PROMPT: toby confronts spencer at the brew and finds out she's in a relationship with andrew. they start talking about it and he says he's happy for her. but then andrew walks in and he gets jealous of them.

The One To Blame

Six months is a long time when you're alone. The time passes by at a snail's pace, leaving you stranded in the dust while everyone else moves on.

It had been six months since he had seen her or spoken to her. Six months since he had turned in his black hoodie for a construction uniform out of town. Six months since he had felt anything other than complete and total numbness.

Mona had left him alone, for the most part. He figured she was rather pleased with herself for ruining his life. She may have called him an 'ally,' but in reality he was merely another pawn in her sick game.

The last place he wanted to be right now was Rosewood. He couldn't bear the thought of returning to the town that ate him alive – the town that was full of monsters. But his dad had begged and pleaded for him to help them pack up their house in preparation to put it on the market. And for all of the dark, terrible things he had done, he felt that he owed it to himself to do something right for a change.

He hadn't planned to run into her when he took a coffee break at the Brew. Had hoped he wouldn't, anyway. It was coming time for senior finals, and he had expected she'd be locked away in a library somewhere, her nose buried in her text books.

But this was his luck, after all. And it had a bad habit of punishing him to an unmerciful end.

He was standing at the counter waiting for his order when she walked in. She was more beautiful than he had ever seen her – but she was also so much further away from him than he could remember her ever being. She was standing five feet from him, but they may as well have been light years apart.

His eyes had met hers in a sick twist of fate, and she stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to do. She was clearly considering turning around and leaving in that moment, enduring some internal struggle about dignity and bravery. And then Spencer, being the strong soul that she was, surged forward to the counter at last, if for no reason other than to prove to him that he couldn't break her again.

"Two caramel macchiatos, please," she requested quietly. The raspy sensuality of her voice still had the power to make him weak in the knees.

They stood next to each other idly for a moment, neither of them speaking. He could smell her vanilla perfume on the breeze as the front door opened once more, sending it wafting maliciously in his direction.

"Hey," he settled for at last, neglecting to look her in the eye.

She paused. "Hey."

There was a moment of silence that was all but deafening.

"How have you been?" he asked at last. It seemed like such a superficial thing to say, but he was genuinely interested in the answer.

She nodded shortly, glancing briefly at his eyes. They flickered away in an instant. "I've been good."

She really wasn't giving him much to work with. Not that he blamed her, of course – had he been in her position, he would have been bludgeoning himself over the head with that gigantic shoulder bag, wanting nothing more than to draw blood from the person who had ruined his life.

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

She nodded noncommittally. "Mmmhmm."

Her phone chirped. He noticed that she still flinched at the sound, as if awaiting yet another horrifying message from Mona. But upon reading its contents, her lips formed into a tiny smile.

It was the shy sort of smile she used to give to him. He knew what it meant instantly.

"Boyfriend?"

She regarded him for a moment, as if assessing the pros and cons of being honest. Then, at long last, she nodded. "Andrew."

The statement may as well have been equivalent to him pouring acid in his ears. But he forced a smile for her nonetheless.

"How long?"

She was nervously biting on her thumbnail, as she so often did. It was once endearing to him. Now it only served as a cruel reminder of how uncomfortable she was be near him.

"Two months."

"Good. Good for you," he murmured. And he meant it. As much as he could, anyway. He wanted her to be happy.

His order came up. He hastily grabbed it and made his way to the corner booth. There was a fleeting feeling of guilt for not saying a proper goodbye; but in the end, he knew it would have only been that much harder.

But truthfully, it wouldn't have been that bad. Not compared to what happened next.

A blond man with a well-to-do comb-over and glasses had come through the door, making his way to join her at the counter. She grinned and tugged affectionately at the collar of his polo as he snaked his arms around her waist and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

He needed to stop staring, but he couldn't help it. It was like watching a car crash occur in slow motion. You know it's best to look away, but you've just got to know what happens next.

The nerdy pretentious piece of shit, Andrew, was leading her to a table near the window. They were laughing about something or another as they unearthed their textbooks, talking animatedly. Her eyes were more alight with life than he had seen in so long. And he immediately hated Andrew for it.

It just figured – just fucking figured – that they were study buddies. The kid clearly had no social life outside of school and chess club, and it was probably the first thing they bonded over. He pictured him as being the sort of guy he used to pick on during gym class dodge ball, sending a well-aimed ball straight between the eyes.

But the worst part was, he wasn't a loser at all – he had Spencer. That immediately put him leaps and bounds above Toby, and he instantly felt ashamed of his own stupidity for everything he'd done. He'd pushed her away, all by himself.

Regardless – he loathed the sight of this shit head.

Andrew was reaching across the table now, brushing a strand of hair out of Spencer's eyes. She was grinning anxiously as he did so, clearly still in the nervous honeymoon stage of the relationship.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it – but he was on his feet and heading over there before he knew what was happening.

She hadn't seen him coming. Only when he came to stand right next to their table did she look up in alarm, the epitome of fear etched across her delicate features.

He took a seat beside Andrew, as though it were the most normal gesture in the world. "Hey," he greeted cheerfully, holding his hand out to shake. "I'm Toby. Nice to meet you."

Andrew looked perplexed, turning to Spencer for answers. She had lowered her gaze, one hand planted sheepishly on her forehead, as if she was too afraid to look.

"Andrew," the boy replied uncertainly, accepting his hand.

Pussy-ass handshake. Just as he thought.

"So, what are you guys up to?" Toby inquired casually, lounging back in his chair. His eyes were carefully glued to Spencer's figure, awaiting a reaction. She was giving him next to nothing so far.

"Uh, just studying for AP Chem," Andrew replied.

Ha. AP Chem. Science geek.

"Sounds like a party," Toby declared sarcastically. He had no idea what he was doing. The words were leaving his mouth before he could even comprehend what he was saying.

"I'm sorry – do we know you?" Andrew asked at last.

Spencer raised her eyes for this one, looking pleadingly in Toby's direction.

Ah. So she hadn't told Andrew about him at all. Not the length of time that they dated – not the unceremonious way in which he had single-handedly ruined her life – none of it.

Part of him was insulted. The other part was flattered. She clearly thought that talking about him was too painful. Or maybe too threatening, in some way, to divulge to her new boy toy. Perhaps he was the jealous type.

The thought was clearly ironic. But he ignored that instinct.

She was still staring at him purposefully, begging him not to reply. He squared his jaw, as if accepting her silent challenge.

"I'm Spencer's ex-boyfriend. We dated for a year."

Andrew's mouth fell slightly agape, and he turned to Spencer once more in desperate need of an explanation. She did not meet his eyes – she was far too busy staring Toby down, a look of impatient disgust on her face. He hated that expression. Hated it more than anything in the entire world. But if she already thought of him as a world class asshole, then he might as well play the part.

"Toby, you need to go," Spencer growled. "Now."

"Oh, what's the rush?" Toby said lightly, thumbing through Andrew's book. He scanned the page he landed on, studying the header. "I'd love to learn all about…oxidation."

"Spencer, what is going on?" Andrew demanded at last. "Who is he?"

"He's nobody," Spencer declared pointedly, her gaze meeting his. The coldness there terrified him. "He was dead to me a long time ago."

He could feel his face fall immediately when she said it. Her eyes were burning daggers into him now in a way that he had never seen – not even the night she had made that fateful discovery six months ago. The ferocity in her expression confirmed that she meant what she said.

He felt as though someone had reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his heart so roughly that it had begun to bleed. He had endured a lot of pain in his life – had sliced his head open on a metal shelving unit at the age of 11…had fallen off a ten-foot scaffold and broken his arm…had been slapped and punched and clawed at by Jenna during her tirades.

But none of that even came close to crushing him the way that this did.

"Spencer!" Andrew began with startled sternness, clearly disapproving of what she had said.

If only he knew.

"No. She's right," Toby said at last, fighting to keep his tone neutral. He understood precisely what she meant – and likely would have felt the same if he were her. He had lost the privilege of being involved in her life, and should be regarded as nothing more than scum on her shoe. He squared his jaw and looked straight at her.

"I do deserve to be dead right now."

Something brief flickered across her face. Pity, perhaps. Maybe something less insulting. But she did not lose her ground.

Andrew's reaction was the only thing light-hearted about the situation. He looked utterly horrified at what was transpiring, which would have made Toby laugh under any other circumstances.

He abruptly stood and pushed in his chair, bee-lining for the door. There was a burning in the back of his eyes, and he was fighting tooth and nail to ignore its presence.

He was almost half a block down the street when he heard her voice.

"Toby, wait!"

He paused, but did not turn around. He didn't want to look at her – it had been far too agonizing already. Looking at her would have only twisted the knife all-the-more.

"Toby…" she began pleadingly, but said nothing else.

He knew what she was thinking. He had known her long enough. She was concerned for his sanity. Worried he was going to go home and off himself in some elaborate, grand gesture. Feared that she'd be reading his obituary by Monday.

But she said nothing. His name just continued to hang in midair, dangling by some precarious thread. The silence was deafening. He knew he should do her the courtesy of turning to face her. Acknowledge that she was worried. But he had already done enough. Even if he had wanted to, his body would not allow it. His feet were planted firmly to the ground, as though bolted there. His heart knew it could only take so much, and was not allowing him to make any more stupid decisions.

Her plea was still hanging there, waiting for him to reply. He did not take hold of it – instead, he did his damnedest to lift his lead-filled feet, and walk away from her for the last time.

She did not follow him again. Surely she had crawled back to Andrew, wiping the slate clean once more and going back to the books. She would forget him easily enough. And he wished that he didn't care – but he did. He cared more than he was willing to admit.

Mona had been wrong. So completely, horrifically wrong. It wasn't the girls that they were punishing: it was themselves. Maybe she was immune to the type of pain that he was feeling – but she must have known that being a part of this would rip him apart from the inside out. Perhaps he was her real target all along. Maybe he had done something to her, sometime, somewhere, that made her so unspeakably angry that she wanted to completely obliterate his existence.

Well. She had succeeded. He was dead to the world. Dead to Spencer. Dead to himself.

And after seeing Spencer with someone else – seeing with his own two eyes that she had clearly moved on – he wasn't sure he was ever going to feel alive again.