Summary: The world is coming down all around, oh, here it comes. Maybe the truth is she missed the red flags and flares. (Spashley)
I don't own a damn thing, and if I claimed I did, I might be lynched. Ha.
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"So Spencer," the middle-aged man spoke, "tell me why you're here."
"My best friend--my girlfriend, disappeared three years ago this month," Spencer stated. "My mother says I need to be here to get over it; over her. But I'm here to work through my grief," the blonde said with a sad smile.
"I understand, Spencer. Tell me about your friend."
"Ashley...Ashley was beautiful. She was just stunningly gorgeous. Ashley was the sweetest person I'd ever met. She'd do little things like bring me a peach Propel every time she came over because she knew it was my favorite. She made me mix cds every Saturday. She'd even pick up my dumb ass brother when he was too drunk to drive," Spencer said with a laugh. "Tom Petty was God to her. She loved Porsches...she even tried to buy one for me once. There's really so much to tell, Dr. Foster, but basically Ashley was my everything."
"She sounds wonderful, Spencer," the man said.
"She was, Dr. Foster."
"Do you mind telling me about her disappearance?"
Spencer sported a sad smile and looked to the floor as she tried to think of just what to say. "We had a fight. A big one. When I couldn't track her down for two days, I reported her missing. Her sister, Kyla, was in Baltimore visiting her mother and Ashley's mom...well, Christine wasn't really around. But the day after I reported it, her car was found at Marina Del Rey--where Ashley kept her dad's yacht. Two days later, the Coast Guard found the yacht about sixty miles off the coast. Investigators found two empty champagne bottles. Her cell phone and wallet were on the nightstand. The official report stated that in her drunken stupor, she must have fallen overboard."
"I remember reading about the incident," Dr. Foster informed Spencer. "How are you now?"
"I've been having nightmares for about six months. Terrifying, horrible nightmares that occur maybe three times a week."
Dr. Foster nodded and asked, "could you describe these nightmares?"
"They're a bit difficult to explain," Spencer replied, "but I'll try. It's like I never fell asleep, but I know that I did. They're so real, so vivid. I'll be somewhere, like in my house or sometimes even my bed. I'll tell you about my most recent ones. In the last one, I'm asleep in my bed, but I'm awoken by someone walking through my room. It grew closer and closer to me and suddenly, I realized I was dreaming. I kept trying to move but it felt like my muscles were stretching beyond their capability. The figure finally made its way to me and as it was about to touch me, I woke up.
"I'll be covered in sweat, my body will ache and I'll be completely terrified because I still believe that it's happening. In the one before that, I was at a friend's house. When I left, I decided to walk home. On my way, I turned around to see a man charging at me. It seems like I'm always being attacked somehow," Spencer finished.
"Spencer, I've dealt with this many times," he said. "You're suffering from sleep paralysis. This happens when the mind wakes before the body. It's fairly common. I've studied nightmares for years. It's a very debated science, but fairly accurate. In most cases, dreams of being attacked translate to acceptance. I had a patient once who came to me about nightmares of being assaulted. As soon as that patient accepted their homosexuality, the nightmares ceased. In your case, it could be the acceptance of a loved one's death."
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As Spencer grabbed her groceries from her car, her mother's silver SUV pulled into the driveway. 'Great,' she thought.
"Spence, honey, do you need some help?"
"Sure, mom," she replied unenthusiastically.
"How was your appointment with Dr. Foster?" Paula asked.
"It was...very informative," Spencer replied as she pushed her key into the front door's lock. "He's a nice man, mother."
Paula followed her daughter into the kitchen and set the groceries onto the marble counter. "Honey, maybe it's time you sell this house. Ashley left you so much money, you could always find another pla--"
"Mom," Spencer interjected. "For the eightieth time, I'm not selling this house. Ashley loved this house."
"I know, Spencer, but part of moving on is moving away from the things that remind you the most."
Spencer sighed. She felt as if she'd had this conversation with her a mother a thousand times. Ashley did love this beach house. She loved to sit on the back balcony and watch the ocean. She loved to sit in her studio and write for hours. Spencer felt as though she had to protect that.
"Have you ever considered that maybe I'm not ready to move on?" Spencer asked her mother as she tucked vegetables into their appropriate drawers in her stainless steel fridge.
"Spencer, honey, it's been three years. Ashley Davies is dead," her mother replied.
"They never recovered a body."
"It's the ocean, Spencer! There are so many things that could have happened!" Paula cried. "She's gone, Spence."
"I think you should leave," Spencer said with her back turned.
"No, I will not leave. Not until I know you're going to begin taking the steps to get over that girl," her mother replied.
"Mom," Spencer said calmly, "Ashley was the love of my life. She was so fucking beautiful, so fucking amazing; my everything. I've tried dating, you know I have. But tell me, if dad died, how quickly would you move on? Oh, wait, don't bother answering that. How is Ben, by the way?"
It wasn't long before a perfectly manicured hand made contact with Spencer's face. "Spencer Madeleine Carlin, don't you ever speak to me that way again!" Paula yelled.
"Mom, did you know that Ashley's Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers and Purple Venom record collection was missing when she disappeared? Ashley fucking cherished those albums. They weren't on the yacht, not at her mother's house, not with Kyla, in fact, no one seems to know the hell they went to. Did you know when I came here looking for her after our fight, that there was a cd on the bed with only one song on it? No, because you've never bothered to ask!" Spencer yelled back.
Paula stood there, feigning indifference. "What does that matter, Spencer?"
"Those albums vanished. Ashley did something with them. And that cd, the song on it was Tom Petty's 'American Girl.' Go home and listen to that song, mother. And also, Ash left me everything. She'd come into her twenty-five million dollar inheritance over a year before her disappearance, but when it came to me, there was only ten million left. Her lawyers believe she blew it all. But fifteen million dollars in a year? I think I would have noticed," Spencer said quickly.
"Spencer, Ashley's gone. She's not coming back, it's time to get those hopeful thoughts out of your head and move on," Paula responded.
"No. I owe her this. I drove her to that yacht," Spencer said crying. She slid down to the floor and as she pulled her knees to her chest, she stated, "mom, it's just so fucking hard. I loved her so much."