#*spoby au

She likes to think she isn’t that shallow. Isn’t that pathetic. That somewhere, deep down, past all her insecurities, flaws, and damage, that there is a glimpse of Spencer Hastings left inside her. Spencer Hastings whom once mocked the hopeless romantics of the world. Spencer Hastings, the person who always put her friends first. Spencer Hastings, the strong, perfect, girl, who never failed in her mission.

But as much as she wishes she was that person, she is not. That person died when Toby “died.” He killed her, just as she thought she killed him. And she should resurrect with him, right? That’s how it should work?

If only she actually believed he was alive. If only she could see him; his chest moving up and down, his bright eyes blinking, his lips twitching into that boyish smile that always put butterflies in her stomach.

She is conflicted. Because seeing Toby—alive— would put her back together. Even if this whole thing they had—whatever the hell it was—was a lie, it would bring her back to the Spencer Hastings she knew before. 

Seeing is believing.

She says yes to Mona.

She will not betray the girls. She won’t. In her selfishness, she will try to remain loyal. She’ll work against Mona. She’ll team up with her friends. She’ll make it work.

But putting on the black hoodie—it feels like the biggest betrayal of them all.

But she has to see him. She has to know he is alive because she doesn’t know how much longer she can last.

She wanted to die when she saw him laying there. Die!

He loves me, he loves me not.

She took him for granted when he was around…and hers. She lied, and even though she did it to protect him, she felt like she was just being selfish with that. Selfish because she wanted to have that normalcy. She wanted Toby to remain in the dark, so he could keep being her light, but it turns out that he was the one blowing out the torch.

It doesn’t seem likely that Toby “loves” her. Because how could he? After everything. If he was –A, he had to have seen the destruction. There was no way he was blinded to the way she completed unfolded—utterly erupted, and imploded, at the notion of him being “dead.”

If he loved her, he wouldn’t let her believe that. He would have reached out to her—done something!

But at the same time, how could he fake all that? Everything? It was so real…so raw, and legit. His touch was so gentle. His looks, so sincere. His love, so deep.

Dammit, she was crying again.

She hated him. She hated him so much. He hurt her so bad. And they have had fights. He has hurt her (rarely) but, he was always there after to hold her. He held her in his arms, and kissed her forehead, soothing her with simple words and soft affection. But he didn’t do that this time. He wasn’t there for her. He was gone. She was all alone, the hurt consuming her, until she was nothing, but broken, jagged pieces.

She hated him.

But she craved his love.

She craved him to beg for her forgiveness.

She craved him.

So, she does what Mona says. She betrays her best friend, all while coming up with a plan to make it up to her—to all her best friends. She comes up with a plan, and puts it into action, and is rewarded in doing so. She gets to see Toby—on Friday.

But that is too far away. And she is planning another scheme—one Mona is not involved in, one that will uncover all the secrets that lies between Mona and Redcoat (hopefully.) She needs to see Toby, now.

So, she comes up with another plan.

Why is it that she is so much better at playing the villain, than the hero?

She waits at a booth, sitting in her –A get-up, wondering how she ended up here. When it all got so fucked up that she was wearing the clothes only the devil could fit into? How did it all get so bad?

Someone—Toby—sits across from her. But it still doesn’t feel like it is him. He still feels dead. She still sees him in the forest—the tattoo, the crashed bike. It all still seems present, and suddenly she falls back into that moment. Only for a second, but she is back. Back to it all—to the pain of seeing him—her Toby, who was maybe never even hers—gone away to another life.

“Hanna got the job,” the man across from her states.

And her heart skips a beat because it is him. It is Toby. It is his voice—his voice that spoke words of promise and love, and lies. It is Toby. The boy who beat her in scrabble. Her safe place to land. The owner of her heart. It is him. It is really him. He may sound hollow—sound as if he wishes he were dead, but he is not. He is alive. He is here.

“I know,” she raises her head to look at him, swallowing every ounce of emotion she has.

His eyes widen—those eyes that linger on the lightest shade of blue—those eyes that promised love and truth.

“Spencer,” the word runs off his tongue in a vague tone. A vague, emotionless tone.

“When I was in Radley, Mona told me you were alive…but I couldn’t believe it until now…” she states, her voice wavering—insecurities breaking through her weak walls.

Something washes over him. Something that almost seems like sadness. He looks down.

“It’s—complicated,” the words break on the way out of his mouth.

She sniffles, “you’re alive. You faked your death!” she exclaims in a rasp, feeling her eyes well up. She recoils into herself, her body becoming tense.

“It wasn’t me!” he fights back. “I didn’t—I didn’t know. I knew after,” he throws back words weakly.

She stares at him, wishing that she could just be strong. That she could hold herself together, but it isn’t possible. It isn’t even close to being possible. So much has happened. The last time she saw him, he was in her kitchen, sporting a black hoodie and rummaging through her kitchen drawers. So much hurt has consumed her. She has succumbed to darkness.

“We can’t talk about this here,” he quickly states. “Does Mona know you’re here?” he asks in a whisper.

“No…she has no idea.”

“Spencer, this isn’t safe...” he beckons, his voice quiet. “I know somewhere we can talk,” he offers. “You just have to trust me,” he pleas.

“Trust you?” the words leap off her throat in a pang of despair and loss. “Do you have any idea--,” she begins in a fuss of emotions. She sniffles, “why should I trust you? You’re –A. You’re working with Mona—,”

“To protect you,” his voice finds her in the pit of darkness. “I know that it looks bad, but you just…you have to believe me.”

“I want to,” she admits in a tender, broken voice. “But…” she looks away, feeling like she will burst into tears in any second.

“What we had was real,” he states firmly. “I need you to believe me…and to follow me,” he tells her, his voice stern.

He gets up, and begins to walk towards the door.

And hesitantly she follows.

He leads her to some dingy motel. He tells her that he has been living in motels for the past couple weeks, moving in and out of them like a nomad. And it seems fitting for him, because he is always running. Even though he hates it, he is always going the other direction—always furthering himself from the harsh reality that surrounds him.

He passes her a cup of coffee, and their hands accidentally brush. Sparks run up her in an instant. She missed these sparks. Sure, there was something with Wren…but it wasn’t the same. He will never be Toby. No one will ever be Toby.

“Why did you do this Spencer?” he asks after a long, drawn out, silence.

He sits on the bed, and she leans against a wall, her coffee cup heating her cold hands. She stares at the black liquid, the sweet scents of its contents running up her nostrils, “Mona told me she would let me see you…if I followed her rules…” she confesses. Why is she the one answering questions? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? “I had to kidnap a seven year old,” she breathes, the guilt washing off of her as the words sweep past her tongue. “I broke up Aria and Ezra, so…I’ve earned her trust,” she says, disgust in her voice.

Toby doesn’t say anything, so she continues, “you’re supposed to be my reward for delivering the girls.”

“How did you find me?”

“Mona has a lot of equipment,” Spencer says listlessly. “It wasn’t that hard. I just had to get into her lair alone.”

She sets the coffee down on the small table next to her, and walks in front of Toby, staring down at him, almost scared to open her mouth. “Why did you do it?” her small voice flows into the air.

“I told you, I wanted to protect you,” he states, his jaw clenching at he speaks. “I knew something was up—you’re not that great of a liar.”

“But apparently you are,” the words move past her mouth, coolly. “You said what we had was real, but if that’s true—how could you,” she inhales sharply, staring away, “how could you just watch me fall apart,” the heavy words tumble out of her frowning lips. “If I saw you…hurting, like I know you saw me,” she clenches her eyes shut, shaking her head, feeling her throat closing on her.

“I know,” his heavy, raspy voice echoes off the walls, and into her ears. “I know…” he states again, rising up to his feet.

He tries to take her hands, but she flees from his touch, clasping her hand to her chest. She opens up her eyes, and stares up at him through the blur of salt and despair. He has tears of his own, dark circles, too. He looks almost as worn out as her. Almost.

“Spencer, I just…I worry about you.  I…the thought of losing you…I just…can’t,” he shakes his head, his eyes pleading her. To do what…she isn’t sure.

“I understand…you…joining the –A team…I mean, I did the same thing, but…” she sighs. Her brown eyes wavering against his, “you...broke me.”

“I know,” he looks down. Swallowing, the words scramble out of his mouth, “I broke me, too.”

She wished so much pain on Toby throughout the last few weeks. She wished death on him at one point. Of course, she didn’t actually want that (clearly.) But she had wished it. She had craved revenge. She desired to see him in a state of torment. To see him break, and fall, and shrivel. But, right now, seeing him—hearing his voice break, and eyes swell—it hurts her. It pains her to see this emotion of despair from him. He has caused her so much terrible suffering, but yet, seeing him suffer only breaks her more.

“Do you love me, Toby?” she asks, sniffling, swallowing another sob, feeling her cheeks cover with dew.

She asks because she has to hear the words.

She has to hear those three, overly used, words.

Even though he implied it…even if he said that they were real…she has to hear the words directly.

His eyes sync with hers—his eyes that shine brighter through his tears; his sad, tragic, beautiful eyes. “So much,” he declares. “I know it may not seem like it. And maybe you don’t even believe me. But, I…I do. I love you more than you know. More than I can probably ever prove…” he professes, salt and pain running down his face.

A bittersweet, tiny, smile rises up on her face, “I just…I needed to hear that…” she confesses.

“I really love you, Spencer,” he says it again, a strain in his voice. “I just…needed to say it again,” he breathes. “I love you.”

And then she breaks down. Carelessly—freely, and openly. And when his apprehensive arms coil around her, she doesn’t pull away or push him off. No, she accepts it. She embraces it. She needs it because she is already so fallen apart. She cannot lose anymore of herself.

Apologies soothe her to a lull, and suddenly they are sitting on the bed. She is leaning into him, her hands wrapped around him in a possessive matter, her head in his chest, in his sweet smelling shirt. Toby loves her. Her Toby—the only man she has ever loved, the only person who has every really understood her, the one she has given herself fully to—loves her. She feels bliss at the thought, after everything. After it all, he loves her. He loves her.

But does she love him?

After all he had done to her. After all the strain he has put on her heart. After all the destruction and ruin, is it possible for her to still love him?

She knows the answer though. She is asking herself the wrong questions.

How is it possible that she still loves him?

She finally pulls away from him, offering a sort of, broken smile. He just looks at her, unmoving—completely still.

“Toby…I love you,” she breathes after a second. “But…” the word is painful to say, “I just…” her voice breaks off into a ghastly silence.

Their eyes flicker back and forth, both feeling so utterly damaged by the world.

“I don’t know…we can’t just go back to how things were.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t be together?” he prompts.

“I don’t know,” she admits… recoiling from his touch all together.

She already feels cold without him to warm her. But being close to him, it’s like being in the midst of the fire. It is demerging herself into toxins. It feels good with him, it does. But it also leaves her with a sense of guilt. Of anger. Of sadness. There is no changing the past. She cannot erase his mistakes, and he cannot either. They can only go forward, but how can something so utterly broken and damaged move forward? Move at all? When everything is left in scraps and pieces, and lost among the dust of chaos? Where do you even start? Is it even possible?

“I love you,” she states the words again, peering up at his blue irises. “I do, but…” she shakes her head. When she was little, when her mother and father would fight about everything and anything, she always wondered what made them stick together. She found out later that it wasn’t love, or even trust, but both being strong enough to endure the suffering appointed by the other. She isn’t comparing her relationship with Toby to the relationship her parents have with each other, at all, reallu. But the fact of the matter is that love is not the most important thing. There is no one important thing. A relationship is a complex structure, it has multiple bonds, and necessities.  And her relationship with Toby is only running on love. Which makes it incapable of surviving…

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she tries to say without sobbing, feeling herself crumble beneath the words.

“But…”

“Some things are just unfixable, Toby. I can forgive you for joining the –A team. I get that. It’s just the pain you put me through… I can’t. I can’t look at you without feeling all of that again, and while being with you makes me happy, it doesn’t cancel everything else out,” her voice is quiet and frail.

His eyes skirt down to her hands, and then her copper orbs, “I want you to be happy, and safe, and to feel okay.”

“I want the same things for you,” she offers, taking his hands in hers, almost in an urgent matter. “But… there is also a part of me that wants to spite you. It’s microscopically, but it’s there. I’m not a forgiving person, Toby. I have been holding on to grudges my whole life. I try to let things go, but I can never fully do it. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could say that in a decade from now that everything will be okay, but I’m not an optimist. I’m not some hopeless romantic. I never have been. I never will be. That’s just not who I am.”

“I understand,” he murmurs in a heavy tone. “I guess this is the end for us, then,” he looks up at her, dismal in his eyes.

“I’ll always love you. It’s never going to be the end for us,” she murmurs, her voice strained.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” a tear falls from his right eye.

She presses a long, lingering kiss to this spot—this spot that thumps and vibrates against her lips. She lets herself stay there, lets herself stay above the place where his heart lies. “Marry me,” she says again into his chest. She rests her cheek against his heartbeat. Her eyes go up to his drowsy, tired face. His eyes flicker open a couple times, before they are able to stay open. Through the darkness, she can still see the bright blue that lingers in them. A blue that has always been to bright for him.

“Are you high?” the words tumble out of his mouth lazily.

It is so mumbled, so small and mashed together that if she was anyone other Spencer Hastings, and he was anyone other than Toby Cavanaugh, she would have no idea what the words leaked from his mouth were. But she is Spencer Hastings, and he is Toby Cavanaugh. They know each other’s language. They know how to communicate in ways she never thought was possible.

“Maybe,” the word falls from her mouth carelessly.

“Marry me,” she repeats, moving her face to his. She hovers inches above him, the darkness in between them, casting shadows everywhere.

He gives her a quizzical look, his bright eyes drowsy and still suffering from the effects of cocaine and alcohol. Not such a good mix, she admits, but neither of them really cared at that point in time. “I know you love me,” her voice sounds smooth, smooth and silky, like an aged scotch. Her fingers trace the curves and bumps across his face, coming to a stop at the indent of his chin. “I’m the best damn thing in your horrible life,” she goes on in a soft, purring voice.

“You don’t believe in marriage,” he states matter of  factly, no emotion in the words.

“I believe in you and me,” she counters in a voice that makes her seem fit for a noir film; elegant and smooth. “I believe in us,” she presses her lip to his jaw, just grazing his lips. Her lips move to his earlobe. Her lips tug on it before she whispers, “make me your wife.”

His head falls back, a long, heaving sigh passing through his lips. In the sigh, she faintly hears the drawn out, distorted version of her name. She  smiles against his earlobe, her voice releasing a single word, “please.”

In a whisk of a movement, she is pinned beneath him, his bright, too bright of eyes, hungry and lustful. She breathes heavily, a challenge in her own eyes. She caresses his cheek, stubble scratching against her fingertips. Her lips rise into a something resembling a grin—too dark to be a smile, too genuine to be a smirk.

He presses his lips to hers in an instant. She can still taste the whiskey. Maybe it is always there, she doesn’t know. Whenever they kiss, some form of alcohol seems to greet her taste buds. She likes that he is like this. All broken and bent, too scattered to piece together. She is the same. It is almost  peaceful to be tethered with someone who is too damaged  and crooked to be placed place in normality. Knowing that she is not the only imperfect being to exist is somewhat comforting.

She often wonders if she loves Toby or just the drugs he provides her. He tends to question the same thing, only sometimes voicing the question aloud. In those times, Spencer just hushes him with her lips.

He is not the only drug dealer in the world. She could find someone else easily. She sticks with Toby because she chooses to do so. Because he brings her a sort of relaxing feeling all on his own. He is a drug dealer, but he does not know that the drug that she craves most from him is just he, in himself. No amounts of cocaine or acid, or whatever else, can bring her the high he gives her.

But he’ll never know that. She’ll never tell him the real reason she keeps him around. She’ll never have enough time to do so—never have the chance.

She wants to marry him so she can keep him.

It will give him some reassurance. Something that will make him less worrisome about the idea of unrequited love. It will give him enough assurance that she has somewhat the same feelings, and she is not just using him for his career.

Maybe if she was anyone else, this wouldn’t mean anything. This proposal. But she is not someone else, she is Spencer Hastings. Since the day they met she has bashed on marriage. Bashed on what it meant to vow yourself to someone for the rest of your miserable life. He listened to her in those times with a thoughtful expression, taking in her ideas and mushing them with his own. He always said he believed that it was good for the people who were happy in life, who wanted more out of it than just survival. He said he admired marriage—the idea of it brought  warmth—hope— to him.

In another life, he would probably have gotten married, he told her once.

That was a long ago—that convesation. He was drunk, or high, or possibly both, and she doubts he can remember the memory, but she can. She wants to bring him hope and warmth like idea of marriage does. She wants to make this the life where he does get to be married.

So that’s why she asked. Because she wants to give him something. Something that will light up the darkness, if only for a little while. Something warm and hopeful.

“Do you love me?” he asks after he comes out of her, tumbling beside her and finding her burdened with insomnia, eyes.

Her palm once again settles on the sheet of tiny hairs that reside upon his cheek. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t even try to distract him from the fact that she is flat-out ignoring the question. She just stares. Stares, and tries to understand how a person with such bright eyes could end up in a place like this.

He ditches the question, realizing, probably, that he will never get a definite answer. “All right,” he finally breathes.

A smile slowly forms on her face, “All right,” she mimics him in a small voice, only one Toby could pick up on.

“All right,” he says again, almost too softly for her ears to pick up.

She closes her eyes, letting out a last, “all right,” before giving into the sleep the summons her.

-an answer-

The morning comes late for the brunette. She isn’t sure what time it is, but she knows the hours are no longer lingering in the depths of the AM. She can feel the heaviness in her mind, in her brain, in her whole body. It clings to her, seeps into her bones. It is a sort of heaviness that is draining. A heaviness that beckons her to return to the unconscience of her mind.

She wasn’t that drunk last night. She was more high than drunk. She wonders if it is just a withdrawal. She forces herself to turn her body around to look at the man beside her. He is still sleeping—still dreaming of a better world, one that does not involve her, probably. Because how could someone as broken and dark as her, live among a perfect world—or even a better world, at that?

He looks peaceful. So peaceful it almost makes her smile. So still…so very still.

She gulps, suddenly feeling more alone than she has ever felt. She is staring at him, but it feels like no one else in the world exists. She feels she is the only one left, the only one who still can breathe. The only who has that organ that pumps blood, and gets associated with the idea of love.

Everything is in slow motion. Everything feels heavy, surreal. It feels like she is on something, but she cannot think of anything that is strong enough to bring these effects upon her.

A horrible, agonizing thought erupts in her mind. No, no. It can’t. No. She won’t accept the thought. It is just anxiety, anxiety mixed with the high that was really a low she was still on.

Her eyes find Toby—sound asleep, peaceful, still. That’s all it is. That’s all he is doing. Sleeping. Dreaming of a place where his bright eyes fit in, a place where melancholy and he do not coexist. A place, far, far, away. Another universe. A better universe.

That’s all it is. That’s all she will let herself believe. She falls back into her pillow, letting her heavy eyes take her away from the anxiety that implodes her.

But when she awakes, he is the same. Still, so very still.

Too still.

Too perfect.

Too gone.

She stares at him, breathing heavily. No, no, no.

Her shaky hand presses to the place where his heart is—the place where his heart should beat—should beat.

She shakes her head, “no…” the word leaves her lips, only audible for Toby Cavanaugh, no one else.

She lets out a shaky breath, “no!” her voice a little more vocalized.

She presses her face to his chest.

Nothing.

She shakes her head again his chest, refusing to believe—incapable of accepting that there is no beat. Not accepting the fate of the man; the fate of the bright-eyed man who is more than just another drug dealer.

Just yesterday—just last night, a few hours ago, there was a beat. There was a steady, beautiful, rhythm. A thump. A rising and falling. But now, now there is nothing. Nothing. Not a single thing left but the silence that succumbs her.

She stays there, buried in his chest, for a long time. She is paralyzed. The bodily functions she has to move have been taken away, replaced by nothing. She is left empty, just as the beat that no longer exists in his heart.

She begins to sob, pleading—begging, that he wake up. Wake up from this sleep he has fallen into; this sleep that stops the beat of his heart, and paralyzes his lungs. She sobs and sobs, until there is nothing left. Until all the tears have gone awry.

She doesn’t know why she is so stunned. This was bound to happen eventually. They were careless. Careless with their lives; careless with the things they put into their bodies. They were druggies, wash outs, addicts. This is how it ends for them. This is the way they go.

But she always thought she would be the one to go first. Be the one to overestimate how much she can handle.

She always thought they would have more time together.

She never thought she would have to do this—deal with the terrible, awful, exhausting heart-break.

She doesn’t understand.

 She doesn’t understand.

Why couldn’t it have been her?

Why was it Toby? The man with the beautiful, bright, blue eyes that she will never see again.

Never see again.

Perhaps Toby was right. He was never meant to marry in this life.

She is a freaking sophomore in high school, and she has only ever kissed someone once. It happened two years ago, and it didn’t even really count because it happened during a game of truth or dare—and on top of that, it was with Toby. When she thinks of her first kiss, a few years down the road, she knows she will not think of the time with Toby Cavanaugh. She will think of a time with Andrew Campbell…hopefully.

She hits him to quiet her laughter, and continues her story, “anyways…” she begins. “I think he was going to kiss me, but I sort of ducked my head away. What the hell am I doing?” She puts her head in the palms of her hands.

She hears Toby’s chuckles fade away, and his hand on the small of her back, “come on, it couldn’t have been that bad,” he attempts to comfort her.

Spencer swallows, un-hugging her knees and falling into Toby’s embrace. They fall back onto her bed, and stare at her ceiling.

“I wish it was this easy with Andrew…” she murmurs, but then quickly regrets it. It sounds wrong.

She rolls away from Toby, leaving as much space between them as possible without rolling off the bed.

It has always been just plain platonic between the two. They met when Spencer was seven, and Toby was eight. Spencer had run away from home, ending up at the movie theater. Toby was there with his mom, and of course when the woman saw a seven year old, alone, at a movie theater, she intervened. Somehow, that situation led them to becoming friends—best friends.  Although it wasn’t until two years ago—a couple months after their kiss—that they became family.

His mother had passed away, and Spencer had been there for him every step of the way. It was the first time she saw him cry since they were little, the first time he really let her in. But he was not the only one breaking down walls, she was too. They learned to confide in each other.

Toby is the only one who she feels comfortable being venerable around, and she knows the feeling is mutual. Even if she did have feelings for Toby, she would never make a move because losing their bond would be like losing a lung. She would be able to survive, but it would be incredibly difficult.

“Spencer the only reason you are getting yourself so worked up about this is because it is the first time you even wanted anything more than friendship. You’ve always put all your attention in school. I’m pretty sure you didn’t even know what a boyfriend was until a couple days ago…” Toby props an elbow up to hold him up as he lies on his side.

She takes the same position as him, a scowl covering her face, “that isn’t true.”

“You know it’s true,” he retorts, calmly. “And it’s not a bad thing. I think a lot of people would be better off if they didn’t waste their lives trying to find their high school sweet heart.”

Spencer just glares at him, rolling her eyes, and falling back to her previous position.

She hears a thump, and knows Toby is back to lying on his back, too.

She hears him sigh after awhile. Thinking he is going to say something important, she tunes her ears into listening mode. “I’ve been staring at your ceiling for a good five minutes, and I still cannot find one cobweb, or bug, or anything…”

She can’t help but let out a laugh at the randomness of the statement.   Here she is making her brain turn to mush over a stupid boy, and Toby is inspecting her ceiling.

“I can’t believe that is what is on your mind right now,” she lets out.

“Always the one to be over dramatic…” his voice trails out.

He is delivered with a slap on his chest. He sits up, along with his best friend. “Ow!” he exclaims, glaring at her, and holding the place where he she hit him. “What the hell, Spencer?”

“You are supposed to be helping me, not…” her voice trails as her face scrunches up, “searching my room for imperfections and insulting me.”

He sighs, smacking his lips together, “I don’t know how to help,” he admits. “Everyone gets nervous, Spencer. It’s okay,” he tries.

“No, it’s not,” she backfires immediately. “I already made an embarrassment of myself earlier today, I don’t want it to happen again.”

Toby’s eyes drop, a frown covering his face. After a few seconds, he looks back up at her, a new expression on his face. One that is much more at ease, “Okay,” he begins, getting Spencer’s attention. “Andrew is the head of the decathlon team, right?”

She nods.

“Well, then. There you have it. You can embarrass yourself a thousand times, and it won’t matter. I doubt he is much of a player…”

The glare she gives him does not need to be accompanied by any harsh words to let Toby know Spencer is on the verge of kicking him out.

“Sorry,” he murmurs softly, that school boy smile decorated on his features.

She sighs, looking at him with those dopey brown eyes that plead him to help her.

“I wish I could help Spencer,” he breathes in his most genuinely soft tune, “but I just…I can’t be there to calm your nerves. I think that would freak out Andrew more than anything else you could possibly do.”

Ignoring the last phrase of his statement, an idea forms in her mind. Yes, he can’t be there with her…but he is with her now. He can help her now.

“Maybe not…” she begins, “but you can help me with me with it here and now.”

He gives her a look, clearly not understanding what she is saying.

“We could…practice…If I get the hang of it, I won’t be as nervous. It is like everything else, once I know I’m good at it, I can be confident about it.”

He just stares at her—still in confusion, well, maybe more so disbelief.

“Are you—are you suggesting we make out?”

“No, no!” she quickly denies, shaking her head frantically, and waving her hands back and forth. “Just…” she begins, “maybe…kiss a little,” she pipes up, sneaking a look at him.

He is still in bewilderment.

“You don’t have to do it,” she quickly quips up, realizing just how stupid the suggestion was. “I just thought since we’ve done it before, it wouldn’t really matter…” her voice goes on, trying to give logic to her utterly idiotic suggestion.

He stays quiet for a moment before talking, “I just…I don’t want…” he swallows, finally reaching her gaze. “I don’t want things to change.”

“They won’t,” she says before thinking. “I mean, actors do it all the time.”

He stays quiet for a really long time, looking so concentrated and engaged in his thoughts. “Fine,” he states, looking up at her. “I’ll do it…if you think it will help you. You’re right…actors do it all the time, and it didn’t ruin us the last time—it won’t this time either,” he opts a smile at her.

She nods, a timid smile rising on her lips, “you’re sure?”

“Yes,” he says after a moment’s hesitation, “I don’t think kissing you will change my feelings for you.”

She grins, feeling too giddy for her liking. She swallows her joy, and nods.

“So…” she mumbles after a second, laughter falling out of her mouth, along with Toby’s. “When do you wanna start?”

“That’s up to you,” he responds.

She nods, taking in the information. She swallows, suddenly feeling a little nervous about this, “now, I guess,” she replies.

The whole point of this was for her to be able to kiss someone without being nervous. What the hell is going on with her? It is just Toby. He is practically her brother. She supposes that is a bad thing to tell herself before engaging her lips with his.

“Alright,” he breathes out so softly she barely hears it.

They just stare at each other for a moment, their faces only inches apart, and their noses almost touching. She can’t go back now, if she does, Toby will think something is the matter. If she backs out now, she will be admitting this is weird—and it is not. It is just Toby, and it doesn’t mean anything.

She flutters her eyes down and stares at his lips, only staring at them for a second for closing her eyes completely and pushing her lips into his. It is warm and soft, and… good.

It feels different than last time, but she cannot register why. Her mind feels too fuzzy to really think in its usually complex, organized way. All she knows is that it feels better. So much better that she doesn’t want to pull away.

She feels his calloused palm against her check, and thinks of all the times she has felt the roughness of his finger tips—when they hold hands occasionally, when they danced at Homecoming, when his mother died and he refused to let her go. Now she is the one refusing to let his hand go. She holds her hand up to his, and secures it there—locking it from going anywhere else.

She leans into him more, reminding herself it is just practice for the real thing. She holds onto his hand caressing her face more tightly as their kiss intensifies.

It was slow at first, but now it is moving quickly. Their mouths overlapping each other in laps. A sensation fills her as his lips pull and move against hers. A sensation that urges her to clamp her free hand around the fabric of his shirt.

Before anything else can happen, they break apart. But not because they chose to, because they had to. The sound of Veronica Hastings calling out his daughter’s name to tell her its dinner time fills their ears.

Her parents are gone constantly, but they choose now to…wait what the hell is she thinking?

They awkwardly move away from each other, both holding up a neutral persona.

“Be down in a second!” Spencer yells out to her mother, keeping her eyes off of Toby.

Silence pours over them.

“You aren’t bad…” he finally breaks the silence. He sounds playful, and she is glad—relieved. “May need some more practice…” he goes on, his voice still teasing.

She lets herself meet his eyes, only to present a scowl. “Yeah, well… you suck.”

“Do I?” he retorts, smiling that boyish grin of his.

“Yes, I hardly made it through that without losing my lunch.”

He laughs, “you know I rocked your world,” he comments after a moment’s pause.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my friend,” she pats his arm, stepping off the bed. She walks towards her door, realizing only when she is in her doorway that Toby is not following behind her, “aren’t you coming?” she looks back at him. “Come on you aren’t going to make me suffer through the Hastings dinner alone, are you?” she looks at him pleadingly.

He looks up at her, an immediate smile branching out on his face at her words, “of course not.”

…

Spencer sits across from the captain of the decathlon team as he goes on about this article he reads about weather patterns. Normally, Spencer would find this fascinating, but she can’t seem to focus. Her mind is too heavily set on kissing.

Andrew invited her over to study, but she was hoping it was just some excuse for him to hang out with her. Maybe he really just meant studying. Although, this whole weather pattern topic has nothing to do with what they’re learning in school, but she somehow doubts this conversation will lead to kissing.

She knows he likes her—he tried to kiss her the other day. He always puts his arm around her, he texts her non-stop, and asks her questions that could only be asked for one reason—because he wants to talk to her. She wants him to make a move, but maybe she embarrassed him too much last time. Maybe he thinks that she isn’t into him. But she is, and now she is ready to show just how much she likes him with her lips.

She practiced with Toby a couple more times after the occasion in her bed room. Once she felt confident enough with the task, she stopped it. It was sort of getting…weird. And she should have known it would have gotten that way. They are friends. Friends don’t kiss each other…like that. But luckily their lip locking sessions ended before anything major happened. Now, they are back to normal.

“It is strange…” she comments after a moment.

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” he bows his head down, sighing. “I’m sorry—I just…you make me nervous…and when I get nervous, I sort of just…”

“Rant?” she says, smiling at him. “Don’t worry…You make me nervous, too,” she confesses shyly.

“Really?” he beams up at her.

She nods, giving him a mild smile.

A beat paces between the two, the air around them becoming thick. She knows this is it—their first kiss—her first real kiss. Before her confidence can flee, she crashes her lips into his, erasing the space between him.

He kisses her back, and moves closer to her.

It feels different than it did with Toby, but maybe Toby is just more experienced than Andrew. Probably. He is a grade older. She wonders just how many times Toby has kissed someone. He isn’t the time to kiss and tell.

Why the hell is she thinking about Toby when she is kissing Andrew? 

He pulls away, a lazy smile on his face, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he tells her in a whisper.

“Me too,” she admits, pasting on a smile. She presses her lips to his again, pushing harder this time, trying to banish the visual of Toby out of her mind.

The rest of their afternoon is spent more casually. They talk about small things; how they are glad it is the weekend, how Spencer has to wake up tomorrow at 6AM for field hockey practice, how National Geographic is having a special tonight on penguins. Then, at the end of the—whatever it is—he kisses her again, this time only peck. She doesn’t think of Toby this time, but she wonders if it is only because the kiss was so short.

…

  The next day, after field hockey practice, and shopping at the mall with Hanna Marin, Spencer finds herself at Toby’s house, staring at the collection of toy cars he has collected. And he calls her a nerd.

She sits on his bed, and he sits at his desk, drawing or something. “You don’t usually bring girls in here do you,” she comments, still staring at the toy cars.

Taken off guard by the statement, he picks his head up from what he is doing, and looks back at her, “what?”

She looks towards him, “I mean…maybe you do, considering you haven’t had a girlfriend…ever,” she never really thought about it before, but Toby hasn’t really had a girlfriend. At least not an official one. “Do they see your toy collection, and then realize you’re a total nerd?”

He rolls his eyes, going back to whatever he is working on. Not facing her, he says in a hushed voice, “they aren’t toys…”

She laughs to herself, sprawling out on his bed. She stares at his ceiling and notices a few tiny cobwebs, “you have a couple cobwebs on your ceiling.”

“I’m starting to think you just came over to insult me…” he murmurs, keeping his face to whatever he is doing.

She chuckles. She isn’t exactly sure why she is here. She was bored, she supposes.

“Do you wanna do something?” she moves into a sitting position.

“Like what?” he replies.

“I don’t know. Catch a movie…rent a movie…something.”

He turns his body around, facing her now. His arms hoist against the top of the chair, “am I boring you, Spencer?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Fine,” he responds. He twists his body around to close his sketch book, before he walks over to his bed, and takes a seat next to her. He sits close to her…too close to her. She scoots over a little.

“Do you wanna watch the National Geographic Channel?” he asks, but she can tell by the mock in his voice that he is only being an ass. She glares at him, biting her lip from letting out any slander.

He chuckles, “What? Did you watch too much of it with your boyfriend, and now you’re sick of it?”

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” she nearly growls at him. “And we didn’t even watch National Geographic…” she mumbles, her eyes going astray from Toby’s.

“What did you do?” he asks after a beat, a mocking tone still running through his voice.

Annoyed, she challenges him, “what do you do with the girls you hang out with?”

He smacks his lips together, defeated, he sighs, “touché.”

They both look away. A moment hangs between them. “How many girls have you kissed?” she blurts out. She knows it is a blunt question, but it is really the real reason she came over here. The question has been haunting her since yesterday.

He once again, looks caught off guard, giving her a look that can only be saying, are you serious?

“Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life?” he counters.

She admits she has never cared this much before. Maybe it is because she never really thought about stuff like this before. Before Andrew, the only boys that were on her mind, were Albert Einstein and Shakespeare.

“Just…curious, I guess.”

He looks away, a concentrated look in his blue eyes, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she blurts without thinking.

“It’s not like I’m some player, Spencer,” he gives her a look. “I just—do you really want me to count?”

She realizes that she is being ridiculous. If she pries for an exact number, he is going to think…think she likes him or something.

 But it is just Toby. He has to know she is just asking out of curiosity. He knows how nosy she can get. But still, she doesn’t press on.

She sighs, slumping her shoulders down.

A moment passes.

“Three,” she hears. “Three, including you.”

She looks up at him, he looks less annoyed than he did a few moments ago.

Three. Three, counting her. He can’t be that much more experienced than Andrew, her mind immediately thinks. She pushes away the thought.

“Oh,” she answers, not knowing what else to say—not wanting to express anything that is going on in her mind right now, in words.

The question of who these kisses were with pops up in her mind. No, Spencer. No, you cannot ask that, she tells herself.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, eyeing her skeptically.

“What?” she looks at him, “no? Why?”

“I don’t know…you’re acting…strange.”

“Am I?” she responds.

He nods.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, moving her gaze southward.

Silence.

“I gotta go,” she blurts out, stepping off the bed.

“Where? I thought you wanted to do something?”

“I just remembered that I promised my mother I would be at dinner tonight. My parents are going on some business trip, and wanted to have one more family dinner.”

It is a lie, of course, and she thinks Toby knows it. Never has her family had something like this. Sometimes she doesn’t even know her parents are gone until they are calling from a different time zone. But he lets it go, wishing her luck.

…

Andrew has left to Alabama—visiting his grandmother, or something. She feels like she should be more upset. Maybe it is because he is only going to be gone a few days. It is hardly a long enough time to miss someone.

They aren’t exclusive yet, and she is somewhat glad. She has been very confused the last couple days. She isn’t sure where her head is. Maybe she should just focus to her academic relationship. Everything else is too confusing.

She doesn’t even know why she is confused. She likes Andrew, but Toby always seems to seep into her thoughts, when she is around Andrew. Maybe it is just because she hasn’t spent much time with Toby. She has been hanging out with Andrew a lot more than she has Toby, in the week. She has even switched lunch tables. She now sits with Andrew, but today he is gone. She can sit with Toby.

“Hey,” Spencer announces herself as she takes the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he responds, looking up at her.

“What’s up?” she asks, piercing her salad with her fork.

“Nothing much,” he offers. “Where’s captain decathlon?”

“Not here,” she responds, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“Which is the only reason you are sitting with me, right?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” her voice trails, giving him a shy smile.

He laughs, “alright then.”

“Why are you sitting alone today?” she asks.

“I’m not. You’re here,” he replies.

“But I wasn’t five minutes ago. Where’s Holden? Or Emily?”

“Holden skipped. Emily—I think she is sitting with Paige.”

“Oh,” Spencer comments. “Luckily I’m here then, right?”

“Right…” he murmurs. He picks up his apple, staring at it. He plays with the apple in his hand, massaging it with his fingers. “But I’m always lucky to have you,” he murmurs, looking up at her. But he is more than looking. He is studying her almost. Awaiting her reaction.

She darts her eyes away, staring at her water bottle. She picks it up, undoing the cap quickly, and washes it down. She feels hot all a sudden. She fears she is blushing. Why is she blushing? She continues to gulp down the water, hoping it will cool her.

“Someone’s thirsty,” he raises an eyebrow at her, as she puts the half drunken water bottle back on the table.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, not meeting his eyes.

What the hell is she doing? Why is she being so awkward? What the hell is going on?

She stabs her salad with her fork, wishing it was Toby’s face. He is doing this to her…he is doing something, and she doesn’t like it.

She can feel him looking at her—studying her still. She glares at him, “what?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep…staring at me,” she lets out in a hushed voice.

He purposely moves his eyes away, “sorry,” he mumbles.

“Why are you acting so weird?” she waits a moment to ask.

“I’m not the one acting weird, Spencer.”

She grimaces, throwing her fork down. “What does that mean?” she demands.

“It means you have been acting strange,” he says, calmly. “Not yourself,” he elaborates.

She knows he is right, and perhaps that is why she got so defensive. But she isn’t the only one being weird, he is too.

“I’m not acting weird,” she grumbles, going back to her salad. She won’t admit he is right.

Toby is about to say something, when Hanna sits down.

“What’s the old married couple fighting about this time?”

“Nothing,” the brush off the blonde in union.

“Okay…” Hanna replies, clearly not convinced, but not caring enough to push on the investigation. “Spencer, how is your nerd?”

“He is visiting his grandmother,” Spencer replies, leaving out any details.

“During a school week? How scandalous!” she mocks. Spencer hears Toby laughing along with Hanna, causing her to roll her eyes.

But she makes no attempt to defend Andrew, instead she denies that he is hers.

“We aren’t even dating,” she goes on.

Hanna begins to fight with Spencer about this, but Spencer has a hard time listening to Hanna’s argument. She is too engaged with Toby’s facial expressions through the argument. He looks…pleased. Pleased that she denies Andrew of being hers. Maybe she is just going insane.

After awhile, Hanna gets tired of fighting, and goes off to her boyfriend, Caleb, leaving Spencer and Toby alone, yet again.

They forget their fight from earlier—before Hanna showed up—and dive into small talk. Toby tells her about his woodshop class, and how Holden, his other best friend, almost chopped off his finger the day before. It makes her laugh. Neither of them is being weird anymore, and she is thankful for it.

Before she heads back to class, he asks her if she wants to come over later. She tells him yes.

…

They lounge around in his room as always. Spencer has her homework, Toby has his sketch book. They don’t need to say much to each other. The silence does not need to be filled. It is comfortable. Of course it is not completely silent, every now and then they will burst into conversation, forgetting their work.

When the sky begins to darken, and they both know it is time for Spencer to head home, Toby closes his sketch book, taking a seat on his bed, where Spencer is sprawled out, finishing the last remains of her homework.

“How can you possibly still be working on this?” he eyes her, then the loose leaf under her moving pen. “How much homework do you have?”

“I would have had it done faster if someone hadn’t been interrupting me every fifteen minutes,” she says, keeping her eyes on her work until the last word. She looks up at him, a half smile on her face.

“Hey,” he defends, “you knew what you were in for coming over here on a school night.”

“I guess that’s true,” she pushes herself up into a sitting position, “it seems you are a bad influence on me, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

“Because coming over here on a school night is oh-so-rebellious,” he teases.

She laughs.

It becomes silent again.

She hears him gulp, “the truth is…” he begins, his voice sounding nervous. “I didn’t invite you over here to corrupt you,” he confesses, still sounding nervous, but also teasing.

He has surely captured her attention now. She sits up straighter, putting her pen down from her hold.

“What is it?” she inquires, feeling the mood change. He is going into a deeper topic. They are no longer joking.

“I—,” his eyes flutter a little to the ground. His mouth twitches before he speaks, “I am just going to come out and say it,” he mumbles, finally meeting her gaze. A beat passes before he speaks, “I like you.”

Another beat.

“I like you, too, Tobes,” she offers, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“No,” he declares, taking a deep breath in. “I like you…” he puts so much pressure on the word like it can only mean one thing. Still not convinced she knows what he is aiming at, he goes on, “…more than a friend.”

Spencer swallows, unable to break the gaze with the boy next to her. She is in too much shock. She can’t even register what is happening. He likes her? No, she would have noticed. She would have known…

“I have for awhile,” he goes on, flashing his eyes down. His eyebrows furrow, “I think since the first time we kissed.”

More shock.

That long? That was two years ago?! How could he like her for two years without her knowing? No. No. No. She would have known, he has to be lying. This has to be some…trick…or something. But why would Toby do that? He wouldn’t.

“Why haven’t—why didn’t you tell me?” she stammers out.

He shrugs, “I didn’t want to mess anything up…” he admits, still keeping his gaze in his lap.

Her tongue slams against the roof of her mouth. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t even know what to say.

She doesn’t even know how she feels about him.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“I—” he begins, “I thought that maybe…you felt the same way,” he finds her eyes.

Her heart plummets into her stomach. She can feel her body become hot again like it did at lunch, and she desperately wishes there was a water bottle around.

“The way you’ve been acting,” his eyes fall down. “I don’t know…” he shakes his head. “Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.”

A long time passes between his words and hers.

“Or maybe you were right,” her lips release. She doesn’t know where the words came from. They just fell out.

He looks up at her, confusion glinting in his eyes. His lips part as if he wants to say something else. But before he can speak, she presses her lips to his.

It is another thing she didn’t plan on—another thing that just happened.

He pulls her closer, his hands encircling around her waist. She brings her hands up to cup his cheeks, needing him closer, needing to feel his warm flesh underneath her fingertips. It feels so right. So insanely right.

She doesn’t want to let go. She doesn’t want to escape this new found energy and life that rumbles inside her. She doesn’t want to let him go.

But she is forced too. She is panting for air, and so is he. They are still inches apart. She can feel his breath hitting against her cheek.

“I—I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” she relinquishes. “Even when I was with Andrew… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to tell myself it was me just being nosy…me just missing you because we haven’t been hanging out as much…but…” she swallows, wetting her lips, “I was lying to myself.” Her voice is so quiet that if Toby was any farther away, he probably wouldn’t have heard her. Their eyes don’t dare to move from their intense gaze.

“And you knew,” she breaks out into a smile. “You knew,” she repeats in a whisper. “You know me better than anyone else—better than I know myself.”

A small smile blossoms on his face as he sets his forehead on hers. He seems too overwhelmed to speak, “I—I wasn’t expecting this,” he admits, breathless.

Long ago. It was weird to think about how long it has been. It doesn’t seem like much time has passed really, but at the same time, everyday feels like an eternity of longing despair.

Especially on the days where a frown is placed on her face. On those days, he wants to quit. He wants to wrap his arms around her, and tangle his hands into her hair. But he knows he can’t. She is too far away for his touch. He is long gone and the next time she’ll see him will be decades from now. Well, so he hopes and prays, anyways.

He misses her. Every single minute of every single day, but he would never wish for her to come here. She needs to live her life. She needs to grow old and carry bags around her beautiful copper eyes that he has fallen into so many times.  Her tender auburn hair needs to take on the new hue of grey, and feel brittle at the touch. Her silky ivory skin needs to wrinkle and grow old with spots. She needs to live her life to the fullest and enjoy every single second of it, not spending any precious time grieving him.

He did not know how valuable life was. Not till it was too late. His life had shattered into microscopic pieces that had no chance of recovering. Although, it is not too late for her. She can still fulfill her dreams. She can still become everything she wants to be. She can find her happiness and sanctuary, and live on to do great things.

He needs her to do that.

It is all he cares about. He doesn't care about what he will be doing with all his eternity. He only cares about hers. Where she would head and how she would do it.

He knows he can’t be with her forever. He knows he’ll have to leave eventually. He can’t be that creepy-stalker-ex-boyfriend. He too, has to move on.

The pain is too much to bear, really—seeing her everyday that is. It reminds him that they can’t be together. They can’t grow old together and bear children together. They’ll never be married. They’ll just be those star-crossed lovers that everyone will pity.

With every passing day, she becomes stronger. And that makes his heart generate heat that he so desperately craves. But part of him—the selfish part, worries that she’ll forget him. That he’ll just become a tragedy that clings to her for the rest of her life. Nothing more, nothing less. That she’ll forget what the had. How real and raw it was.

Although, it is Spencer. She is a complete genius, and forgetting things isn’t something she os known for.

With that, he knows that she knows what day it was.

It isn’t just another Monday.

It isn’t just another date on the calendar.

It holds something.

It means something.

He knows where today would lead her. He knows that she would not end the day without making her visit.

It is funny really. How she goes out of her way each year to pay a visit to him on this very day. If only she knew he made daily visits. He visited her every single day. Never marking an absence. She doesn’t need to visit him. He is with her all time.

Although it always warmed his heart.

He looks forward to the day. It is like his birthday, or Christmas. He counts down the days. He begs for the other 364 days of the year to heighten their speed, so this day could resurrect. It is the only day that really mattered to him now. And it is because of her visit.

She used to come more often. But so much time has passed that he doesn’t blame her for cutting down her visits.

The first year, she was there a lot. Almost every day. If she had gone a week without visiting it would shock the people around her. She made it a big part of her life. And it burned him. It made his heart swell to hear everything she told him. Every tear that descended from her lovely brown eyes made his heart shatter.

The next year, she made less frequent visits. She came about once a month, more during the holidays than anything.

The year after that, her visits almost stopped completely. She was trying to cease the pain. She didn’t want to dig it up inside her. It had been three years of pure despair. She needed to move on. She needed it to stop hurting. She only visited him three times that year.

The years that followed were inconsistent. Some years, she make numerous visits. Some years she would only show up once. The past couple years have actually been like that. Each time she tells him that she’ll promise to be back the next year. She won’t forget him. Even if she could, she wouldn’t want to.

He believes that.

That she’ll come back.

She always does.

She keeps her promises.

She always has.

It is 7PM when she shows up. She is wearing a grey pea coat and a purple scarf, her hair is arranged into perfect curls and she looks as beautiful as ever. In her hand is a bouquet of white roses. She looks tired—sad. And it wasn’t like he expected her to joyfully stroll in here. It is sort of a depressing place. Sobs occur on a daily basis. But the way she walks. The way she holds herself. He hasn’t seen her like this in awhile when visiting him.

She is a little awkward at first, like she always is at the beginning of the meet. She doesn’t do anything. She doesn’t speak, or put the flowers down. She just stares.

Her copper eyes soon begin to gather with dew, and this is when she makes her move. She carefully sets the flowers down as she kneels down to talk.

“…Hi.” She announces strangely.

Whenever she visits, he always talks back. He knows she cannot hear him, but it is the closest to a conversation he can have with her. It is the closest he feels with her throughout the whole entire year. This is the only time of the year where he feels the connection. Sure, he is with her every single day of the year, but this is the only time he really feels like he is with her.

“Hi” he greets back. It is always weird to hear his voice after such a long time of holding it inside.

“I know I haven’t really been around this year…but I’m here now” she professes, her voice shallow and glum. “A lot has happened this year,” she pipes up, her voice becoming more confident and preppy. “I’m an aunt! Jason has a daughter. Her name is Sandy. And I know you don’t know Ashleigh, but she looks exactly like her. It’s crazy. She has these bright green eyes, and these chubby cheeks, and she might just be the most adorable baby I have ever seen.”

He already knew that though. He didn’t doubt that he would know all the news she would tell him. He always did. But he didn’t really care, just hearing her speak to him. Just hearing her vocal chords orchestrate sound for him, it was absolutely wonderful.

“But that isn’t the biggest news of the year…I’m actually engaged,” she doesn’t say it with enthusiasm, like any other normal woman would do. She says it in a small, tiny, voice, hollow of any kind of emotion.

He already knew this too, but his heart can’t help but sting a little at the words. Of course, he is happy for her. He wants her to move on. He wants her to find love—new love. He just wishes he could move on too.

“I’ve told you about him before… Connor O’Neal. Don’t you think Spencer O’Neal sounds horrible? I think so too. I’m sticking with my own last name, even though it does tie me with that dysfunctional family of mine forever.”

Toby can’t help but smile. He remembers a time with Spencer, where she told him how well their names harmonized. Spencer Cavanaugh, Tobias Hastings, as she put it. Probably just to annoy him, considering she knew how much he hated it.

Maybe that was a hint.

She becomes quiet, so he takes the opportunity to talk.

“I’m happy for you, Spencer.” His voice is shallow, and hoarse. And he can’t say he is confused, or surprised by this. Not using your vocal chords for a year, will do that to you.

“Look, Toby. If you can hear me—if you know what is going on. I just want to say that this isn’t me, forgetting about you.”

Her gaze focuses on the engraving on the tomb stone. Tobias P. Cavanaugh. Son, Brother, and friend.

It always annoys him how “brother” is on there.

“You will always be in my heart,” her voice cracks a little and it felt like a chain saw had dragged through his heart. “And I will forever love you” she goes on, a single tear riding slowly off her cheek. “I’m not replacing you, I could never replace you. I—Just” she looks away.

Toby wants so badly to speak back, for her to hear him in telling her that it is okay. But he knows it was no use. He knows his words would fall through her, forever unheard.

“I found someone who I love,” she sort of shrugs, looking helpless. “Someone who loves me.”

With that statement, he finally feels like he can somewhat let go. He isn’t sure why. Maybe it is because he has always needed someone to fill the job that was taken away from him.

He knows surely enough that Spencer can take care of herself. She is strong, smart, independent, and ruthless. She doesn’t need someone to tuck her in at night and play dream catcher.

But she is not invincible.

Like every human being, she has her breaking points. She has her days where she needs someone. Someone to hold her, and heal her with touch. Someone to sow her open wombs with caring words and promises to always love her.

And it looks like she has finally found someone to fill the job in his absence.

“I know that more years have passed by, then we have actually spent together, but I will never move on. I can’t. I don’t want to.” Her voice returns. “I know my visits aren’t consistent, I know I’m barely here, but you, you are always in my heart. Always on my mind… It’s the little things you know? Like scrabble, and rocking chairs, and beige trucks. They bring back the memories. And as much as it hurts,” her voice swells. “I’m glad.”

“Because forgetting you…forgetting us. It would be way more painful than remembering. And I can’t lie, that there are days that I hardly remember. We were so young, and it was such a long time ago. At that time, I didn’t think I would have to keep those memories on lock down. I thought there would be more! And that—that is what sucks the most. You know? That there isn’t more…because even if we only spent a couple of years together…those years, those years will always be my fondest memories, with you, Toby Cavanaugh.”

She found herself starring at the house, picturing the woman planting in her garden with a straw hat on, always a luminous smile on her face. It was so weird—how that picture would never come to greet her eyes again. She only had the memory.

Suddenly the door erupted open, a teenager—her son, coming out of the house. Spencer immediately looks away, and continues her way down the path leading to the sidewalk. But she was curious. She had to get a glimpse of him.

He looked sad—but that was to be expected.

He was a year older than her so she didn’t know much about him. He had gone to Rosewood Middle School, and Elementary, but Spencer had never made the attempt to get to know him. He wasn’t very popular—he had a good amount of friends, but he wasn’t in her circle—not nearly. All she knew was what Alison said about him. A few weeks or so ago, a new hate for him churned up in her, and since then she couldn’t stop talking about him.

He sees her looking.

She darts her eyes away, moving faster now, trying to decide if she should say anything. She doesn’t even know him and she doubts an apology from her would make him feel any better. But he caught her staring…she should.

She looks back up at him and he catches her eye again. She begins to walk towards him, pushing her shoulders back in a presentable matter.

“Um…hi.”

He blinks.

 “Hi” he mumbles.

She takes in a sharp breath through her nose, suddenly regretting coming over here. He probably was getting tons of sympathy from people who had never spoken to him before, acting as if they really cared—and here she was doing the same.

“Um,” she starts.

He glances at her, but his eyes are quickly to go astray.

“I was just dropping off Emily’s books, and I saw you, and Um… I just thought I would do the cliché thing, and apologize...”

He looks at her now, more focused than he was before. Something in his face changes—shifts slightly to something obscure.

“I um, know we aren’t really friends…you probably don’t even know who I am, but…I’m really sorry.”

She should have known this would happen.