A/N:
Just a small rambling around the episode Magnum Opus (Season 8 Episode 13)
"I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, did I know who I really was."
― Sade Andria Zabala
She was gone. For good. He hadn't even had a chance to touch her, to hold her in his arms. Not once. Zugzwang. The idea that either you will inevitably be stuck in check-mate, or the point in a game where it might be for the best not to do anything. He regretted not doing anything. To allow his life to pass by him, even after discovering the amazing person that had been Maeve. All he wanted was to be loved, to be kissed by her wise lips. But that had been taken away from him. Taken away forever.
He felt the cold tiles of his bathroom floor against his back as he lied there still. How long it had been, he was unsure of. He heard Garcia come and go, knock and beg for his attention. The phones in his apartment ringing over and over, but he blocked it out. Sitting on the floor in the darkness by himself was the only thing stopping him from going crazy. What now, he thought to himself. He wanted to be curled up in Maeve's embrace. That was the only thing that seemed to be on his mind. The one thing he could never have.
He looked at the small vial in his hand. The substance so clear and see-through. He was going to regret calling that dealer. He was going to regret the reminder of how easy it was to obtain his poison. How many years had it been? Too many, yet not enough all at once, he thought. He put the needle into the top of the bottle, flipped the bottle upside down, as he extracted a small amount into the syringe. He pulled it out carefully, and made sure there was no air trapped, before he uncovered his pale, thin arm. He grabbed a belt from a pile of dirty clothes that had been on the floor for more days than he wanted to remember. He tightened it around his arm, bit into the leather to keep it tight, as he injected the needle into the most beautiful, peaceful vein he could see in his arm.
The rush felt incredible. The cold liquid entering his blood stream, shooting ice down his spine, before he felt his eyes roll back in his head. He laid his head down on the floor, the cold tiles cooling his sweaty cheek. The release, all the tension built up, finally pouring out of his system in the shape of drops of blood and sweat. He had always been incapable of dealing with his issues in healthy manors, and in this moment, it didn't bother him for once.
The sound of knocking on the door brought him back to consciousness. His head was thumping as he came down from his sedated high. He carefully stood up, supporting his weight on the bathtub, and pulled his robe back on.
"Please knock twice if you are still alive" Garcia's voice sounded through his front door. He slowly walked into his living room, towards the front door, knocked twice, before sliding down along the door. He could hear his friends in the hallway taking a breath of relief. This is what he does to people; He worries them, destroys them. Because of him, Maeve was dead. He made a wrong decision, a wrongful step, and now the love of his life was dead. And here he was, sitting against the front door, listening to his friends begging for him to still be alive. At what cost? He did nothing but hurt them. Worry them. He was a mistake; he was a failure. His mother was too sick to notice his absence, and he never saw her anymore. He avoided visiting her as much as possible, so his life energy made no difference in her life. At this point, what even was the point to life? His friends were pretty much just waiting for him to disappear. Going through with it, would bring peace to all parties involved. His front was all a mask. Maeve had made it feel like it was no longer a mask being kept in place, but now his mask was destroyed. The little he had left, ripped to shreds.
All he had ever wanted was for someone to love him. To care for him. The way everyone else seems to have someone. Yet here he was; wasted that one shot he had. Now all alone again. He was made to be alone. For someone to smother him in love; smother him in care and kindness; that was all he had ever wanted. Ever needed. But no. His father had known so many years ago, what now became clearer. He was a self-destructive time bomb, ticking to explode and self-implode, and take down everything and everyone within close proximity.
He had allowed himself to have high hopes. To have hope for a future, a future with Maeve, where they could grow old together. Maybe even have a couple of kids that looked like them. Spencer broke down in tears, hit his head against the solid front door. A sharp pain shot through his neck. Crying was now his most common activity. His walls being gradually rebuilt, his mind filled with images of destruction. The only time he felt content was when he was broken down in tears, broken enough to allow himself to fail everyone, himself included. When he is low enough to allow Dilaudid into his system. He had his love, then lost it just like that; lost her. He crossed so many bridges to get to where they were, so many fights with himself, only for those bridges to be burned and destroyed; the battles to be overshadowed by the fog of hatred that now filled his brain.
Loving someone is easy; being in love with someone means seeing flaws, and accepting them. Including your own. He fought so many battles with himself to allow himself to fall for Maeve – to accept that she could love him back. He was finally ready to accept himself, see himself as enough. But then she was ripped from this world; and so that was the final proof he needed. The proof of his irrelevance. The lights leaving her eyes was the last drop. Now all he could do was stare at the wall, emptiness filling his heart. He was no one, and deserved to remain no one.
He knew life had to go on. But for now, destruction was all he wanted. He knew it didn't suit him; but self-control was never one of his strong suits. He knew allowing life to crash would not solve anything, but for now it had to do. Knowing he would have to spent another night without Maeve next to him used to be okay, but now; knowing there would never be a change in that, he no longer carried hope for a change, and so being emotional and self-destructive felt like the only way. He saw no reason why not to be emotional. When Emily supposedly passed away, he had kept up his sobriety. He had done everything right. He reached out for help. But it solved nothing. It just made the days feel a little shorter. While self-destruction removed the days completely. They made him forget about existence in the first place. Sobriety felt overrated. What is sobriety in a world filled with suffering; when being sober only forces you to face all these painful emotions in the first place. Drugs allowed a slight breathing space; a break from reality. Even if just temporarily, it felt better than nothing until Spencer felt ready to face daylight again. And he would be ready; eventually. Just not right now.