marta and rose requested this. bye.
10
They meet at some art benefit.
She only went to support her friend; she never expected to meet someone.
He has only a few photographs out—all of landscape, mostly the beach, some of mountains. He tells her that whenever he looks outside, he sees beauty. He takes pictures of everything, not just landscapes.
He takes a picture of her, and she feels silly doing it. She doesn't know what face to make, so she just offers up a small smile, hoping he finds some beauty in her too.
She admires him. What a quality to have—to see beauty in everything. She is the opposite; she is pulled into the awfulness of the world, rather than the goodness. She lives in the dark, while he wanders in light.
He's charismatic and passionate. His eyes light up when he talks about photography—all the compositions and contrasts. She envies his passion. She wishes that she had something that she could talk so earnestly about that her eyes shine and sparkle, when she spoke.
But she is more realistic than him, she knows how dreams work. She knows how the world is—dark and hollow, waiting to take you in and submerge you in its darkness.
He tells her his name. It's Toby. Toby Cavanaugh.
The name sounds familiar to her for some reason, but she doesn't ask if he has any relatives that belong to her hometown. She just replies with her own name, not wanting the town where she grew up bring its darkness into the conversation.
He gives her his number, and she does the same.
There is something different about this Toby Cavanaugh that she cannot fully understand, but she will.
9
They go on their first date. It is at some tiny restaurant on the edge of town. Next to it is a dingy motel. Toby recommended it.
He orders lamb and she orders salmon. He tells her he hates fish, and she tells him she has never tried lamb. When he lets her take a piece, she hates it.
They don't order anything for desert, and Spencer is sure the date is over, but Toby takes the wrong way. They are going somewhere else.
"Where are we going?" the woman asks, curious and a little nervous. She doesn't know him so well, and if it were anyone else, she would be having a full on panic attack, but for some reason she trusts him. She feels safe around him, even after just knowing him for a little while.
"I'm going to show you the spot where I took most of those beach pictures, if that is okay with you?" the man replies.
"That is definitely okay with me," a smile blossoms on her face.
"Good, that's what I was hoping you'd say."
It isn't much time before they arrive at the beach. The sun has already gone way, and the air is cold, but Spencer can't complain.
He has taken out his camera now, and is pointing it at her. She covers her face quickly, yelling at him to quit it. Normally, she wouldn't feel so comfortable being playful with someone she just met a few days prior, but as she said before, Toby's different.
He laughs. He has a cute laugh. A laugh that belongs to a child who still believes the world is full of magic and fairy tales. It makes her smile broaden to hear it.
"Please, come on, just one."
She sighs, pulling her hands away from her face. He is standing there, camera in front of his face, waiting for her to make a pose.
"What do you want me to do?" asks the woman.
"Just stand there. You don't have to do anything."
He takes the picture, and as he promised, he keeps the camera off of her the rest of the night. Instead he takes pictures of the beach and the water, reflecting the light of the moon, in the distance.
At one point, they are just sitting on the beach. Their fingers almost touching, but not quite. She wants to lean into him, feel his heartbeat, remember the patterns and rhythms of his breath, but is too much for a first date, so she keeps still—staring into the ocean.
He asks her a question that throws her off a little. He asks if she has ever been in love.
It feels like she has, like in another life or something, as crazy as that is. She doesn't know what it is, but something deep inside her says yes, but her lips release, "no."
She asks him if he has, and he tells her the same answer she gave him, but then he adds something else, "I guess I'm just waiting for the right person." He is looking at her now, his eyes staring into hers with full intensity.
Spencer smiles to herself, shifting her face to the side, so he won't be able to see her. She feels her stomach filling up with butterflies and her cheeks glowing red. He makes her feel—giddy. She thought she lost that emotion a long time ago, but apparently it was just hiding, waiting for the right person to seek it.
Their night ends with a kiss. A magical kiss that lifts her off her feet and soars her to sky. The kiss is warm and gentle, and he taste like lamb, but it doesn't matter to her, because the way he feels against her is perfect. And nothing could break that perfection.
8
It's official. They are dating.
It takes three dates, and eight late night phone calls, to declare them an item.
Toby is the one who offered up the question. He asked her to come along to lunch with his mother, and that's when the question of whether or not he could introduce her as his girlfriend, or not, popped up. I would be insulted if you introduced me as anything else...boyfriend, she replied.
They meet his mother at some small lunch café, one that offers Panini and fancy sandwiches. It reminds Spencer of the cafes in France that her family would eat at. Except, less European, and more Americanized.
They wait for his mother to show up, their feet dancing and tangling under the table, and their voices attending in quiet, sweet, small talk. She is nervous, but Toby tells her she shouldn't be. And for some reason, that stifles her nerves.
Her mother finally arrives, and greets her son with a kiss and hug. She is pretty. Still young and vibrant, full of life. Her eyes match her son's, and her hair is light. Her smile is bright, and face, hollow. She looks like she is full of warmth and love.
Her name is Marion, but Spencer already knew that. She is a nurse,a part time Gardner, and a full time mother, when she tells her that, she pinches Toby's cheeks, making him blush. Spencer can't help but laugh, eyeing him with admiration.
She tells her everything she wants to know. Where she grew up, what she is in school for, things about her family. It is all just facts. She doesn't get too personal, and Spencer is thankful. She wouldn't know what to say if she asked anything too serious, considering she is still lost amongst the world.
When they get up to go, and Marion and Toby think Spencer's ears are off duty, she hears his mother say something that makes her smile go wide. When you two have kids, please at least name one of them after me. You owe it to me, I gave birth to you—was in labor for eighteen hours. Toby stopped her there, hushing her, and bringing her in for a hug.
7
"I think I'm falling for you."
He says it to her after the credits of Prisoners roll in. He says it in a warm, soft, voice that only tickles her eardrum. She doesn't respond at first, she just looks away, and lets him kiss her temple.
When they are walking out of the movie theater, and the cold, harsh, December air rushes against them, she tells she loves him back.
"I didn't say it before because I was a little annoyed you said it before me," she tells him as they arrive at her car.
He gives her a look of incredulity, smiling, but shaking his head all at the same time.
She lets herself laugh, and although it is cold, she steps towards him rather than taking a step to open her car door. She presses her hands to his chest, and offers a timid smile, "you aren't going to take it back are you?"
"If I took it back, then you would win, wouldn't you? That's what you want, right?"
She shakes her head a little, still smiling, "some things are more important than winning."
"Well, good. Because I wasn't going to take it back anyways."
"Good," her eyes sparkle.
"Good," repeats the man.
Their lips fall into a kiss, and Spencer can practically feel herself falling deeper and deeper into him. She can feel her layers peel away, the walls she built crumble—down to nothing but pebbles. Normally it would alarm her—someone getting so close to her, but it doesn't with Toby. She wants him closer. She wants him to know her like no one has ever known her before.
6
He asked her if she was sure, and yes, yes she was.
She laughs a little as he picks her up, his hands brushing against the bare skin on her back that is exposed, due to her shirt riding up. She smiles and laughs and giggles into his lips that carve ever so perfectly into her own. She feels placid, but on fire. Content, but riding the winds of a tornado. Safe, but tip toeing on the edge of danger.
He lets her tumble on the bed, their lips parting, and eyes locking. When she looks at him, she feels like nothing could ever hurt her—nothing would ever want to hurt her, because no one could posses the darkness that drives people to hurt others. How could there possibly be darkness in the world, when love exists? Love is what beats darkness and brings out the light. It is everywhere, with everyone, it just needs to be found, and once it is—all is light. All is pure. Darkness is no more.
Both begin to laugh. It is a soft laugh, and one that arrives not by humor, but by something else entirely—just pure happiness. He pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, and she takes in a deep breath. This is it.
She brushes her hands against the hem of his shirt, toying it with it at first. He shakes his head, and on her face, arrives a teasing smile.
The shirt slips off smoothly, and the area beneath her fingertips is replaced with skin—hot, golden, skin. He is so strong, so muscular. His arms are big, and his chest hard. She presses her lips to his shoulder, dragging them down to his chest. For a moment, he just stands at a halt, letting her do what she wants, but then he is pushing her shoulders back, making her fall to her back, so he can join her on the
He hovers over her, a luster sparkling in his eyes. She breaks the distance between them, her fingers curling over his neck, and bringing him into her. Their noses brush against each other before their lips do. She feels his breath, and remembers their first date—when she wanted to remember the patterns at which he breathed. She wasn't close enough to him then, but now she is, and that makes her smile into the kiss.
His lips only meet hers for a moment before they are on her neck, making her eyes close, and her lips moan, ever so softly.
He unbuttons her blouse, his lips dragging across her chest and down to stomach. She can't take it anymore. She tugs on his sandy colored hair, bringing him up and to her lips.
Her legs hold him on top of her, wrapping around the back of his torso. She wants all the barrios between them to be gone. She needs them to be gone.
She parts, breathing hard, and the fiery in her eyes—the hunger and lust, matches his own.
Enough foreplay.
5
Spencer's friend stops by today. She hasn't seen her in awhile. She looks good. Well. Taller, even.
She asks how she is doing, and Spencer replies with "fantastic."
She hasn't been fantastic in awhile. Awhile ago she had been sucked into the darkness, but now she has found light.
Her friend looks shocked with the answer.
"What's wrong? Am I not allowed to be fantastic?" Spencer asks, partially confused, partially annoyed. Her friends are always going on and on about how she is not well. How she should go to counseling. How they are worried, and now she is fine, and they act like this? Well, Aria at least.
"Nothing Is wrong with it, I just—I'm glad to hear it." She says it with a smile, but it is more like a somber smile. A smile that doesn't quite fit right. She asks her why she is doing so well, and Spencer goes into full detail about the guy she has been dating.
She tells him how wonderful he is—how fantastic everything is. How everything just feels right.
This time, with a real smile, Aria asks, "what did you say his name was again?""
"Toby Cavanaugh."
And when she says the words, Aria's face goes somber.
4
Aria covered up the somberness, saying that she thought she said something else. Spencer didn't think that really made sense, but she let it go. Aria could be weird.
Once their conversation was over, Aria says she wants to go out for ice cream—she found this place, and you just need to check it out, she said. Spencer goes with her, because it is Aria and how could you ever say no to someone who is such a cupcake?
But they don't arrive at an ice cream store; they arrive at a storage unit.
Something's up.
"I thought you were taking me to get icecream?" asks the woman.
"I am—but, I just need to get something. This is on the way, promise."
Spencer is wary, but why would she lie?
"Come with? It will only take a second. It is so creepy in there," she tells her, her hazel eyes pleading.
Spencer rolls her eyes, but goes with her friend.
Spencer stands at the corner of the storage garage, watching her friend, and scanning the contents of the space. All the stuff—looks familiar, in a way. Most of it is boxes, but some of the stuff is out in the open—like an old rocking chair, and a scrabble board that lies on the top of one of the boxes. Those things stick out to her most.
"Here come here for a minute, will you?"
The question is another thing that makes Spencer suspicious of what is going on, but she doesn't question it. She is too disoriented by everything around her. Why does it seem so familiar?
When she walks up to her friend, she moves away a little, so Spencer can stand next to her in front of a box.
It is already open and on the top is a picture. A picture of her and Toby, except it isn't. It can't be because she doesn't remember it happening.
"What is this, Aria?" the words leave her mouth, softly, less stern than she wants them to be.
Below the picture frame is something else, something blue. Something that brings it all back to her, without even having to hold it. Without even having to see the whole thing.
She pushes the picture frame aside, letting the fabric entangle into her hands.
Suddenly she is crying. Bawling.
She feels Aria rubbing her shoulder, but she jerks away. She throws the shirt back down, and moves away from the box. She holds her head, her fingers trembling.
She swallows, trying to breathe, but she can't. She runs from the storage room, it is too much. Aria chases after her, certainly fearful that she'll do some stupid.
She tumbles to the floor, still trembling. Her back presses against the outside of the storage unit. It is cold, but the way she feels inside is a completely different amount of freezing—something so cold that it couldn't be measured.
She doesn't know how long passes, or when Aria decided to sit next to her, but the tears have stopped. She is numb now.
"What's wrong with me? How—how did I?" she grimaces, shaking her head, "I don't understand."
"Me neither."
Her voice is soft, but unsettling. It is pitiful. Spencer hates that.
"I mean," Spencer sniffles, "I read once that schizophrenia can occur when you, you are, you're under…" she swallows, "posttraumatic stress, but…I just…I never thought…" she stops talking, her eyes losing sparkle.
"I can help you. Spencer, you need help. You know you do."
Spencer shakes her head, "I'm fine. I just, I don't know what got into me."
"You're grieving. Grieving something huge."
"He's been dead for almost two years, Aria. I should be done grieving. And this—I mean, deep down I knew that I was being crazy, but crazy-crazy."
"Spencer, you think getting help is the weak thing to do, but you're wrong. You're being weak by not admitting you need help" Aria's voice is warm this time, caring, but it is also stern. It isn't pitiful like before.
Spencer closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath, "fine."
3
They gave her medicine. A lot.
Some of it is for her depression. Some for her anxiety. Some for her hallucinations.
Aria was right. She has been acting weak, but things are going to change. She is going to be strong.
But apparently the drugs aren't strong enough because her hallucination makes an appearance tonight, except this time, she knows he really isn't there. She knows none of this is real, and it is all in her mind.
He is standing in her apartment, looking sad.
"Why haven't you called me, Spencer?" he asks, "I miss you. So much."
Spencer shudders, stepping away from him, feeling her throat tighten.
"You aren't real," she whispers.
He questions her, stepping forward with a concerned gaze. He doesn't understand. He thinks she is acting crazy, and hell yes, she is.
She yells at him to go away—to get out of her brain—to leave her alone, and let her mind rest.
"The real Toby is dead—he died a long time ago, and he isn't coming back!" she screeches at him, closing her eyes, and letting the hot tears roll down her cheeks. "He is dead."
When she opens her eyes, he is gone.
And she breaks down.
2
Spencer stares at Toby and wonders what she has done that was so horrible that she got here. What the hell she did that was so awful that would land her and her boyfriend in chains, in the bottom of some basement, dehydrated and high on drugs.
It is her fault. Toby shouldn't even be here. He should have left rosewood a long time ago. He told her, so many freaking times that the only reason he stays in this hell is because of her. It is all her fault.
She doesn't know how long she has been here, but she can feel it is close to the end. Her wrists—bruised and swollen and bleeding, her throat—dry and hard, her stomach—hollow and hurting; they all tell her it is close to the end.
And Toby…Toby is in worse shape.
He has been in here longer than she has. He is what they lured her down here with.
He has always been her Achilles heel.
His eyes are settled on hers too. Both are too tired to talk—their throats too dry to produce words. So they have just been staring.
But then, Toby speaks.
His voice is almost unrecognizable. So hoarse, and dry. It has lost its warmth, its goodness.
He only says her name, but it seems to take a lot out of him. He keeps his eyes shut for a minute, and then opens them gradually. He shakes head lightly, his eyebrows furrowing a little, "I can't do it anymore."
The words hurt more than anything that has happened to them in the last couple days—however long it has been.
"What?" she breaks out in a whisper.
"I—I can't… this….I didn't want to tell you, but they…they gave me … a lot of…."
He stops again, his eyes closing.
"A lot of what?" she says, feeling tears begin to form. "Toby!" she screeches, desperately.
He looks at her, so desperate—so lost. So hopeless. He doesn't have to say anything else. Whatever they gave him…it doesn't matter. She knows from the look, the desperation that this is the end. This is the end for him, which means this is the end for her.
She lets her tears roll freely.
"Toby…I…I can't lose you….I love you."
"I love you, too."
The words are small…soft…barely spoken, and then his eyes close again. And this time, they stay closed. Never to be seen again.
1
Each day is hard. Each day she has to be strong, and after being weak for so long, it is hard, but she forces herself to be.
Toby may have not survived, but she did. She made it out. She got out. She lived.
And she knows there is a reason for that.
Revenge.
a/n: idk how i feel about this? um... the beginning is very poorly written, sorry i suck. also sorry ! marta and rose made me make him imaginary, but i'm the one who decided to make him dead, and her imaging him, so i guess i just added onto the pain?