Spencer’s Dria

When he joined me on the curb in the parking garage of our office, I was comforted by one simple fact: On days like these, Spencer knew better than to ask me how I am.

I was never able to figure out if it was just his way of avoiding acknowledging the pain. If I had the energy, I might be hurt by the idea of him wanting to ignore my reality. But I was tired, and I thought it would only be fair for one of us to get to live in blissful ignorance.

I was grateful for his company, too. It was especially nice in these moments, where neither of us knew what to say, so we both chose silence, instead. We listened to the wind whipping between concrete barriers, and we stared forward at the empty spaces before us.

Spencer’s hand reached out for mine but stopped short. He stalled there, noticing how I’d failed to move at all in response.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

Four simple words that threatened to break the rest of me down.

With the tiniest nod, I tried to give him an answer that would be intelligible. Because I knew if I opened my mouth, all that would come out were sobs and screams that would echo through the structure until they hit me again just as hard.

I was trying to spare us the sound, but it didn’t work. The second that he touched me, the moment his arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer, I lost it. The tears that had felt nonexistent were pouring out of me with no sign of stopping. Like a heavy raincloud who’d finally had enough, I emptied my sorrows into his arms while I listened to the sound of the heavy heartbeat that I’d caused.

Together, we wallowed. We grieved. We did what we had to in order to lose the extra weight I’d carried for just a few hours too long. When it was over, and some time had passed, Spencer broke the silence with a soft, pitiful timbre.

“I’m really sorry,” he said like it had needed to be said by him and not me, “I should’ve paid closer attention.”

“Don’t apologize for not noticing something I didn’t want you to notice,” I sighed in response. I’d hoped he wouldn’t press it any further, but I should’ve known better.

With just enough offense to notice, he whispered, “Why don’t you want me to notice?”

And I, with an excess of exhaustion, answered, “I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”

At first, it seemed like Spencer had accepted the answer with grace. However, a few seconds later, he gave a distinctly ungraceful snort. I turned up at him with a pout, and he did his best to ease it away. He brought his hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb over my lips until they settled back into their frown from before.

“No offense, (y/n), but... that’s pretty silly,” he sighed. When I laughed in response, it granted him the courage to explain with even more confidence, and even more sureness, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. Nothing could ever convince me otherwise.”

I paused, waiting for the tears to come and fall away. I read his face in the meantime. I analyzed his everything to find any sign of deception, to prove to myself that he was just saying what he’d needed to for the day to come to a somewhat satisfying resolution.

Spencer knew what I was doing, and the cheeky bastard took it as a challenge. His chest puffed out even more, his hands becoming more insistent and his smile growing wider until I reflected his image.

“Will you still think I’m strong if I ask you to help me into the car?” I blubbered as a half-joke.

My boyfriend’s competitive spirit, however, knew better than to shy away from the dare. Without removing his arms from around me, he began to help me up to my feet. He giggled at the way we looked like newly born giraffes, but never made me feel silly. At least, not sillier than he was on a normal, good day.

Once we were back on our feet, and no sooner, Spencer turned to me with a softness I desperately needed to see.

“Only the strongest people admit it when they need help,” he said. “And I’d be honored.”

—————————————————

At home, things don’t seem that different. Romance movies and fairytales dictated that love should cure all, but when Spencer helped me into the bed, I still felt the same amount of pain. The deep ache in my everything somehow seemed worse in the comfort of down pillows and blankets that ought to feel soft.

My boyfriend didn’t try to make it better. He was acutely aware of the losing battle it was, and that sometimes, things simply had to hurt. Instead, he was preoccupied with finding a way to preoccupy me.

“Disney or bad TV?” he asked, fumbling with the remotes he’d only recently acquired. Because even the most stubborn technophobe had to cave eventually.

“What are my Disney options?”

He chewed on his lip for a minute before very cautiously answering, “Any of them.”

He was hesitant because he knew what I would do. I did not disappoint. I tried to jump up to sitting position but found myself only able to raise my arms. That enthusiasm would have to do for the time being. Thankfully, Spencer appreciated it nonetheless.

“Oh my god— you mean I can actually watch any movie without you correcting everything?” I shouted.

“I never promised that,” he mumbled.

But despite his generally obtuse nature, Spencer tumbled into bed next to me within seconds of me laughing, “You’re so stupid. Come here.”

That was what it took for things to finally seem better. Barely, but enough to notice. Even though the commotion caused more pain, it was immediately alleviated by the reminder that I was not alone, and the world was not as hopeless as it had felt in the cold confines of a parking garage.

The world was, as it had been before me and would continue to be after, a strange and beautiful place. There was no greater example of that than the man beside me. I knew that he was tired — exhausted from the very same trip that had drained me — but that didn’t stop him from carefully untangling our limbs so that he could begin gently massaging sore knots of muscle.

“I don’t want a movie,” I announced. Watching the way that the light of the television home screen reflected from his cheekbones that still wore a pure-hearted smile. I decided exactly what I wanted and gathered the courage to state my intentions clearly. “I want to steal away your whole night selfishly snuggling in bed.”

After another few seconds of feigned consideration, Spencer tried to hide his laughter through a sigh as he said, “I think I can handle the sacrifice.”

His words were said in jest, but I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. That realization that, even if it was one that he took on willingly and with the utmost enthusiasm, it was still just that: a sacrifice.

Ever since he’d met me, Spencer had done everything he could to take care of me. Little things like carrying an extra set of earplugs or offering me his seat despite the fact he also needed it. There was always an undercurrent of concern, an attention to detail that made me feel special and seen, even when it was in a bad way.

But most days it was good. That day just wasn’t one of them.

“I’m sorry you have to take care of me.”

The words hung heavy in a quiet room. His fingers that had been dutifully working came to a stop, however slight and brief.

“I’ve been taking care of people I love for as long as I can remember,” he assured me, as if it was meant to help.

About the same time that he realized, I had to laugh.

“That makes me feel worse,” I whined.

“You’re worth it every time,” he laughed, too.

I wanted it to comfort me more than it had. I wanted to be able to hear his promises and believe them at face value, but it was hard. I had seen so many people come and go in my life when they realized the word ‘chronic’ hadn’t been hyperbole.

‘Pain is always new to the sufferer, but loses its originality for those around him,’ as Alphonse Daudet once said. As Spencer often reminds me on the bad days.

He didn’t say that this time, either. Instead, with a solemn tone and averted eyes, he whispered, “I just wish I could do more. I know I can’t take away your pain, but I still want to give you the life you deserve.”

With tears threatening to spill from my eyes, I saw an opportunity to avoid the tough emotions and bring the conversation back to something softer. In the worst singing voice that I’d ever used, I spun his last few words into an only somewhat familiar soundtrack.

“You’re doing pretty good so far.”

“Frozen 2, huh?” he caught immediately, exactly as I knew he would.

“It’s a deleted scene, so only kind of.”

Spencer tried to stifle his laughter as he pondered the nature of the scene. His hands moved their attention to my left-hand ring finger. His smile never fell, only becoming goofier as he tried to force his way through his own little verse.

“I've never been too worldly in the ways of woman-wooing.”

“You seem pretty good at wooing to me, Dr. Reid,” I teased.

The abrupt end to the song, brought about by his off-tune mediocrity, was gladly and gracefully accepted.

“Sometimes,” he sighed sarcastically, instead. Then, with no joking at all, he continued, “It helps that I’m with the most amazing partner in the world.”

He couldn’t have expected anything but what happened. He had come just close enough for me to reach him, and I grabbed hold of him without second thought. Tired, shaky fingers wound through mousy brown locks and pulled his face down to meet mine.

The poor thing was still worried about me, though. His embrace was careful and gentle; his hands cradling the back of my head as he lowered me back down onto the pillow. Spencer let out a deep breath when we broke apart, but he refused to go far. He opened honey gold eyes to inspect me from closer.

“You’re so wonderful,” he whispered after a few moments of awkward reverence.

“Even when I kiss with you a snotty nose and puffy eyes?” I asked, mostly as a joke.

“Yes,” he said, not joking at all.

“And even when I make you give me a massage for an hour?” I continued, but he did not relent.

“Yes,” he answered.

“And even when—“

That time, he silenced me with his lips. He pressed hard enough against me that we sunk into the pillow together, and he barely moved away that time when it was over.

“Yes,” he murmured against my lips.

I tried to answer him, to laugh or kiss him or do anything else but sit there and let the tears pool again. But I couldn’t. I was so tired, and for once I didn’t feel the need to fight. I just wanted to take the praise and allow myself to feel the true force of his admiration.

Spencer must’ve sensed that I needed it, too.

“You never have to prove to me that you’re strong. I already know that,” he explained. I wondered how it could be that in that moment, he was the one displaying the most vulnerable place between his ribs. He clutched onto me tighter, still worried but less careful about hurting me. I think he’d just really felt it that strongly when he said, “I... I want to be a place where you don’t have to be.”

“I might take you up on that offer,” I whispered without an ounce of shame.

That shared silence, the vulnerability of two people who were finally free to breakdown without worry of what the other might think when the tears dried up. The strange, beautiful breath of relief when someone still loved us, even when we were scared or pained or weak.

There are some days where the world seemed out to get me. But when I opened my eyes and saw the way he smiled at me, I knew that those days would be fewer and farther in-between as long as we had each other.

“I’ll be ready,” he promised, and I knew it to be true.

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‘It’s a blind date, Spencer,’ Penelope had balked when I’d asked, ‘I can’t tell you what she’s like!’