Don't tell the GG fans, but I took a break from my multi-chap fic (Relentless Sparks) and put all my pent-up Spoby angst into print. I'm a little peeved with season 4's ability to gloss over season 3's issues and my fave duo has yet to impress me. This is a bit outside of my typical writing style and I hope it doesn't feel too choppy. It will be a three parter, but it isn't very long.
Listen to Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine, The Chain by Ingrid Michaelson, and Clarity by Zedd if you want to hear some of my inspiration on this one. You know the drill-I own nothing.
It wasn't until days later. Emily had made an offhand comment referring to that unbearably panicked moment when she had falsely assumed Spencer's body had been floating lifelessly in the lake instead of Jenna's. The harmful thread of doubt and dejection yanked itself free, dangling perilously in the dimmest corner of her diminishing soul—I wish it had been me.
She froze. That wasn't true. It couldn't be.
So she stuffed it down, stampeded all over it, blared indie music and surrounded herself with as many people as possible. All she needed to do was drown out that malfunctioning voice in her head.
Drown.
Poor word choice.
…
A full array of glossy brochures was arranged in a curving display across her desk. World-class academics, phenomenal student-professor ratios, decorated athletic programs; each pamphlet engaging in a worthless screaming match for bragging rights. This was clearly the work of her mother.
She buried them under bulky textbooks and unused stationary. She purposefully left piles of junk mail and old magazines scattered across the garish spectacle. But late at night, after hours of studying and investigating and studying some more, she felt their spiteful presence from across the room. It didn't matter how tightly she pulled the comforter over her head, the very idea of them was brutally burnt into her conscious and unconscious thoughts.
They disappeared the next day. Her mother was too preoccupied with the Ashley Marin saga to notice.
…
Mona was in Radley. Mona was in Radley, sleeping in her old bed, sitting at that worn desk, eating a cup of pudding. But it had been hers first, right?
Will the circle be unbroken?
Spencer felt a zapping chill feathering down her spine. Toby's loft was always so cold. Everywhere was cold. She couldn't escape it.
Jenna could have died that night. Melissa spoke in veiled riddles and murky threats, then fled to Europe. Hanna's mom could get life in prison if the judge dismissed Mona's confession. Emily was bunking in Ali's old room, her own house still in shambles. Welcome to life in Rosewood.
Toby was moving somewhere in the clouded distance, throwing out a of litany run-on sentences that just dizzied her. When had the room gotten so big? It was like miles stretching into eternity. But that was their story lately—a glacial expanse of space. They weren't fighting…
Yet.
Will the circle be unbroken?
…
"I just want to be alone."
How many times can a person utter the same dull sentence in one day?
The old plan—the one where she was going to drown out that bad little voice—was useless. That unrelenting damaged thread got snagged, torn, and grew uncontrollably. Who was she to stop it? She didn't have that kind of strength anymore. It had taken too much, had required everything, to claw her way out last time. How could she scrape together another ounce of raw willpower?
A miniscule crack had cryptically materialized in the glass face of her watch.
She was alone even when she wasn't alone.
…
They were huddled together in some ridiculously obvious attempt at secrecy. How undignified. She had stumbled upon a bash-on-Spencer party and they hadn't spotted her yet. She waited patiently for her grande drip coffee, contemplating an anonymous retreat and feigned amnesia.
But then Toby happened to glance over Aria's head and catch sight of her from across the room. Sometimes it really sucked to be that short. His baby blues widened dramatically and her cynical hypothesis was easily verified; the inner circle had gathered together in some conniving tête-à-tête. The Brew was really their venue of choice? Public displays of betrayal were so tacky.
A chorus of inadequate pleas swirled around her as four sets of suddenly unfamiliar eyes begged for her to understand.
Friends share secrets. That's what keeps us close.
Until the secret isn't yours to share anymore.
…
Phone—off.
Door—locked.
Even her email went unchecked.
The world had gone very, very quiet. She was finally alone.
And then it went black.
I have the other two parts written already, so drop me a line in that little box below and we'll see about posting more ;)