A Bleeding Heart: Chapter 13
AN: Hiiiii, so here's the next chapter ! (:
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.
She knew this man.
