A/N: Another one-shot written for you after 1:00 in the morning. I don't even know how I'm inspired to put this all down on paper, let alone be coherent, haha.
Disclaimer: Not real or intentional, (I absolutely love Toby/Keegan and Spoby and that won't ever change!) not mine.
Hope you enjoy :) and sorry in advance if there's any proofing errors I might not have caught.
shattered
-Spoby-
You're used to hiding your emotions from everyone around you. You never cry, never break down and never show the slightest bit of weakness. Your parents don't approve of such a thing and because you're an intelligent, obedient young daughter you always do what your parents tell you (even if it's wrong). You never question anything, or at least you didn't until you met him.
He's Toby and he's misunderstood. The guy the whole town labeled as responsible for killing your best friend. The sweet, shy, rebel without a cause. The only guy who can make you smile. Your boyfriend.
Or as your dad, "Peter," calls him "the troublemaker who keeps pulling you away from your schoolwork," the distraction. The kid who has no future ahead of him and therefore is not worthy of you. The one who's not good enough.
The one…
The one no matter what anyone says you're irrevocably in love with. The only one who gets you and lets you be who you really are. The boy who has completely stolen your heart and rightfully so. The sole person you can imagine spending forever with.
Or rather the sole person you imagined spending forever with up until a few days ago.
But of course that was before the biggest bombshell of your life went off. Before you found out who A was and before Mona as A tried to kill you for it. Before you discovered that Mona as A (or the crazed psychopath as you now call her) is, was, and for the rest of eternity will be responsible for stealing the best thing to ever happen to you.
Toby.
Your Toby.
Your boyfriend.
Your love.
Your…
Your skull begins to throb and you press your left hand to it stressed. There's still a bandaged wrapped around your palm from where your hand got cut helping Hanna save Jenna from the fire and a few scratches beneath it to indicate where your skin is still dry and itchy. Your eyes hurt too—they pulsate uncontrollably—but tears don't fall down your cheeks and you don't cry. You can't cry. You just can't.
No matter what the situation it's not acceptable and you don't want your parents lecturing you about it. You've had enough of them already, especially your dad, and you're fed up with the way he never even bothered to say he's sorry about Toby. You…
You leave the room to go sit on the back porch alone. You want your space so you can think, possibly shed a tear or two, or just grab some fresh air from inside the stuffy house. You hear the door swing open then slam behind you and you're almost tempted to swivel your head around to see if it's your mom or dad. But unfortunately enough for you, you know better, you know where you stand and where your mom and dad stand when it comes to paying attention to you (the time when you ran away at age seven sticks out clearly in your mind). So you don't turn around, you don't move, you don't do anything.
You don't even respond when you hear your name being called by your friends—the only other people in the world who realize you're not totally impossible to crack—your real family. The people who really love you and never judge you. The…
(You can't keep your feelings bottled up, Spence…
He'd want you to be happy…
He'd want you to move on…)
The ones who know you so well. Hanna, Aria, and Emily, otherwise referred to as your lifeline, the ones who keep you going. Your sisters.
And right now as much as you love them and appreciate them actually being a part of the scant few who actually support you, you wish they'd just respect your wishes and let you grieve by yourself. You wish they'd understand how hard this was for you.
(Even with your perfect 4.0 GPA, it doesn't really occur to you that they do, they do much more than you think)
They realize what you're going through in more means than they know how to express.
And maybe that's just your problem. Not just yours, but all four of yours. Maybe you're all so used to keeping what you're feeling bottled up that you don't have the right words when the right words are needed. And maybe you're all so used to putting up a good front and pretending not to be scared of A that you've let yourselves forget what it's truly like to let go and spill forth all your emotions. Maybe you're all so used to not letting yourselves be human.
But that's just the thing, you are human. You're not made of glass, and you don't always have to be the strong one(s). You're allowed to feel, even if you might not want to.
And so you take one look around your small group and nod, their words ringing in your head. You close your eyes and when you open them again, you stop trying to hide behind your tough exterior and you let yourself cry.