Well hello again friends! Thank you all for your encouraging responses to the first chapter of this little beast. I was worried everyone would either A- be sick of seeing my nonsensical ramblings on this site or B- would hate this reimagining of a very crucial storyline that the show used ages ago. And maybe some of you did, but those of you who reviewed spoke otherwise, so I cannot thank you enough. I did, however, say that this takes a minute or two to set up, so this will be the second half of the introductory chapters before we really get into the meat of the story next chapter. Hopefully you won't get too bored or too frustrated with me. :P
Some of you had kind of hinted at or mentioned that you maybe knew where I was going with this and you probably do because I do not know how to be subtle. LOL. But to those of you who haven't figured it out yet, I hope you'll still want to be along for the ride. Things are going to get a little dark and are going to be a little rougher than my past couple of stories, but fear not! I promise I won't leave you all weeping with despair. Anyway, as usual, my author's note is about as long as the chapter now, so I'll leave you be. Thank you for reading and thank you doubly if you choose to review. I love you all so much!
Two
"In the kingdom of glass everything is transparent, and there is no place to hide a dark heart." – Vera Nazarian, "The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration"
It's been exactly five months since the fire, since the reveal that Alison's body is missing, and Rosewood has yet to find any new information regarding her whereabouts. In that time, Hanna and Caleb had reconciled but remain estranged, Aria continued her pattern of not giving Ezra the time of day, Emily and Paige were consistently on-again, off-again, and Spencer and Toby were, for once, the most stable of the four. He'd joined the Rosewood Police Department to everyone's surprise and it's something he and Spencer fight over every now and then, but she does realize this action comes from a place of concern, so for the most part she lets it go. Thanksgiving passes and then Christmas, the New Year rings in and now it's two weeks into April, the cold weather begins to wane, and they're nowhere near getting any answers. Making matters worse, of course, is their ever-present torturer, sending them death threats on the regular, and the girls are beginning to lose it.
They begin to see Alison everywhere they go; at the Grille, at school, at city hall, even in their own homes. What's worse is that they're still expected to be at school, in class performing regularly like they don't have a murderous psychopath on their tails. Spencer loses interest by the day in her schoolwork and her after-school activities; someone else chooses a prom theme, someone else takes over her side for debate team, someone else plays for her at states for field hockey. Her heart's just not in it, anymore. She's so damn tired all the time and she can't focus on anything worth a damn; hell, if she's not awake trying to haphazardly finish an essay on time, then she's desperately trying to piece together the puzzle this mystery has given her. Except, unluckily for her, -A's given her all the wrong pieces and won't even let her see the box.
She receives a C- on her calculus midterm and her teacher shoots her a puzzling look. Spencer frowns and tucks it into her binder but not before it's caught the eye of Andrew Campbell, who peers over her shoulder as they're leaving class to ask, "How'd you do? Damn, is that a C? Have you ever gotten a C before?"
"No," Spencer replies wearily. "Shut up."
"Mama and Papa Hastings are gonna be pissed," Andrew teases, ignoring her warning. "That's not the way you get valedictorian, Hastings. Come on, you used to be a shoe-in. What happened?"
"I'm not going to be valedictorian," Spencer says and even though she mostly doesn't care anymore- she's got bigger things to worry about, after all- a lump still grows in her throat at the thought. "So I guess it's all yours. You're welcome."
She tries to hurry past him, but he catches her elbow, his playful demeanor melting into one of concern instead. "Hey, what's going on? Everything alright?"
"Yeah, sure."
"This have to do with Alison?" Andrew wonders. "Come on, you know they're going to find her eventually."
"No, it's nothing," Spencer insists and glances over her shoulder. "I've got to get to physics."
"Hey listen," Andrew stops her once more. "If you need anything, you can ask me. You know that, right? Like if you're falling behind, I can always tutor you a little."
"Oh my god." Spencer rolls her eyes. She once had to explain to him- and it took twenty minutes- the difference between instantaneous rate of change and instantaneous velocity, but yeah. She's the one who needs tutoring. "I'm fine. Seriously."
"You sure? Because I'll take payment of any kind in return." He grins and she smirks. "First seat in debate, baked goods, you making out with me…"
Spencer sighs. "Still with the-"
"Yeah, yeah, the carpenter. I know." Andrew smirks. "Or… the cop, right? I still have to get used to that. And I better leave you alone before you send him after me. I don't think Dartmouth will appreciate a criminal record."
"No, probably not, but I assure you, I'm fine." Spencer says. "I'm exhausted and stressed and now I'm going to be late for physics, but I'm fine."
As she turns to go, he calls after her, "Exhausted and stressed? Why didn't you lead with that? I'll have my people call your people!"
She rolls her eyes and basically sleeps through physics, but by the time she's out, there's someone waiting for her at the doorway. It's a guy she used to be in debate with, Brad, and he keeps looking over his shoulder like he's in the middle of a mafia movie. Spencer eyes him and asks, "Hey Brad. What's going on? What are you doing?"
"Andrew sent me," He whispers and nods his head towards the back hallway. She follows warily. "He says you could use my services."
"Oh yeah?" Spencer crosses her arms over her chest. "And those would be…?"
Brad reaches into his messenger bag and produces a plastic orange container with a childproof cap. He takes her hand, encloses the bottle in her palm, and says, "That ought to do the trick. Should last a while, but let me know if you need more."
He disappears and Spencer is left standing in the middle of the empty hall, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She turns the bottle over and over in her hands, listening to the capsules rattle against the hard plastic and her mouth goes dry. She couldn't possibly do this again… Could she? No, the last time was so awful and she'd become a terrifying monster. She'd done unspeakable things to her friends and family and even worse, she couldn't remember most of it. Every nerve ending comes alive at the thought of slipping this tiny white pill into her mouth, at the rush of adrenaline it would bring, at the feeling of coming home it would likely give her. She needs it. She wants it desperately. She pops the top before she can think twice and slips not one, but two of pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry.
She can feel herself falling down the rabbit hole and tears well in her eyes. Oh, Mr. Rabbit…
It's the second time she's skipped class in the last three days. It's becoming a habit she doesn't care to break.
Aria takes a sip of lemonade and continues flipping through the album full of photos she's recently had developed, contemplating. Many of the shots are off center or out of focus and most are in black and white. For no particular reason at all, it brings her immense joy. She glances at the abandoned streets, the porcelain dolls with cracked faces, the store windows with bored patrons glancing back out onto the sidewalk and thinks this almost looks like the disjointed opening credits from next season's American Horror Story. She's not sure when her love of photography began or when her subjects became so dark and mysterious, but she has a feeling that finding out her missing best friend might not actually be dead could have something to do with it.
She's in the middle of town, sitting at a table outside of the Grille. School has lost all its appeal to her and she hasn't made it to all nine of her classes in days. Abandoning her photography, Aria reaches into her school bag and produces a small book of poetry, slumping down in the chair and beginning to read, undisturbed. Or, at least she's undisturbed for a moment- within minutes there's a sound of footsteps coming towards her and then the unmistakable shadow passes like a cloud over her page. When she glances up, her eyes narrow- Ezra Fitz is on the other side of the table and he smiles at her despite the look in her eyes, taking the unoccupied seat across from her. "One o'clock on a Wednesday? Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Senior Skip Day," Aria offers simply and turns the page.
"Then I'd imagine I'd be seeing more of your colleagues around here," Ezra says. "Which I do not."
"Maybe I'm the only one who got the memo." Aria says shortly and frowns when he doesn't pick up on her very obvious vibes.
"Aria…" Ezra tries again. "I'm making an effort, here."
"I didn't ask you to," Aria replies. "I thought I made it very clear-"
"And I thought that after the whole Alison thing that maybe you'd changed your mind-"
"Really? And you want to be here for me for moral support?" Aria asks. "Or do you want to be here to get more material to help sell your book?"
"Aria, that's not fair." He sighs. "You know I'm not even writing it anymore-"
"Oh that's too bad," Aria shoots back. "I was going to buy every copy. I couldn't wait to have you autograph the chapter you wrote about me."
Ezra frowns. "I took that part out."
"How noble of you."
"Aria, it's not like-"
"It's not like you ever would've told me about it if I hadn't found out."
"No, that's not what I was-"
"Can you just stop? There is nothing that you can say that would make this any better." Aria says. "I'm just trying to have a peaceful afternoon. Can't you just give me that?"
Ezra glances at the glossy cover of the book she's ducked back into and asks, "Sylvia Plath? That's dark. She was a tortured soul, that's for sure."
"I know how she feels," Aria says without looking up. "Some of these words, some of these poems… It's like she's written about my life."
Ezra starts at this comment, shaking his head, "That's alarming, actually. Have you thought about talking to someone about this?"
"Hey," A new voice enters the conversation and when they glance up, Jason DiLaurentis is walking by, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Aria's company. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Aria smiles gratefully at him, relieved at his appearance despite the confusion on Ezra's face. "I'm fine. Ready to go?"
"I was going to ask you the same question." Jason grins and then eyes the man beside him. "This guy bothering you?"
"No. Not anymore." Aria tells him. "Let's get out of here."
"Wait," Ezra shakes his head. "What's going on? Where are you going?"
"She doesn't have to answer to you, man." Jason replies and Ezra frowns, opening his mouth to emit an angry response as Aria cuts him off just in time.
"Here," Aria says instead, tearing a page out of the book for him to keep. "This one reminds me of you and I."
With that, she packs up her things and leaves with Jason, Ezra left behind to read over the doomed, tragic words Sylvia Plath has used to unknowingly describe their failed relationship:
I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.
She tears through the water as clean as a hot knife through butter. Paige is in the lane beside her, trying to match her stride for stride, but Emily's moving much too fast and she cannot keep up.
This is good, this is natural, this feels right. She breathes so quickly in between each stroke, it's almost as if she's become one with the water. She's fifteen feet away and then ten and then five and then her hand meets the cool, slimy tile of the end of the pool, where she easily upends and launches herself back across the length of the pool, her arms cutting through the rippling water, her legs propelling herself forward. Emily cannot focus on anything anymore; she's distracted, out of it, not all there. But this… This feels like coming home. This feels like it always has- liberating, unrestricted, ordinary. If she channels all her fear, all her pain, all her rage into her swimming, then perhaps there really isn't anything she can't accomplish. She'll get this all out of her system and then she'll find Ali and they'll all be able to move on.
She surfaces at the other end of the pool, breathing hard, and tears off her swim cap and goggles. A full minute or so later, Paige does the same, and she can barely breathe, asking, "Are you made of steel? Damn. I cannot keep up with you anymore."
"You never could," Emily replies teasingly, enjoying the feeling of her heart clambering against her chest for a reason other than fear for once. "You were always my biggest competition but I almost always beat you."
"Wow, you're in a mood." Paige smirks and she, too, pulls off her cap and goggles. "You want to go grab some food? That took a lot out of me and I'm starving."
"No, I think I'm going to hit the gym." Emily shakes her head, climbing out of the pool and reaching for her towel. "It's open late tonight and I need to get some strength training in."
"The gym? How are you alive right now?" Paige asks, following her lead and wrapping a towel around her torso, her breathing still labored. "Seriously, I don't get how you aren't dead."
Emily grins and pulls a t-shirt over her head. "I ask myself the same question everyday."
"Well at this rate, you're going to be." Paige replies. "Come on. Let's go back to my place and order a pizza."
"Can't." Emily replies and tosses her gym bag over her shoulder. "I'll call you later."
"Will you?" Paige asks and, at the door, Emily hesitates. "Don't shut me out, Em. I know you're going through a lot. I want to help you. Please just talk to me."
Emily sighs. "I'm not shutting you out. But trust me, the less you know the better."
"That's what you always say!" Paige exclaims. "And that still has failed to prove true. We've been in this together for so long now; with –A and with Alison and-"
"And it's my fault that I dragged you into this in the first place." Emily cuts her off. "You didn't need this added stress and I'm sorry."
"That's not what I'm worried about." Paige shakes her head. "I care about you and you know that. You're not going to be able to do all of this alone. Let me help you!"
"Help me with what? I'm fine! We're all fine!" Emily shouts back and turns in the doorway. "I'm going to the gym. I'll call you later."
Paige calls after her, "You're going to kill yourself if you're not careful."
"I'll call you later," Emily repeats and she's gone.
She overdoes it at the gym and wakes with sore muscles. She forgets to call Paige and wakes with an aching heart.
It's 3:42 a.m.
She blinks. And stares. And stares a bit more.
Now it's 3:43 a.m.
She blinks again. Rolls over. Yawns a bit, eyes watering, then rubs her eyes. Rolls in the other direction. And stares again.
Now it's 3:44 a.m.
Hanna pushes some hair out of her face and off of her neck, relishing in the feeling of the cool night air on her sweaty skin, turns her face into the pillow and does not sleep. It's been weeks and weeks of this and she's wondering if there will ever be a time when she'll be able to close her eyes and not see Alison at the bottom of a grave, Alison running for her life, Alison becoming a murder victim to a faceless suspect. She wishes for the sweet release of sleep, to slip off into dreamland and not return for at least several days. Hanna heaves a sigh and wonders if the others are just as tortured as her; Spencer's still shuffling from class to class and trying to come up with a grand scheme, Emily's still determined as hell to find Alison and bring her home and Aria's still expressing how crazy this whole thing is while also trying to keep the peace among the several differing personalities she's interacting with. Surely, she can't be the only one suffering from sleepless nights and overwhelming nightmares. Surely, she can't be the only one slowly descending into madness.
She squeezes her eyes shut and counts to three hundred and forty-seven. Cracking one eye open, she glances at the clock at her bedside. The numbers glow red- 3:58 a.m.
She's become a raging insomniac.
Every time Hanna thinks she's close to sleep, her body will jolt awake like a bait and switch, an April Fool's joke, and her heart will race dramatically like she's just been pushed off a cliff. She'll smell blood and fresh earth, hear muffled screams and the sound of rocks colliding with bone, and see the look of terror on Alison's face before her eyes fly open and take in her surroundings and no sleep is ever had. It's painful and it's frustrating and nothing is more irritating than lying in her bed, so exhausted she can barely see straight, but unable to fall asleep. She tries everything- warm bath, chamomile tea, boring movies and books, lullaby music made for children, white noise from a sound machine she hasn't seen or used since her childhood- and nothing seems to help. She lies here, sleepless, from sundown to sun up and cannot catch a break.
It's 4:12 a.m. when she contemplates calling him.
Caleb's been living in Ravenswood for about six months now and she's still pretty pissed at him for it. The decision had been so out of the blue, so spur of the moment, and it still doesn't sit well with her. They'd reconciled to a point; i.e., they speak every now and then and usually, he initiates it and she usually ends it. But she feels almost like a piece of her is missing now that he's gone. It's like he's taken her heart, her whole, entire heart, and placed it somewhere out of reach, somewhere hidden, and left her to walk around with a perpetual hole in the center of her body. She misses him, sure, and she still loves him; Hanna's not sure that'll ever change. But she feels sort of hollow without him here, empty, like everything she's feeling is passing through her without ever really sticking and taking hold in the first place. On top of everything she's been dealing with lately, feelings are certainly not her top priority right about now.
It's 4:39 when she decides not to call him and 4:42 when she reaches under her bed for the forgotten bottle of beer she'd stashed there, just in case.
She drinks and does not sleep and the sun rises outside her window. She's not sure it's a problem but she should probably cut back. That is, if she cared enough to do so.
In the morning, she sits down at her vanity and begins to cover the deep, dark circles under her eyes with concealer. It's just another day.
She's not herself. She feels like she's walking underwater. She's losing control of her life and she doesn't know what's real and what isn't.
Just like last time.
And no one sees, no one notices, no one bats an eyelash as she slowly descends into the hormonal, zombie-like, Hulk-rage monster the pills brought out in her the last time. Not one single person asks if she's okay. Not one single person even notices anything is different.
Except for him.
In her haste to leave his apartment after a heated argument, she'd grabbed her opened purse and stumbled- the pills always made her clumsier and angrier- and the little plastic container had rolled onto the floor with all of her other belongings; the top hadn't been on and the tiny white capsules spilled all over the room. And she stared at them, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do next, and he stared at her, disbelief in his eyes, because he'd known there was something off about her lately, she could sense it in every word he said, but she knows he'd never expected it to be this. And all he'd said was her name and she'd collapsed onto the floor, burying her face in her hands, shaking her head in shame. She couldn't face him. She couldn't even look at him. She's a fuck up. She's a giant, rampant, uncontrolled fuck up who can't keep her life together and this boy- this poor boy- always has to be her clean up crew.
Toby kneels down beside her after a moment and collects her in his arms and she doesn't know what's happening but she feels like she's going to be sick. Shouldn't he be yelling at her right about now? Shouldn't he be asking her a million questions? Shouldn't he be berating her for, you know, her blatant drug use? He doesn't. He wraps both of his arms around her, drags her in until she's mostly on his lap, and says nothing. And she's glad. She's glad, because she's so incredibly upset with herself, so ridiculously embarrassed, and she can't take disappointing Toby. It's the equivalent of choking the life out of a puppy with a bike chain.
After a long silence, she finally murmurs, "I'm sorry."
He kisses her temple and asks, "Sorry for what?"
And of course, there are thousands of answers to that question; number one, of course, being that she's ever involved him in her shit in the first place. But she merely sighs and says, "That you had to find out like this."
Toby nods and replies, "Oh. Well, then, yeah, I'm sorry about that, too. I wish you could've just told me what was going on."
"I couldn't," Spencer tears away from him, suddenly feeling ugly, disgusting, unworthy. She wraps her arms around herself instead and glances at the floor, memorizing the dips and curves in the grain of wood.
Toby sighs and runs an exhausted hand over his face. "How long? How long have you been taking them?"
"A week. Maybe." Spencer bites her lip, unsure. All her days have blended together, after all. "But this isn't the first time."
Surprisingly- to her- he nods. "I had a feeling it wasn't."
"I'll stop," She pleads with him and he meets her eyes. "I'll stop taking them, I promise. I'll flush the rest of them. Seriously. I'm done and I promise you that it'll stick this time."
"Spencer, you don't have to make me that promise." Toby replies. "You have to make you that promise."
She frowns but, determined, she scoops each one of the pills on the floor into her hands and retreats to the bathroom, watching as they swirl down the pipes and out of sight forever. In the doorway, Toby watches and Spencer says, "See? Done. They're gone. You don't have to worry about me."
"The ship's already sailed on that one," Toby replies, his voice heavy with emotion. "I can't help you if I don't know you're in trouble. You know that, right?"
"Yes," Spencer nods. "But I'm not. I… I lost control a little bit, but I can get it back. It's okay."
"It's not okay." Toby disagrees. "You do realize I'm not upset about you being an addict, right?"
Honestly, it's news to her. She swallows hard and asks, "Wait, you're not?"
"Spencer." He rolls his eyes and nods towards the couch. "Come over here and sit down."
She does and ends up picking at the couch cushion in an effort to occupy her mind. "I guess I just thought… My parents were so angry the first time and my friends got really judgmental and I guess… I don't know. I thought you'd see it as a deal breaker or as something unlovable about me that you couldn't look past or… Or…"
"Spencer," Toby says, taking both of her hands in his. "There is nothing about you that you could ever tell me, good, bad or otherwise, that I couldn't look past. I love you. I love every part of you. Nothing is ever going to change that. Nothing ever could."
Relief floods her veins despite the troubling look still lingering in his eyes. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."
"Well, it's the truth." Toby tells her. "I'm not upset that you took the pills. I'm not upset that it happened before. You're struggling and I can see that you're struggling and it's not your fault that you're struggling, so this isn't something you have to be sorry for."
Her smile falters just a bit and she asks, "Then what…?"
"I'm worried about you." He replies simply. "It bothers me that you felt like you had to turn to pills instead of telling someone that you needed help. I'm with you; I'm always with you. You could've talked to me or if you felt like you couldn't, you could've told someone. Your parents, the girls, someone at school, Dr. Sullivan… Anyone. Anyone would've been better than this."
Her head lowers in shame. "I know."
"You've got to realize how dangerous this could've been." Toby says. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me about this. It scares me to think that maybe you didn't know that."
"No, I did. I did, I swear." Spencer insists. "I just… I was embarrassed."
"Embarrassed about what?" He prods further. "Asking for help? Spencer, no one can handle this alone, not even you. You're pretty damn strong, but you're not a superhuman."
"I know, I just…" Spencer exhales heavily. "I wasn't even trying to make a habit out of it. I was losing focus and my grades were falling and I couldn't keep up with my schoolwork and I was trying to solve this thing with Alison… And they were only to help me focus. I swear. I wasn't trying to start something. But then one wasn't enough, so I took two and then three and then…"
"You don't have to explain yourself. Really." Toby shushes her, shaking his head. "Remember what I told you? I know who you are. You're still that person. Nothing's changed."
Her soul deflates at his words, all the stress dripping off of her in ribbons, and she collapses against his chest. "I just can't figure it out. I can't… I'm trying so hard to fit everything in and it just doesn't… It's not working."
Toby presses a kiss to her crown and pulls her tight against him. "Let me help you. Please let me help you."
"I was just trying to prove myself." Her voice wavers and for the first time, she realizes how dangerously close she is to tears. "No one believes me. Ali's alive; I know she is. And no one believes me."
He pulls back, braces her shoulders on either side and looks her dead in the eye. "I believe you."
The tears spill out of her eyes before she can stop them; one and then two. She swipes them away rapid-fire, but he's already seen. He pulls her back into an embrace and she closes her eyes instantly, relishing the sense of security he always brings. She feels him press unlimited kisses to her skin, every part of her he can reach, as he vows, "I will help you figure this out. I promise you."
"And I won't take anymore pills." She utters into his shoulder. "I promise you."
"But you'll call me if you get the urge? Or if you feel like you're hitting rock bottom again?" He asks and she nods effortlessly. "Or if the detox is so bad you need someone to hang out with you while you vomit?"
She smirks and pulls back and there's a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before. "I won't vomit. A couple of bad headaches and maybe some mild nausea, but I've never actually vomited from them before."
"Still. Anything you need." Toby offers her and then asks, "Do you want a ride home?"
"I want to stay here, but my dad's back from Philly and he'd probably flip his shit if he knew I was here with you. Alone." Spencer replies and together, they make their way to his truck. "He's not big on leaving us unsupervised ever since-"
"Oh, you don't need to remind me." Toby shakes his head, getting behind the wheel. "That image of his face is branded in the forefront of my mind."
She chuckles a bit and then sobers, watching as the streets of Rosewood pass by in a glance. "At least we had some good times interspersed with all the madness. That's what's always gotten me through."
He glances over at her at a red light, frowning. "Why do you sound like you're saying goodbye to me?"
"I'm not. I just…" She shrugs. "Alison was always so sure of herself, you know? She walked around here like she owned this town and everyone in it. But then she made one wrong move that cost her her life. Or maybe it didn't, but then it made it so she could never come home and all her friends would now have to suffer. I don't know. I've just been thinking a lot lately about her actions and her consequences and things she did that we are now paying for… And what if it never ends? What if this goes on for the rest of my life? And what if… What if my life ends just as abruptly as hers might have?"
Toby parks right outside her house, kills the engine and brings her body once more into his. "It's going to end. It's going to, because we're going to put a stop to it."
"It just keeps getting worse," Spencer tells him. "I want it to be over, but there's just no end in sight right now."
"Yeah, right now," Toby reasons. "But what about tomorrow? What about the next day? Or next week? Or next month? We're going to figure this out, one way or another. It's going to take time and it's going to be hell, but we're going to put an end to this and you're going to get your life back."
She glances up at him. "And Alison?"
"And Alison…" Toby trails off. "We're going to bring her home."
"You said yourself you're not convinced she's alive."
"I wasn't. Not at first." Toby agrees. "But you believe she is. And I believe you."
Spencer smiles at him, real and genuine and something her face hasn't seen in a while. "You are the best thing in my life right now and you're the only reason I'm getting through this shit with even some tiny semblance of my sanity. I love you more than words can ever possibly say."
"I love you, too." Toby professes. "I meant what I said. We're going to figure this out together. You're not alone, remember? Not now, not then, not ever."
She nods, but then the tears are back in her eyes and she tries desperately to blink them away. "You've done so much for me. I don't think there will ever be a way for me to repay you."
"You don't have to," Toby insists. "Although… You can do one thing for me."
Spencer lifts her head, prepared to leap from a bridge if he asks. "What?"
"Talk to me." Toby pleads. "Don't shut me out. Don't keep secrets from me. Please, please, just talk to me."
She can't deny his beautiful face, his loving smile, his concerned eyes.
Against her better judgment- keep Toby safe- she opens her mouth and the words flow freely.