Chapter 9- Nantucket's For Pussies

"So, you let her go?"

It was early Sunday morning, which meant one thing: A meeting with Martha. Their session had begun much like the all the others—general, bland, uninteresting in the most uninteresting of ways. However, inevitably, and much to Spencer's chagrin, their conversation had taken a turn towards the night before—a night Spencer soon hoped she would forget.

"I didn't 'let her go'" Spencer spat, tensing unnoticeably before sardonically continuing, "I never had her in the first place—"

"It doesn't sound that way," Martha parried thoughtfully, watching Spencer with a quiet renewed interest as the young woman shifted uncomfortably on the couch much like she'd been doing for nearly an hour now.

"Hmm," Spencer hummed sarcastically, eyeing the clock, "It wouldn't, would it?"

To tell the truth, she'd had enough of this for quite awhile now and Martha's sincere attentiveness was making her terribly uneasy. Spencer just wanted to leave, meet Kate at Gregory's, breathe in the air of an Ashley free world—she wanted to feel her life adjust itself back to normal.

"You can't live like this forever, Spencer,"

"Live like what?"

"Like an emotional nomad—never settling, never sticking around long enough to realize you just might like it there—you just might like breathing, living."

"Please," Spencer spat, "I do live—I live every day, I live every night. I have one best friend because it's all I need. I sleep with a plethora of women because it's all I crave," She confessed bitterly, unapologetically, "I'm sorry if my version of happiness isn't conducive with the everybody else's."

"You're telling me your happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"But do you feel?"

"What do you mean 'do I feel'?" Spencer asked incredulously, her voice raising a few decibels, "I feel everything—anger, jealousy, lust—"

"But do you feel love?"

Spencer almost hesitated, almost—"Love is unnecessary."

Martha sighed, finally adjusting her thick reading glasses from where they were perched on the end of her nose, "You're not a thirteen year old little girl anymore, Spencer," She said gently, "It's okay to love."

Spencer was ecstatic—Today was her thirteenth birthday and she had the world at her fingertips—literally. Surrounding her, circling her lithe body in the depths of her playroom were gifts of all sizes and assortments, each wrapped perfectly with a bright red bow crowning its top.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," Paula whispered in the little girls ear, wrapping her daughter, the light of her life, in a warm hug before pressing a soft kiss into her forehead.

"Jesus, Spence. Mom didn't get me half this many presents for my thirteenth," Glen whined, though he looked fondly upon his just-turned-thirteen little sister—He loved her.

"Alright, everyone get together for a family picture!" Arthur laughed jovially, wrapping his arm a around a beaming Clay before placing a tender hand on Spencer's shoulder.

The photographer took a few snaps before signaling the end of his work, "You guys are the perfect family," He confessed enviably, shaking his head at the perfect mechanics of the Carlin family. He wondered how a group so wealthy could still be so grounded—They really were the American dream.

"Mom?" Spencer squeaked, a nervous smile on her usually energetic with life face, "Can I talk to you and the rest of the family?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Paula replied sincerely, pulling the girl into her arms.

"Yeah, what's up, squirt?" Glen joked, settling into the girl's plush Barbie Pink sofa.

They were all waiting, watching, wondering what they're birthday girl had to say.

"I…" Spencer stuttered, suddenly more nervous than ever—she loved her family and she wanted them to love her too.

"Hey…" Arthur soothed, lacing his little girls fingers with his own, "It's okay. Whatever you have to say, you can tell us.

"I…" Spencer tried again, more confident with her father's words, "I think I like girls."

Suddenly the whole room changed—Everything was sharper, rougher, so incredibly crude. The pinks deepened, now a searing shade of magenta, as the dolls seemed to fall—the life mysteriously sucked out of them one by one.

It was Paula who moved first, slowly unwrapping her arms from around her baby girl, noting how her once supple skin now felt foreign and irritatingly unfamiliar as she turned away, walking straight towards door.

"Paula!" Arthur called, retracting his once comforting hand as he followed his wife, as he went after her blindly to wherever she might lead.

It was just Spencer and the boys now, the boys who were looking at her strangely, gazing upon her tiny form as if she were some sort of cockroach, some variety of an intolerable pariah—like she was poison.

"God…" Glen whispered, no longer seeing his sweet, lovable baby sister, but instead grimacing at the vomit inducing figure sitting in her place, "You're sick."

Then he was gone dragging Clay, always the pushover Clay, close behind him in search of their parents, in pursuit of their family. It was then that Spencer finally understood what it meant to be alone as she sat abandoned in the middle of her playroom, the towering gifts that surrounded her no longer quite so glamorous. She heard door slams, recognized voices being raised, and the tears that burned trails down her face were ones she knew she'd never forget.

"Spencer?"

"What?" the girl replied crossly, suddenly shaken out of the memory—it was her worst.

"I said it's okay to love now," Martha tried again, her voice softer, her tone gentler as she tried desperately to reach the girl wherever she might be.

"No, it's not," Spencer replied coolly, emboldened by her childhood recollection, "It's never okay to love because it never lasts. Someone always gets hurt inevitably,"

"That's not true—"

"But it is. There's no way to know everything about someone and love them at the same time—it's impossible—that sort of thing doesn't exist and struggling, fighting futilely to find it, makes you weak. I refuse to be weak."

"But you'll entertain being miserable?"

"I am not miserable—"

"Please," Martha spat, making unfaltering eye contact with the girl, "I've been having sessions with you for seven years now. Watching you saunter in here and plop down on that couch as if it was all pointless, as if your life is so full and so perfect, but I can see you, Spencer. You're hollow—You're so empty and you hate it."

"Shut up," Her voice was barely above a whisper but it spoke volumes, the line between venom and distress no longer so clear.

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to feel something, Spencer. Eventually, you're going to crave the richness of life that surrounds you. If you let her go you'll—"

"Regret it," Spencer murmured. She suddenly felt sick.

"She's perfect, isn't she?"

Spencer took a deep breath, hopelessly battling the nausea that was threatening to override her senses, "She's alright,"

"Alright?—"

"Oh my god, I need to find her," Spencer admitted suddenly, quickly snatching her purse from where it lay on the floor.

And then she was moving, sprinting past the couch and towards the door faster than she had ever done before.

"Wait!" Martha bellowed, catching the girl in the knick of time, "Why?"

"Because…" Spencer said carefully, suddenly incredibly out of breath, "Because I'm interested," She began slowly, surprising herself with her own words, "Because I'm so, so interested. I actually don't think I've ever been more interested in my entire life."

Then she was gone, flying through the door and out towards her car.

Martha smiled. Spencer had needed to hear that. Now, she knew, she'd never turn back.

asterickasterickastertickasterickasterickasterickasterick

"Where is she?" Spencer asked quickly, making a sharp turn into the right lane of the road.

"Where's who?"

Spencer groaned incredibly irritated, "Mother Theresa, Kate," She snapped sarcastically, "Where's Ashley?"

"She just left,"

Fuck

"Which way is she going?"

"Umm…" Kate hummed, picking her brain for the conversation she had just had with Ashley, "I think she's taking 93 South—"

Spencer hung up before making a u-turn.

If Ashley wasn't a moron, and from her experience, she was not, she knew exactly where she'd be.

asterickasterickasterickasterickasterickasterickasterick

"Where the fuck are you…" Spencer muttered, jittering in her seat. She was nervous, and why shouldn't she be? The amount of spontaneity worked into this moment and the one approaching it was far more than she was used to but she had to keep moving because she feared if she stopped, she'd never go again at all. Then she saw her—Well, not her, but her car nearly four yards away, the first in line at the stoplight.

"Ashley!" Spencer yelled, holding her hand on the honk.

Fuck, that was stupid she thought, recognizing the idiocy of the moment.

"I'm not doing this…" She muttered, shaking her head in genuine disbelief, "God, I'm so doing this," she refuted, throwing the car door open as she bounded down the street, as she sprinted, yes, sprinted, past the cars that stood between her, past the faces that whizzed by dizzily as she ran to where Ashley was, as she raced into the middle of the busy intersection.

"Spencer!" Ashley screamed, watching as a Jeep swiveled and skidded in an attempt the dodge the crazy fucking blonde darting towards her.

"Ashley!" Spencer shouted, out of breath scared shitless as she leaned on the edge of the girls' convertible, only barely making out her face contorted in incredulity.

"Spencer, what are you doing!?"

The light turned green.

"Get in!" Ashley, unlocking the backdoor fervently.

"No, get out!" Spencer parried, still struggling to catch her breath. She needed to do this now while she still had it in her.

"Are you crazy!?"

It was a valid question.

"No, I'm not crazy," Spencer spat sarcastically, "Now, get out!"

People were honking now and they were honking loudly.

"God..." Spencer muttered, suddenly incredibly irritated, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She bellowed, giving the twenty or so cars behind Ashley's the finger.

"Spencer, get i—"

"Listen, I'm not getting in and if you leave me now I'm most likely going to get pummeled by a fat trucker who hasn't learned to use his rear view mirrors properly, so just get out," Spencer stated matter-of-factly, "Please?"

Ashley opened the door, closing it behind her roughly as the cars behind her began to weasel their way around, giving the girls dirty looks as the finally drove past them.

"Spencer, what are you doi—"

"I'm sorry," She began, it was sincere, it was honest, it was seven days pent up frustration and she was done with it, "Ashley," She whispered, taking another step closer to the girl, "I'm so sorry,"

They were mere inches a part now, Ashley's shallow breaths in time with Spencer's, "I'm rude, I'm a bitchy, I never apologize, I can't smile without making it a sneer, and I can't laugh without always fucking wondering…I'm damaged, Ashley. I'm so damaged and I've never felt more whole then when I'm with you. You're right—You were always right. I am interested, and I can't feel—or at least I couldn't. But I do now, and if you leave today, if you leave me, I don't know if I ever will again," A single tear slid down Spencer's face, a twin to the one makings its course down Ashley's cheek, "I'm not asking you for forever, or for a year, or even fore next week—I'm just asking you now. Please, don't leave me now."

In that moment, it was only them. They didn't hear the cars speeding by, the symphony of horns ringing out across the street, like an angry church chorus—It was just them—Only Spencer and Ashley, pressed up against the side of Ashley's car, holding each other for dear life.

"Is that it?" Ashley breathed, nearly choking on her tears.

Spencer smiled knowingly before leaning in to whisper, "And Nantucket's for pussies."

"Martha's Vineyard?" Ashley muttered back, staring at Spencer's lips—They were so close.

"Born and raised," Spencer replied softly, tracing a smooth finger across the girls jaw line.

"Kiss me," It was a demand, not a question.

"But the cars—"

"They can go fuck themselves," Ashley smiled wickedly, meeting Spencer's lips with her own.

They stood like that for minutes, smack dab in the middle of traffic with only each other's lips to egg them on.

phewwwwwwwwwww. first of all, thank you for the all the amazing comments on the last chapter. i will personally never look at it again, but i'm glad you were guys were able to get something good out of it. on another note, this chapter was a lot easier to wrie (it didn't take three days) and it's sort've long (9 pages on word) so i hope it will make up for ch.8. i was browsing the forum and noticed something called FOF?? i think i get the concept behind it if not the abbreviation so i think i'll do one of those tomorrow. regardless--i hope you enjoyed ch.9! as always, please leave feedback