Spencer's phone blared through his ears as the ringing of a call was followed by the ping of a text, a second text, a third. When it began to ring again, Spencer pulled it from his pocket and shoved it deep inside the messenger bag he was rummaging through.
"Who's blowin' you up, pretty boy?" Morgan smirked as he entered the bathroom.
"Nobody," Spencer exhaled, standing in front of the mirror, irritated that someone had joined him in the restroom before he had found what he was looking for.
He waited anxiously for Morgan to leave the stall, his business in the bathroom requiring absolute privacy. Huffing at the amount of time passing, Spencer rushed into an unoccupied stall and locked the door. He fumbled through his bag as the phone inside it continued to ring, frantically searching for the needle buried in the mess of case files and court orders.
When he felt it's cold barrel on his fingertips, a desperate smile formed on his pouty lips. Pulling it from the bag, Spencer bit down on it, holding it in his mouth as his hands dove back into the bag in search of a vial filled with dilaudid. Instead, his hands kept finding his ringing phone and in a frantically annoyed rage, Spencer picked it up, answered the call, and shouted, "What?!" as the needle fell into his lap.
The voice on the phone shook as it escaped his girlfriend's lips, "S-Spencer?"
"What do you want, Brea?" He spat out quickly, exasperated breaths surrounding his words.
"What do I…" Brea paused, her worry forcing the confusion expressed in her voice to subside as she continued, "Spencer, where are you? It's almost midnight."
"Oh, is it?" he scoffed, "thanks, Brea. Thanks for letting me know what time it is. Now if you don't mind, I'm a little busy, and I'm getting sick of your never-ending phone calls. You think that if I didn't want to talk to you the first seven times that the eighth time will yield different results? The ninth? You know what repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results is? It's insanity, Brea. And I don't have time for your insane phone calls and text messages. I'm busy right now."
"Spencer, what is going on with you? Why would you…" she bit her lower lip nervously as she tried to make sense of what was happening, "where are you?"
"I'll see you when I get home," he said coldly, immediately turning his phone off after ending the call.
"Hey, kid," Morgan called to him from the outside of the stalls, "you ok or–"
"You know what Morgan? Privacy would actually be really helpful right now, if it's not too much to ask."
Morgan's eyebrows raised, shocked at Spencer's attitude tonight. Rather than fight him, Morgan decided to give Spencer what he wanted– there was no point in wasting time in the restroom when he could be out on the dance floor, having a drink with any of the surplus of women at the club that night.
Hearing the door close, Spencer pulled the vial from his bag, inserted the needle into it, and pulled the plunger back.
His eyes looked down on it with desperate hunger, his lungs filling and emptying heavily in anticipation.
When he pressed the needle into his arm and forced the drug into his vein, Spencer exhaled an enormous breath of relief. Feeling the narcotic surge through his body, Spencer's mood lifted. His need for privacy fulfilled, Spender decided to leave the club and go home.
When he arrived, Spencer found Brea flipping through the channels on tv, her cheeks glistening with tears, her phone tossed to the side of their bed.
He bit his lip as he looked to the ground, unable to meet her gaze. Spencer hated it when it hurt Brea, and he liked to argue that it wasn't really him that did it– it was the drug, its grip on him, and his overwhelming need to hide it from her. If he didn't think she'd try to force him into quitting, Spencer never would've gone to the bar tonight; He could've just gone into the bathroom of their apartment.
"Are you going to tell me where you were?" Brea sniffled as she watched him stand motionless in the doorway.
"I, uh, I went out with Morgan,"
"You went out with Morgan? You went out where? To a bar?"
"A club," he corrected, his voice low as his eyes watched his feet.
"A club? You went out to a club with the world's biggest ladies' man without even telling me?"
"There's no reason to be angry," Spencer's body moved into the room but his eyes remained on the floor, "I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't even have a drink."
He sat on the edge of the bed, unable to look at her.
"Why weren't you answering my texts then? My calls? Why didn't you just tell me where you were going? Your work, what you do, if I don't hear from you, I get really worried. I don't understand why you couldn't have just texted me back."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, keeping his head down as he looked at her over his shoulder.
"Are we ok?" she asked concerned.
"Yeah," Spencer smiled slightly. "Yeah, we're ok."
Brea smiled and pulled the sheets back, the gesture welcoming Spencer into bed with her. As he laid back, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, all the while imagining what it would be like if it were Maeve here with him instead.