A/N This story is just a short oneshot of something I've been meaning to release for a while. Everyone needs a little purging to bring relief.

Disclaimer I don't own Pretty Little Liars

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." John Donne.

It's sickening to think of how Spencer had spiraled so furiously down the path of absolute personal destruction. But who was she to blame? The love of her life, the keeper of her innocence who once whispered to her words of love and compassion, was dead. And it was her fault. Or that's what it felt like.

Her nights spent at Radley Sanitarium had started out quiet. Spencer was quiet. Even she admitted to not feeling like herself. The woman she was had seemed to die along with Toby, and with her guilt came destruction. It was as if she had been attacked by her own dementor, she had lost all ability to feel happy; be happy. It was becoming harder and harder for Spencer to perform her daily routine. Nurses and psychologists came and went, and she did what she could to fool the caretakers into believing she did indeed swallow her pills and clear her plate at every meal.

The bars on her window dehumanized Spencer, making her feel almost as if she became somewhat of a zoo display. She was no longer the independent, intelligent young woman, but a woman scorned and dulled.

A crisp Sunday afternoon, as Spencer stared blankly at Gregory, the old male patient while they "played" checkers, she was informed that she had a visitor.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Spencer replied dryly, not bothering to look at the nurse before her. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively to the old man and took her turn moving a game piece across the board.

The nurse sighed patiently and made his best attempt to smile. "His name is Andrew. He said you know him, and his name is on the visitor's list."

"Andrew? Nope, doesn't ring a bell." She sneered. "Checkmate."

"Okay, come on." Spencer was then coaxed out of her seat with many a hesitation. Her nurse escorted her over to her door and led her inside the room to her bed. "Sit down. I'll send him in."

Spencer mimicked the man from her spot on the bed where she began biting her grimy nails, making sure to spit one of them his way before he exited.

Moments later, Andrew entered the room after giving a sheepish knock.

"Afternoon, sir." She greeted him in a mock proper tone.

"Hey," he smiled nervously.

Spencer rose onto her feet and walked over to her desk, her cheap slippers scraping loudly against the concrete floor with each step. The metal chair whistled harshly as she dragged it along to where her friend stood.

"Sit," she commanded.

Andrew complied and proceeded to sit down. He waited until Spencer had retreated to her bed before he opened his knapsack.

The book he retrieved had a familiar picture on the cover. It took Spencer a minute to remember where she had seen the book before. It was a large book of poems by John Donne. A chill ran down her spine as she realized who used to carry it; Toby. He used to bring the book and others over, and they would lounge on the floor of the barn while he read to her. As soon as she remembered, Spencer could almost feel the warmth of the natural sunlight that poured on the pair of them as he recited from the poems.

"He's my favorite poet." Andrew spoke, pulling her out of her reverie.

"Yeah," she replied weakly.

"The nurses told me you've been feeling pretty awful lately, and that you were talking about the idea of suicide."

Spencer scoffed. "You're a little brave to bring that up, aren't ya? I know why you're here."

He gazed up at her inquisitively and she explained. "This is the part where you tell me that suicide isn't the answer. You read me some cute poem about the meaning of life, an just expect me to go back to normal; back to the old me."

These words confused Andrew even more, but nonetheless, he was prepared to stand his ground. "I suppose I could. But why take the easy way out, right?"

"I'm not the old Spencer. You're going to have to dig a lot deeper before you strike gold." She whispered.

Andrew sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Lets not do this today, okay? I don't care who you are anymore, and that isn't going to stop me from coming to keep you company."

"I didn't say I wanted any company."

"So that's why your friends haven't stopped by?" He challenged.

"That was a cheap shot,"

"Whatever, Spencer. Like it or not, your friends are still a part of you. You're bigger than you think. Whoever you think left you, is still connected to your friends."

Spencer's eyes twitched at his comments. She didn't need to be torn down. "Just read your fucking love note so you can get out of my sight."

"So you are interested?" He teased. Andrew caught her glare and opened the book, clearing his throat. Spencer mumbled something of a response, but was too quiet for it to be worth anything so she sat back against her freshly fluffed pillow.

"Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows it not tolls for him," Andrew began in a calming tone.

Again, these words pierced the young woman's ears, reminding her of how Toby would read.

"... And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me and see my state may have caused it to toll for me."

"And I know that." Spencer whispered, finishing the stanza. When Andrew looked at her with a seemingly perplexed gaze, she shrugged. "My ex used to read this one to me. It was my favorite."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He responded. "I can stop, if it upsets you-"

"No!" Spencer interrupted. Her guard was slowly beginning to crack and weaken. "Keep going. I have to move on somehow."

As he read through the entire poem, Spencer was forced to remember the good times she had gotten with Toby, before he had to go and break her heart. Until he had to break her; and she was shattered, into a million little pieces.

But now wasn't the time for her to cry, or to purge her thoughts and inner battles. Not with Andrew. It pained her to think that she may be leading him along by letting him in. It also scared her that he was so willing to jump in and take the place of who she once called the love of her life, the man for whom she wanted to bear children. No one could replace Toby. He was hers; always had been and always would be.

As Andrew neared the end of the piece, she listened intently. Sighing when he was finished, she laid her hands in her lap, picking nervously at her fingernails.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He nodded. "It was my pleasure. It's my favorite, too."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, taking the poem in.

'No man is an island, entire of itself,' Spencer pondered silently. She let the words speak to her. They reflected heavily on what Andrew had told her about her friends, and it killed her to think of how much she had hurt them. And they hurt her. They could come and visit. Yes, it might pose as dangerous, but it would be worth it to her just to know they cared.

In a lot of ways, Spencer was that island. She and Aria, Hanna, and Emily were all apart of that island. As were Paige and Caleb, Jason too. Toby was a part of her island, her personal, private island. And even though he was gone, even if he wasn't with her physically, he would always be part of that island. She'd never let him or his memory go.

"Hey," Andrew reached for her wrist. She jumped and looked up at him. "No one's ever gone. They're just waiting to be with you eternally. And that's nothing to shorten your own life over. Don't make something worse or let it go if your hope still stands."

He left quickly and quietly, but he purposely forgot something. The book stayed stationary on the cold metal desk chair by Spencer's bed.

That night, she was able to sleep for the first night in days. She had gone to bed with a little more hope than before, and it eased her mind tremendously.

Fin.

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