help but narrow her eyes, the brunette’s entire attitude shifting as well.
“I’ll make you a list in a bit,” he promised finally, his voice now strained as he turned to walk back into the bathroom, avoiding her eyes.
“What is it, Toby?” She demanded, her voice akin to a frustrated groan.
He spun around to look at her. “What?”
“Why is it that every time Yvonne’s name comes up, you get this look in your eyes,” she trailed off, volume fading from her voice as she lost her nerve a bit.
He stared at her for a long moment, speechless and startled. “What’re you talking about? What look?”
“This dejected look. You get this sad, miserable expression that . . . that I used to only see when I was hurting,” she admitted, her gaze abating.
She didn't want to admit it, though it was beyond obvious to both of them now, that her words were fueled by envy, no matter how irrational it was. Toby was here with her. He’d just about adjusted every single aspect of his life, just to be with her, to cater to her needs above even his own. And yet, she couldn't shake this feeling every time the raven haired beauty’s name came up.
It was embarrassing to own her jealousy of another girl. A girl who could have been his wife. A girl he looked at with so much warmth and respect and infatuation. A girl who had all of her good qualities and not a single of her bad.
A girl who was essentially everything she wasn't.
“Spence,” he whispered, his eyes now even more forlorn than before.
“Why is she such an elephant in the room between us?” She pressed, her tone even. She was trying to be understanding but the quiet frustration in her voice was unmistakable.
“She isn't important,” he persisted, visibly working to make his voice convincing.
That sparked a fired inside Spencer. “That’s exactly what people say when the person they're talking about is important!”
He shook his head, struggling to find a rebuttal. “That isn-”
“Do you still love her?” The brunette beseeched, holding no inquisition back now. “Do you miss her? Do you wish you and her were still together?”
She was posing the questions like atrocious scenarios truthfully, had he said yes to any of them, as searing of pain as that would have caused, akin to ripping her heart out of her chest, she would have still understood. She would have understood if he chose Yvonne over her, even on the brightest and most brilliant day of her life. There was no question who was better suited to give him the life he deserved.
And she wanted that for him. She wanted him, so badly, to have a life full of blissful happiness. She wanted him to never see the dark side of the world, ever again, after all that he had already endured in his twenty-four years. After everything he’d been put through. All the pain and suffering, all the heartache, and neglect and abuse he’d survived. He, if no one else she knew, deserved to have a joyous, carefree life. She wanted him to thrive and get everything he’d ever dreamed of and never be forced to withstand the things he had as a teenager.
But she also wanted him. She wanted a life with him. She wanted him fully and completely and as selfish as it was, she wanted him to want a life with her too.
But she knew she wasn't equipped to give him that life. Even before her abduction, even before she became a character straight out of Girl, Interrupted, she was far from what he truly deserved.
She was so lost, so deep, inside her self-deprecating thoughts that she barely noticed how Toby’s expression had shifted.
He looked as if he was staring dead in the face of a stranger, so baffled, so confused, so bewildered, it almost made her retract her statement altogether. She contemplated the notion for a moment that she’d imagined the whole thing, that this was just paranoia and exhaustion from all she’d been through as of late.
But she knew, deep inside her bones, that this wasn't in her head.
“Do you?” she asked again, and her voice was entirely void of the earlier fire. All that remained was an unsteady, half-broken murmur.
“No,” Toby refuted with unexpected vigor. “No, no, God no, Spence.”
Relief filled her stomach, his reaction alleviating some of her insecurity.
It didn't answer any of her questions, didn't quench her curiosity, didn't lessen her need to pry the truth from his stubborn bubble gum pink lips, but it gave her a sense of calamity that she was afraid to ask for.
“Spencer Hastings,” he breathed again and this time he propelled himself forward, dropping to his knees so they could be at eye level. “I-I can honestly say that I have never, ever loved anyone like I love you. I don’t-how could you even think-”
His watery blues, his heartbroken gleam popped the words out of her mouth. “Because,” she sighed, almost afraid to admit the words reeling around inside her brain, even after all they'd confessed as it was. “You’re always looking so heartbroken whenever she comes up. Sometimes, I don't know,” she adverted her eyes downwards, failing once again, just like she did every time she said anything vulnerable or exposing in his presence, to look him in the eye. “Sometimes it just seems like you’d rather be with her.”
He sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing incredulously. “Babe,” he whispered, but couldn't maintain his voice, the breath disappearing from his lungs with the heartbreak that came with every new word she uttered.
“Just. . .when you hear her name, it’s like a light goes off and she changes you. Like the idea of not being with her cripples you.”
The cop absorbed that, not speaking again for minutes on end. He stared straight ahead at her lap, not angry, not irritated, but trying to find his footing as he took in her words.
Her head snapped towards him as he finally broke the silence. “All I feel towards Yvonne is absolute and undeniable guilt,” he confessed, raising his head to meet her gaze.
“Guilt?” Her brows knit together, wholly confused what he meant by that.
She knew he felt bad about breaking the darker girl’s undoubtedly fragile heart. Toby felt bad about killing spiders, for crying out loud. But this, this remorse, was incomprehensible to her. How could he feel that guilty about dumping his ex?
As if, like she’d thought yesterday, they held a telepathic connection, he knew what she was thinking. “Not guilt for breaking up with her. Not exactly,” he explained, his voice growing stronger as he gained momentum in his speech. “I feel guilty for exactly how happy I am every single damn time I look into your beautiful eyes and kiss you. How ecstatic I am to hold you in my arms again and think how I never have to let you go. Okay, Spencer, even in the absolute worst circumstances imaginable, I have never felt more in love than I do right now. I love you more and more and more every day and I feel so fucking contrite because I have no regrets for a single thing I've done. I put you above her and I can’t help but be thankful that I did. And it makes me feel like a horrible person, because she didn't deserve to spend years of her life with someone who could do this to her-”
“Toby,” Spencer cut off, her eyes so full of love, her mouth completely disconnected from her brain as she processed his words, let them seep into her brain. “Babe,” she whispered, fervently, and without preamble, without warning, without any indication, she flew at him and folded herself into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he swore, both his arms wrapping around her so tight, the air was squeezed out of her lungs. “I am so sorry. I never thought you would-I didn't realize I was giving you that ide-”
“No,” she cut off, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
He pressed his lips to the gash on the corner of her mouth, moving upwards to her cheek, trailing to her temple. “I love you,” he whispered against her skin. “I love you more than anything.”
She didn't respond verbally, instead choosing to bury her face in his shoulder, pressing her mouth to his chest, one, two, three times, four.
“I’m sorry, Spencer,” he whispered again and before she could halt any more apologies, he was murmuring more. “I’ll do better, alright? Please. I swear, I will be better. Give me another chance to prove to you-”
“Toby,” she gasped, pulling back to look into his crystal blue irises. “Y-you don’t think I'm going to leave you, do you?”
Some girls would have been delighted to see their boyfriend beg and crawl like that, see them cry and plead for a second chance. But that wasn't appealing to Spencer. It didn't make her feel happy or satisfied to see him beg for forgiveness, and it never had.
She wondered in her head, when did he become so repentant? He’d always been more than apologetic on the rare occasion when he’d done something wrong, even unintentionally, but he’d never been so gravely desperate for forgiveness, and it left her feeling bizarrely guilty, like she was turning him into an abused dog who cried even when he really didn't pee on the floor.
“I love you,” she whispered back, fervently pressing her lips to his, despite how sore her mouth was now the medication was officially wearing off. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave,” she vowed. “I promise you. I never will.”
They stayed in that position, cuddled together, her entirely in his arms, on the rough, piercing carpet for more than an hour before both of them moved. Toby wordlessly took her hand, guiding her towards the bathroom, the issue of sex nearly forgotten in both their brains as they discarded their clothes, and quickly showered under the hot cascading water.
As they were drying off, a loud chirping filled the room and Spencer eyed the cop, confused. “My cell,” he offered, pulling on a pair of jeans and heading out of the bathroom to retrieve the device.
“If it’s my mother, I swear to-”
He shook his head, attempting to hide his instinctual discomfort. “It’s Ali.”
“Ali? What is she calling for?”
“I don't think she knows you have your phone back.”
“You think it’s for me?”
He gave her a derisive look. “It’s definitely not for me,” he assured, pressing the phone into her hands and picking up his wet towel from the ground.
“Hello?” The brunette greeted, her tone still hesitant.
“Spence!” Alison’s voice called through the speaker.
“Hey.”
“I haven't talked to you since. . .you know. I feel so awful for ignoring you. How are things?”
Spencer shut her eyes, knowing her circumstances were truly dire if Alison Dilaurentis was being so sugary sweet.
In truth, she loved Alison more than she led on. The girls had a long and a very tremulous history but for some reason, Alison was one of the people she’d never been able to completely detach from. She was a part of her family, even when she hated the girl with every fiber of her being.
But, though the blonde had changed significantly from the mean girl she’d once been, she was still incredibly inconsiderate at times and inherently self-centered. She would do anything to protect her friends but she would also ask them to chew off their left arm if it benefited her in the end.
That’s why her seemingly sincere concern for Spencer’s well-being and her remorse for being preoccupied in her own issues, caught the brunette completely off-guard.
“I. . .I don’t know?” the brunette answered honestly. “Things for me have been chaotic.” And that was putting it lightly.
“Same,” Alison agreed and Spencer realized the blonde wasn't the only one caught up in her own problems.
“Oh my god, Alison! How are you?” She reverted the question. “How are you doing? The girls said-”
Hanna and Emily hadn't actually said much but it didn't matter, as Alison cut her off then, “that my aunt-sorry, correction-that my mother’s twin sister that I never heard of in my entire life, showed up out of the blue?”
Spencer’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Yeah, that was my reaction too. Evidently her and my mom didn't have a good-or even civil-relationship. My mom got her sent away to Radley.”
“What?” The brunette repeated, her eyes widening further as images of the outdated, archaic hospital filled her mind.
“That’s not all, Spence. Mary knows your dad.”
“What?”
After an hour of talking straight, Spencer torpidly ventured out of the bathroom, still clad in her towel.
“What’d Ali have to say?” Toby asked, glancing up from his laptop.
She shrugged, still reeling, as she pulled on the shirt he’d worn yesterday. “A lot. Her family is. . .” she trailed off, making her way over to him.
“Hmm?” he hummed as he closed the laptop and reached for her waist.
She sat on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Jessica’s twin sister, Mary Drake, came to town right around the time I was in the hospital. She apparently never met Jason or Ali or-”
“Wait,” he cut off, a hand squeezing her arm lightly. “Mary Drake? The woman from the file we found on your mom’s Election Night? With Mona? After I power sawed through a wall?”
“Um, excuse you, I power sawed through a wall, thank you very much.”
“Spence.”
She sighed, digressing. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird,” she agreed.
He narrowed his eyes, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. “Why would she come to town right after we found her Radley file?"
“I don’t know. All I know is she is apparently Jessica with brown hair.”
“Brown hair?” Toby picked that word. “No one in that family has brown hair.”
Toby’s mouth fell open, much like her’s had an hour prior. “Your dad had an affair with Mary too?”
“Alison doesn’t know for sure, but. . . she thinks so.”
“Oh my god,” he shook his head, baffled. “How many hidden secrets can one family have?”
The brunette snorted. “And I thought the Hastings were messed up. Imagine if you were dating a Dilaurentis.”
“Technically a Drake,” he amended dryly.
“It’s my job to correct others, not be corrected.”
A loud laugh fell from his full pink lips. “I would love you no matter who you were related to,” he promised, rubbing her arm for emphasis. “Besides, I come from a. . .”
“Jackass father?” she finished for him when he trailed off.
He smirked. “And somehow, you manage to love me anyway.”
“Of course, I do. How is your dad, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” the cop answered too quickly.
She studied his face for a moment. “When was the last time you two spoke?”
The sandy brunette shrugged, his eyes on his pointer finger tracing circles on her thigh. “A couple days ago. I returned his call when you fell asleep.”
“What'd he have to say?” she pressed gently, her eyebrows drawing together. She always approached the subject of his father with caution. He was Toby’s only living parent and despite how much she detested the way he treated his only son, she knew it hurt Toby when she openly bashed him.
He shrugged again but his sad, guilty eyes gave him away. “My dad never really says too much, Spence.”
“He thinks you're ruining your life by getting back together with me,” she guessed, her eyes narrowing now. “He told you I'm nothing but drama with a stuck-up family, holding you back and that I'm an awful person that’s sucking the life out of you. Didn’t he?”
Toby swallowed, about to refute her assumption but it was too late. His face read like a book. One second of eye contact was all the confirmation she needed.
“You always look sad when you lie,” she noted, quietly, shifting her eyes to avoid his.
The fact that his dad disliked her wasn't new, per se, but it still wasn't anything she easily got used to. The fact that the man, who had given life to the person she loved most in this world, detested her elicited a deep, involuntary ache in her chest.
Toby watched her expression, watched her try to mask the hurt she felt, and he pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Sweetheart,” he whispered gently, “what my father thinks doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” she disagreed. “He’s your father.”
The cop stared at her face, his turn now to study her expression. “Remember when you first got out of the dollhouse? Whenever someone would say something rude or insensitive or careless and I got angry, you would swear up and down that what strangers thought of you didn’t mean anything. Spencer, you taught me that.”
She offered a half smile, knowing he was right on all accounts. “I guess,” she met his eyes, his sensitive, expressive blue eyes, “I guess, it depends who’s talking.”
Toby squeezed his eyes shut before he dropped his face into her neck, nuzzling her gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t give him free rent in your brain. He doesn’t know you. All he knows is what Jenna and her mom tell him.”
She nodded, accepting his words, knowing he was right. “What do you say? When your dad says those things about me?”
The cop pulled back, bringing his head up to touch his forehead to her’s. “I tell him I'm in love with you. That you are the most important thing in my life and if he can’t accept that, he can save his minutes.”
At his statement, a ghost smile appeared on her face. Still, she insisted quietly, “I don’t want to be the reason you and your dad stop speaking.”
“You’re not,” he promised. “He still calls every so often to make sure I'm still alive. And to criticize me.”
“What does he say when you defend me?” the brunette inquired, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself even closer to him now.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated, perplexed. “He critiques me and then when you defend me, he has nothing to say back?”
“My dad doesn’t know what to say,” Toby stated evenly. “He can’t relate to how I feel about you. He’s never loved anyone more than he’s hated himself.”
“Get dressed,” Toby commanded, smacking her butt as he walked by, causing her to jump.
They hadn’t even been in the same room a minute ago, him still at his laptop, her brushing her teeth in the bathroom, both distracted by their own individual tasks.
“Why?” she asked, her voice gargled by toothpaste.
He ran a washcloth underneath the faucet before wringing it out and running it over every inch of his face, soothingly. “Because there’s an open house I just saw for an apartment.” His eyes met her’s, catching her staring as he set the wet rag down. “What?”
“You’ve always done that,” she noted, gesturing with her chin towards the washcloth, a nostalgic twinge in her voice. At his expression, she elaborated, "You’ve always wiped your face with a damp rag before we went anywhere.”
He looked downwards, his smile mirroring her’s. “I can’t believe you still remember that. You always looked at me like it was so weird,” he laughed, shaking his head.
“I didn't get it,” she defended, chuckling. “I’ve never seen anyone else do it.”
“It feels good!” he insisted. “Remember when you were sick that one summer and I ran a damp cloth across your face to get you fever down? And you said-”
“Yes, I remember,” she interrupted, still smiling in spite of her playful eye roll. “I just don't know how you even got in the habit of that.”
His smile changed then, morphed into a slightly more dismal expression. His tone grew wistful, the dull ache of a badly healed wound evident. “My mom,” he said, his glance flitting across the bathroom, unsure how to maintain eye contact when speaking about the life he’d had with his mom, before Spencer was even a whisper in his brain. “She used to wipe my face every time we went in public anywhere. I was kind of a messy eater and. . . you know, old habits die hard, I guess. When she wasn't around anymore, I thought if. . . if I kept doing it. . .”
“I know, baby,” she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand in her’s, lacing their fingers together. Without another word, he pulled the brunette towards him, gathering her small frame to his chest. She inhaled and exhaled through her nose, absorbing the smell of cinnamon and wood and aftershave. Pressing her lips to his chest, exactly where his heart laid beating, she whispered, “Your mom would be so proud of you if she could see you now, Toby. She’d be so proud.”
“Oh my god, look at that wooden side panel, Tobes!” Spencer exclaimed, trying to keep her excitement subdued, though it was nearly leaking out with every action. “And look at how the trim on the ceiling fades perfectly into the color of the walls and how it matches the closet door.”
“I see,” the cop chuckled, his spirits elated from witnessing his girlfriend so happy.
Her smiles were few and far between lately, and though he knew it had nothing to do with him, though he knew that their reconciliation only brought her happiness and strength, he couldn't help but feel like his heart was being ripped out with every tear that coursed down her cheek.
“Look at the curtains!” she pointed, practically dragging him with her as other potential leasers moved aside, seeing the two of them coming. “And the color of the window pane matches with the carpet.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair, as she continued to point out every single detail she liked.
“Are you sure we can’t get in any sooner?” the cop heard, from the main room, sharp ears being a feature he’d attained over the years in his law enforcement career.
“No, sir, I'm sorry. Not for a least three more months,” the realtor-a seemingly inflexible man-stipulated.
His voice was low and rang out clear enough that even Spencer heard him over her own excitement.
She abruptly cut herself off. “Oh,” she murmured, her demeanor deflating like a popped balloon.
He met her eyes with a heartbroken gaze. “Spence-”
“Its fine,” she waved off, hiding her disappointment unsuccessfully. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid apartment.”
“You love it,” he fought weakly. “I knew you would. I knew it was a perfect fit. That’s why I jumped on the ad as quick as I did.”
“Tobes, it’s okay. We need to find a place to move in sooner. Alright, we don't have the money to live in a motel for that long and it’d be stupid to move into somewhere else for only a couple of months,” the brunette reasoned.
He gave her a pitifully, forlorn smile, knowing she was trying to put on a brave face for him.
She had been doing so much of that for so long. She’d tried to always remain strong and secure, a backbone for everyone she loved to lean on, even when her own heart was crumbling or her mind was destroying her from the inside out. Spencer had always put others before herself, no matter what it cost her.
And she had been through so much, especially lately. The fact that it seemed like she couldn't have one good thing, one thing that made her happy, literally burned a fire inside of him.
Without preamble, without pondering the action, Toby grabbed Spencer’s hand and headed towards the realtor in the living room. “Excuse me?” the twenty four year old addressed.
Spencer stared at him, completely caught off-guard, by what he was doing.
“Yes?” the older man raised an eyebrow, a false smile spreading across his lips. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Toby kept his voice even and pleasant. “I’d like to know when the soonest possible date we could move in is?”
The answer was rehearsed and automatic. “In about four months,” the graying man informed, smiling still as if they were old friends. He reminded Toby of one of the people he met when he accompanied Spencer on dinners to the club with her family.
The cop used the skills he’d learned over the last few years and pretended those words were a surprise. “Shoot, we need a place to stay sooner than that,” he looked at Spencer, playing his part.
She smirked up at him, catching on. Her eyes stayed on his face, softening by the second, in total awe of his dedication to her. No one else had ever done so much, just for her happiness. That was all he wanted, her to be happy. It was incomprehensible to her that he was even real sometimes, let alone that he existed in the direst circumstances.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the realtor’s face fell ever so slightly, his facade slipping down a little. “I can’t permit a new tenant until the old ones are out and they said they needed a few months.”
“And what if we pay double the first and last month’s deposit?” Toby challenged, causing his girlfriend’s mouth to fall open.
The man blinked once then twice before sticking out his hand, surprised by the offer. “My name is Martin Kayn,” he greeted evenly, eyeing the couple now.
“Toby Cavanaugh,” the sandy brunette took his hand with his free one that wasn't resting on Spencer’s waist. The older man's eyes changed subtly as the name seeped in, something unintelligible flickering in his gaze.
“And you are?” he asked, turning to meet Spencer’s chocolate orbs.
“Spencer,” she offered simply, leaving out her last name altogether, aware of the chance of recognition.
Martin cleared his throat, turning back to Toby. “Well, I'd have to present the offer to the current tenants, but there’s a strong possibility this could persuade them.”
The cop’s face morphed into a grin as he felt Spencer’s hands tighten around his arm, her chin resting on his shoulder.
A small, minuscule part of him felt somewhat like Peter Hastings, throwing money around to get whatever he wanted. But that small, minuscule part of him that felt uncomfortable and disturbed was muted by his girlfriend’s smile, the light filling back into her eyes, the ease in her body language. If this, even for a split second, gave her peace, gave her something to look forward to, something to be happy about, then he'd do whatever it took to make it work, no matter how awkward it felt to him.
Because she, above everything else, was what mattered to him.
“I’m going to go look around, babe,” Spencer whispered into his shirt, pressing her lips there.
“Okay,” he murmured, loosening his arm around her waist as he kept his eye on the realtor, now engaging in a conversation on his cell phone.
She held onto his hand as she headed into the opposite direction of the house, until the distance was too great and they had to let relinquish their hold on each other.
The brunette found strange comfort in seeing the near dozen people, scattered across the house, a few shuffling in and a few shuffling out, every couple minutes. It gave a strange boost to her confidence and it dawned on her rapidly why.
Her parents and Dr. Barnes both stated she couldn't be in large crowds, because it may trigger her after the large amount of people in the massacre.
They were wrong. They thought they knew everything, they treated her like an inept child who didn't even know herself, they treated her like an inferior, and here she was, proving them wrong.
She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, in spite of the fact that she was in an open house full of strangers and was currently wandering room from room, completely alone.
“Ugh,” an aristocratic woman in her mid-fifties groaned, motioning out to the window.
“What is it?” the man next to her inquired.
“Look at that,” she pointed disdainfully.
Spencer crept up towards the window, peering out to see what the woman was going on about.
Outside stood two males, about Spencer’s age, early to mid twenties. They looked like they were just talking, their expressions unreadable, until one swung back and aimed for the other, narrowly missing the jaw.
Unlike the woman next to her, the brunette found the spectacle amusing. This apartment complex was in a higher class neighborhood. The residents were members of the same club as her parents, they were active members of the congregation and they probably all were invited to Melissa’s baby shower.
And yet, no matter where you go, there were immature men, fighting as if no one else was watching, as if there were no consequences, as if violence was always the answer.
She pursued her lips, thinking about Toby, thinking of all the things that had been done to him, all the hurt he’d suffered, all the maltreatment and yet, he rarely resorted to violence.
The brunette’s eyes stayed indolently on the two men, aiming unsuccessfully at each other, when she was ripped out of her thoughts at the sight of a punch finally making contact and one of the men smacking the concrete.
She was running down a hall, an empty, dark, unnerving hall. She was sprinting as if her life depended on it.
It did.
“Get back here,” she heard a man growl, his voice familiar. So familiar it twisted her stomach painfully, forcing her to come to a halt to keep herself from gagging. “I said, get back here!”
“No,” she gasped, her tone completely and entirely hopeless, as his hands gripped her forearms. “Please, don't hurt me.”
Without a response, without an acknowledgment, she was thrown straight into the ground, her hands flying up to protect the back of her head from making impact with the cold tile floor.
She shut her eyes as she felt him come closer, towering over her and she felt her stomach drop as she registered all he could do to her in that position.
Her breathing hitched as she felt him creep above her, his hands so close now she could practically feel them on her skin. “Please,” she cried one last time, as she felt him yank her upper body off the ground, like a lifeless rag doll, whatever she’d been previously drugged with still flowing through her system.
She glued her eyes shut, her natural, uncontrollable reaction to forced trauma, unintentionally allowing herself to be caught off-guard as he pulled back and swung, landing a harsh punch straight to her eye.
Her scream was muffled by her fraught, powerless cry. She’d never felt like this. She’d never been this far out of control, this far away from the ability to save herself. She’d never been this helpless before in her life, not even inside the dollhouse.
Her howls were still filling the room as he stood up again, taking a step back. She knew he wasn't done, not by a long shot, but she didn't have time to brace herself for the impact, to pry her injured eye open and make herself see what he was doing.
She couldn't even stand to look him in the face, knowing who he was now, knowing what he’d done.
Her body recoiled before she truly felt the harsh kicks, numerous kicks, straight to her abdomen.
Her loud, tortured scream erupted into the air, deafening anyone within thirty yards. Her throat protested in response, feeling like it was being ripped apart, like it was going to gush blood any second now.
Even in her wholly petrified mind, she wondered why no one outside this building could hear her, why not a single soul was coming to see what was wrong, why no one was calling nine-one-one.
“Shut up!” he ordered, his voice rising to try to muffle her’s.
But she refused to be silenced. If she was going down, she would never go without a fight. It wasn't who she was and it wasn't who she would ever allow herself to be. She wouldn’t let him to take from her.
If she never made it out of this building, she was going to die fighting.
When she refused to comply, refused to stop her harrowing shrieks, refused to be silenced even minimally, the man’s tactic changed and suddenly, without a hint of a warning, there were hands wrapped around her throat, pressing down.
“I told you,” he murmured, his voice as lethal as his actions, “to shut the fuck up.”
His hands tightened and breathing became an unfeasible task. “Please,” she tried to beg, attempting to raise her hands, attempting to plea for her oxygen.
But it was all futile. He wasn't going to let up until he, himself, decided to let up.
Black spots filled her already impaired vision, the need to cough overwhelming but the ability nonexistent. She felt her face growing hot, her limbs numbing and the world around her moving in slow motion.
And all she could see was him.
He was the ringleader.
He was the one in charge.
And he had a knife in his hands, ready to kill.
“Spencer,” Toby exclaimed, grasping both of her shoulders.
Somehow, someway, she’d ended up flat on her back, laying on the ground of the apartment, strangers all around her, staring at her in horror.
She heard a loud cry, a desperate, cacophonous wail, loud banging against the wood floor and she wondered who she’d frightened.
It took her next to no time to realize that those sounds were coming from her.
She didn't realize she was thrashing until Toby had her wrapped up in his arms, folding her so tightly she couldn't move if she tried.
Her ears popped and she heard her own screams of fear, with crystal clarity now. “Toby,” she sobbed and he squeezed her even tighter to him.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“What the fuck?”
“Someone did call nine-one-one, right?”
“Is she epileptic?”
“No, you idiot. She’s schizophrenic.”
“Be quiet!”
“Is an ambulance on its way?”
It was Toby’s voice though that really shocked her. “Do not call nine-one-one or anyone else,” he ordered through clenched teeth, his arms still wrapped protectively around Spencer’s shaking form.
“What the hell just happened?” Martin Kayn pressed, stepping out of the crowd.
“Back away from her,” the cop commanded, bypassing the question altogether. When it came to Spencer, when she was in trouble, no one had the power to intimidate him anymore. His timidity instinctually paled when it came to her needs.
“Toby,” the brunette cried again, swallowing hard, feeling her throat as if for the first time, trying to erase the feeling from her brain of someone strangling her.
“Take your time, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, only for her. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
She heaved, narrowly choking back the urge to vomit.
Not here, not now, she thought to herself. She was humiliated enough as it was, screaming and crying and spazzing out in the middle of the open house.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, her vision still swirling. “I’m so sorry.”
It took her a minute to realize she was apologizing to Martin, the man whose open house she’d wrecked. There was no way anyone would want the apartment where they'd watched a girl lose her fucking mind.
“Spence, it’s okay,” Toby whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss there. “Just calm down.”
Embarrassed by her breakdown, embarrassed by her still quivering limbs, she burrowed into her boyfriend and tried to pretend that no one else could see her right now.
The concept lasted a total of fifteen seconds as the realtor spoke then, a sudden recognition entering his voice.
“You’re the little girl from the news?” Martin Kayn stated, utter disbelief obvious in his tone. “You both are,” his said again, his eyes sweeping between the trembling brunette and the cop holding her. “They did news stories on you two.” he continued.
“Okay, enough,” Toby halted, his voice desperate and fierce and almost unrecognizable as the shy, altruistic cop he’d once been, before her problems had dragged him through the muck as well.
“You were one of the girls kidnapped and tortured in a bunker when you were younger,” the graying man continued as if the twenty-four year old hadn’t spoken. “They did a two hour special on 20/20 about you. They showed you two hugging after you escaped that place and they’ve been showing on every news station him carrying you out of the building-”
“Stop!” Toby yelled, the level of his voice shocking all their onlookers and stealing the voice away from the oblivious, inconsiderate man.
The second the words left his mouth, his head was turned downwards again, as if looking away from her for a second ached.
“T-Toby,” she whispered, her voice a shell of what it’d been a half hour ago.
“Yes?” he breathed, his eyes somehow both tender and alerted.
She opened her mouth to speak, to explain that the world was still blurred all around her, to explain that she needed help to move because she couldn't stop shaking, to explain that she couldn't even see straight, that she could feel every single eye on her, that she just wanted to flee this places and all the stares and just go, when abruptly, just like it had happened before, her stomach retched and suddenly the contents were displayed on the ground.
She didn't speak the entire way back. She didn't say a word as Martin Kayne stared at her, open mouthed or as she received an outpouring of sympathies from complete strangers or as her boyfriend wrapped her up in his arms and got her the hell out of there as fast as he could.
She didn't say a word all the way back to the Edgewood Motor-Court, despite the fact that Toby was the last person who deserved the silent treatment. The way he showed her nothing but understanding and compassion was awe-worthy at this point, for the fucked up mess she’d become.
Her shaking had dissipated, her screaming had stopped, but the tears still ran down her cheeks, without reprieve.
She hated herself. She hated how she couldn't get a handle on her attacks, how the smallest things triggered her, how the more and more time passed, the more she proved the doctors and her parents right.
She hated, above all else, how Toby felt guilt for her episodes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” he whispered at a stoplight, reaching out to wipe her tears with his thumb.
Once they'd arrived back at the motel, Spencer didn't wait for him, throwing her door open and breaking nearly into a sprint, wanting to get inside the room as quickly as possible.
It didn't even occur to her that she was moving, without a single stumble or trace of dizziness at all.
She hadn’t been off-balanced in hours.
The small fact that would have delighted her not long ago only brought her minor pleasure now, in light of the chilling memory that’d just came back, the awful recollection she had now that she couldn't make sense of, couldn't even begin to understand.
This was different from every other memory that had come back to her. It wasn’t as if she was seeing something for the first time. It was as if she were reliving it.
She remembered the feeling of knowing who the ringleader was, remembered they were male, remembered the feeling of betrayal and humiliation and hurt. She remembered everything she felt in those few minutes that had resurfaced in her brain.
But she couldn’t see the face. It was as if she were staring through a piece of stain glass, completely indefinite and undistinguished.
She couldn’t retain the voice or the touch or the smell or any identifiable thing. It was as if she had lost all her senses while trapped in that building.
She heard her boyfriend come into the room, in no hurry to race after her, clearly aware that she was in her right mind again.
How did he know these things about her? How could he just sense them? How could he understand her, like she was an extension of him, when she couldn't even get a grasp on herself?
“Baby,” was the first word that he uttered, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.
Without warning to her brain, her mouth ejected a small whimper, more mortified than frightened.
No, her terror didn't have a sound. There was no resonance that the human mouth could elicit, no noise a brain could conjure up that would be able to convey how she felt, every single time she was taken back to that night.
What made it so much worse, was that she was alone in hell. In every other situation she’d encountered in the past, even the most frightful and ghastly of them, she had always had the girls as a support system.
She didn't blame them for not being there. How could she? This wasn't high school any longer and they all had their own adult lives. This wasn't the -A that had been after them before. This new person wasn't one for a continuous game, a constant cat and mouse chase.
No, this person wanted a big impact. They planned out their big attacks and then allowed the after effects to run their course, knowing that mentally isolating them from everyone surrounding them, that psychologically tearing them apart, that obliterating their lives, aspect by aspect, was much more effective.
Spencer realized then, that she had been forgetting one person in all this equation. She wasn't alone. Not if she didn't force herself to be. Not if she didn't punish herself for things beyond her control, shut down and close herself off.
She had Toby. She had someone who loved her, more than was humanly conceivable, more than was healthy. She had someone who would do absolutely anything for her, no questions asked, and she was allowing this entire ordeal to push him away.
She felt his fingers run through her hair, gently, gradually working his way up to touching her. He was feeling her out, seeing where she was and what she needed in that moment.
She needed him.
“Tobes,” she whispered, as his hand moved to cup her cheek. He didn't say anything, his eyes just boring deeply into her’s, filled with captivated compassion. He was there, willing to do anything for her, willing to be anything she needed him to be. She turned her head and pressed her lips to the palm of his hand. “I love you.”
He made a sound akin to a choke and she wondered why those words still elicited such surprise in him. “I love you too,” he promised, swallowing hard on a lump in his throat.
She didn't realize until then that she had one to match. “I’m sorry I ruined that for us,” she mumbled, barley able to keep eye contact.
“No,” he disagreed sharply, his voice nearly breaking. He couldn't stop himself then, and his arms coiled around her, pulling her to him. “You didn't ruin anything, Spence. Nothing that happened back there mattered.”
“They all think I'm off my rocker,” she contested and couldn't help but remember his words for only hours ago.
“Since when do you care what other people think?”
She didn't used to. It didn't matter if people, just random strangers, gossipy lowlifes or nosy meaningless neighbors, believed a bunch of lies about her.
It mattered if what people thought of her, was actually her new reality. It mattered if there really was something wrong with her. If she was crazy or certifiable or demonic. It mattered that she no longer held control over her own life, over her own psyche, her ability to keep herself in check. It mattered that she had no choice, no warning, no power when she fell apart.
“And they’re probably right,” she added, her voice muffled as she chose to bury her face in his chest.
His hand rubbed her back, massaging the tension out silently, allowing her to relax into him, let her body sag against his. Finally, he murmured into her tangled hair, “What other people think doesn’t matter. Not to me and you.”
She laughed once, humorless. “It’s still not fun being the town freak.”
She was surprised when he stiffened and stopped kneading her back. “Spence,” he started, his tone shifted, giving her a look.
“What?” she matched his expression, her distress momentarily put aside. “Why are you looking at me like I have three heads?”
He laughed now, incredulous. “Because you and I have always been the town freaks,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “You were a girl who tried to frame her brother-in-law and I was the boy who everyone crossed the street when they saw me coming. And we got together. We’ve always been something to talk about.”
His words, so blatant, so unconcealed, so forthright, it elicited a genuine chuckle from deep inside her chest.
He continued, feeling in her body language the tension slowly seeping away. “Everyone thinks we’re weird, babe. Nothing we do, one way or the other, could change that now. And you know what?”
She glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What?”
“It doesn’t even matter. Let them think we’re weird. Let them think me and you are two psychos or that we’re both on our way to the funny farm. Because what a bunch of redundant, chatty snobs like our parents think of us isn't our problem. It never was and it never will be.”
Her mouth, which had been set in a permanent frown only a matter of seconds ago, involuntarily turned upwards. She leaned her forehead towards his, resting them together. “How do you always know how to make everything alright? Even when things were are awful, even when I'm scared out of my mind, even when I don't think I can keep going like this, somehow you always make it okay. You never give up on me. Not even when I give up on me.”
His eyes changed, gaining a reflective gleam. “How could I? You’re not just the person I love, Spencer. You’re my entire family. I couldn't give up on you if I tried. I wouldn't know how.”
Before she could even get a grasp on herself, before she could remember the shameful events of the day, she was kissing him and his hands were on her hips and she was climbing onto his lap, and their tongues were twisting together and nothing else existed until this moment.
The kiss started out as a thank you.
It turned into exactly what they’d both been craving for longer than they could even remember.
They don't kiss long before their clothes are discarded, tossed carelessly aside in piles on the roughly carpeted floor. They don't take the time to realize what they’re about to do, they haven't done in three years. They don't think about the fact that there’s no condom or birth control in sight.
They only think about each other. The feel of the other’s skin pressed against theirs. The way words aren't necessary. When they're together like that, they can feel what the other is thinking. The way sex provides both of them with the calm, the serenity, the euphoria that they lack in every other section of their lives. The way the other looks at them, as if they are an angel on Earth, as if they are the world’s greatest treasure.
Maybe things are rough. Maybe for them they always will be. But they both know as long as they have each other, they’re never going to be facing it alone.
Okay, I'm really sorry you guys, but it's gonna be tomarrow (or later today I guess, lol, my nights are everyone else's mornings). I know how much it sucks to have to wait for an update. I know irritating flaky authors are. But I have just finished writing and it's 24 pages to edit and I have to get up early? So it's not gonna be up tonight... I'm really sorry for letting you all down 😰. Again.
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