PROMPT: After Spencer finds out his secret, a conflicted, heartbroken Toby goes back to his loft, kicks Mona out, and starts drinking. When Spencer shows up in tears, he lets her in.
Where Do We Go From Here
Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling. Mona had been demanding that he keep his emotions in check for months – but it was never as easy as it sounded. Being with Spencer was always meant to just be another game. In the end, he felt like he was the one who got played.
The look on Spencer's face had all but broken him entirely. Part of him had expected to feel rather ambivalent when the time came, but that was a sore underestimation. He had never hated anyone as much in his life as he hated himself right now.
He made his way back to his loft, feeling as though his heart was going to beat itself right out of his chest. As if the panic surging through his system wasn't enough, he found Mona sitting calmly at his kitchen table, sipping on wine as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.
"I take it that it went well," Mona surmised casually, tipping her glass to him. "Cheers."
It struck him as strange that Mona was sitting beside a three-course meal at the table, one that she surely wouldn't have prepared herself. He wandered further into his apartment, an unfamiliar platform on the counter catching his eye. It had not been there this morning.
Goofball. Glyceraldehyde. I love you.
But it was the inscription on the side that really made his heart bleed.
'For T, my safe place to land. Always your girl, S.'
His mouth went dry, and he felt a foreign burning sensation in the back of his eyes.
"Oh, right. This stuff was meant for your anniversary," Mona announced lightly as an afterthought, kicking her feet up onto the table. "Tragic turn of events, if I do say so myself."
He turned to face her, loathing the expression that donned her features. Clearly she found nothing about this to be tragic in the slightest, based on the coy smirk that teased her mouth. She was enjoying this. Far more than any human being should ever enjoy watching another crumble to pieces.
"Get out," he stated numbly, unzipping the black hooded sweatshirt and tearing it from his body as if it were suddenly poisoning him. And in a way, it had been. For months. Poisoning and corrupting his soul, a little more each and every day.
"I'm sorry," Mona began darkly, her eyes flashing in the dangerous glow of candlelight. "What did you say to me?"
"I said," he began confidently, staring her down with what he hoped was the most believable conviction he could muster. "Get. Out."
They locked eyes for a moment in a silent power struggle. It was not in Mona's nature to follow commands from anybody other than the red coat. But at long last, she rose to her feet, looking rather pleased with herself.
"You spend far too much time worrying about what others will think of you, Toby," she quipped softly, tilting her head at him as if watching a caged animal in the zoo. "It will be your downfall in the end."
He took her by the arm and led her roughly to the front door, holding it open pointedly. "At least I have a conscience," he declared.
Her eyes met his, and he saw nothing by complete and utter apathy in her expression. She was past the point of caring, and clearly had no idea what was so great about feeling bad for the things she'd done. She was a dangerous individual – a human being completely devoid of any and all emotion. It was what psychologists often referred to as 'sociopaths.' Radley should have never released her in the first place.
"I'll be calling you first thing in the morning," Mona stated coolly as she stepped onto the staircase. "If you're not ready to continue on by then, you'll have someone other than me to answer to."
Red coat. Toby gulped involuntarily, knowing that she would be far less forgiving than Mona.
She smiled devilishly, as though proud that she had stirred something within him. "Ta-ta," she said as she began prancing down the stairs.
He slammed the door irritably, leaning against the slick surface and sliding all the way down. He had never known this sort of regret before, and it was admittedly a very confusing feeling.
Part of him wished he could do what Mona did. Turn off every emotion in his brain and just do what needed to be done. It would certainly be easier to live in a world where he didn't feel crushed by his own guilt. Would be lovely to live in blissful ignorance.
But the other part knew that nothing about that was realistic. What an empty life to live, without being able to feel the intensity of anything – whether it be guilt and pain, or love and happiness. To not care about anything that happened…to end up alone and not even realize how much it sucked. Not being able to really connect with anybody your entire life.
It would be a waste. But it would save him from feeling the self-loathing that he was feeling right now.
He made his way back to the table, where Mona had left half her glass of wine. He had never been much of a fan of red – for more reasons than one – but he tipped it back nonetheless. It tasted bitter all the way down his throat, and he pulled a face in response.
Nevertheless, he poured another.
He wasn't sure how long he sat at that table, watching the candlelight dance in the darkness of his apartment. There was a distinct tingling feeling in his fingers and toes, and he realized he had finished off the entire bottle. It wasn't the cheap stuff, either – no, of course not. It was not in the nature of the Hastings family to spend anything less than 30 dollars on any kind of alcohol, especially wine – it was, as Spencer always said, important to be sure you were buying a quality make and year.
So naturally, it was hitting him harder than he had anticipated. He emptied the last few drops of the glass bottle into his flute, and set it aside dismissively. It was not the most inebriated he had ever been – no, far from it. But it sufficed to assist in the numbing process for now.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and he froze. He jumped to his feet, and was at the door in an instant. He didn't even need to glance through the peephole. He instinctively knew that it was her already.
He could hear her voice breaking on the other side as she spoke, confused and desperate for an explanation. "I know you're in there," she announced, putting every last ounce of bravado that she had into this declaration. He let his forehead fall against the wood, trying to gulp back the lump in his throat.
She was fumbling with her keys now, and he leapt backwards in reply.
The door swung open, and there she stood. She had clearly been crying, her eyes red and swollen from the amount of moisture had had been collecting there. And somehow, seeing her like this stung more than the slap on the face she had delivered him earlier in the evening.
Neither of them moved or spoke for several moments, instead staring one another down in an exhausted face-off. He knew that neither of them had the energy to have the argument that was about to ensue, but that either way, it was going to happen.
And then, he conceded the staring contest to her, averting his gaze and stepping aside to make his way back to the table. He collapsed back into his previous chair, feeling her gaze burning into the back of his head as she slammed the door behind her.
"Tell me what I saw tonight wasn't real," she commanded quietly, her voice squeaking ever-so-lightly in the process. "Tell me there's more to the story. That there's something I don't know."
He toyed with the stem of his wine glass, studying the flickering flames burning before him once more. He still could not dislodge the lump that was constricting his voice box. He feared that if he spoke, he would break down.
She was approaching him now, studying the dinner that Mona had so callously taken upon herself to dig into. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted into a grimace as realization dawned upon her, and she had to catch herself on the table to keep from collapsing into a piteous heap on the floor.
He watched her from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. The sound of her sobs breaking the air between them made his heart ache.
She gathered her composure after a moment, and stomped toward the Scrabble board. She looked at it for a moment, something changing in her expression. In one swift motion, she swept her arm against it, sending it careening noisily to the floor. He flinched in reply.
"Everything you ever told me – it was all a lie," she accused wildly, her voice rising in intensity. "You pretended to love me. You pretended to care about what happened to me. But this was your plan all along, wasn't it?"
It wasn't true. It was so far from the truth, in fact, that it actually pained him to consider. But what good would it do to deny it now?
"Stop pretending I'm not here!" she hollered, leaning over the table confrontationally. "Look at me, Toby. Look at me and tell me to my face."
It was second-nature, and he didn't really have time to consider it. His gaze was raised to hers without realizing what he was doing, and he balked under the ferocity he saw in her eyes.
"What did I do to deserve this?" she demanded quietly, her voice breaking once more. He could see now that the arms she used to hold herself up over the table were trembling precariously, and, instinctively, he reached out to touch her hand. She pulled away instantly, finding her strength once more.
"Tell me the truth. Tell me the truth and I'll go – forever." Her voice faltered as she said the word that caused both of them the same inordinate amount of pain, but she continued to stare him down expectantly nonetheless.
He inhaled shakily, knowing that he was potentially about to open a floodgate.
"I spoke with Mona after Homecoming," he admittedly quietly, a hoarseness lacing his voice that he did not recognize. "She told me her plan, and after what happened with Emily, I said yes."
Spencer's bottom lip trembled, but she continued to stand there determinedly, waiting to hear the answers that she so desperately craved. He surged on.
"I was supposed to help from a distance. We never expected that you'd be the one to walk up my porch that day last year. Mona was thrilled. She thought it was the perfect opportunity for me to get on the inside."
She squeezed her mouth tightly, as if trying to stay oncoming tears.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was never the plan for you to fall in love with me."
"And you?" she whimpered involuntarily. The way in which she tried to stay strong was breaking his heart.
He raised his gaze to meet her eyes, knowing that what he said next would be hit or miss. "It was the never the plan for me to fall in love with you, either."
There was a beat in which she let this sink in.
"And did you?" she murmured.
He hesitated, but after a moment nodded quietly.
She sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes as if to erase any emotional reaction to his statement.
"So what does that mean?" she asked desperately. "How can you hate me and love me at the same time?"
He looked down at the white linen tablecloth before him, feeling slightly dizzy as it went in and out of focus.
"I don't know," he murmured.
She inhaled sharply, as if slapped.
"You don't know?" she demanded. "What the hell am I supposed to think about that, Toby? What am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to go on pretending that everything is fine? Like tonight never happened?"
He chewed on his lower lip sheepishly, wishing he had the profound answer that she was looking for. Nothing came to him.
"Where do we go from here?" she asked at last, her voice raspy.
He shook his head slowly, indicating that he had no idea. This reaction clearly wasn't good enough for her, as she rose to her feet and backed away from the table, shaking her head so wildly in disbelief that her dark curls were dancing around her face.
"I can't do this right now," she declared at last, grabbing her things and sweeping through the door. The sound of it slamming may as well have been a gunshot into his heart, and he jumped involuntarily.
When he was sure she was gone, the tears came without warning. It started with a single bead of moisture running down his face, and it did not let up. The hot presence of the saline on his face was unwelcome, and he brushed them away impatiently. He hated himself for not having more to say – not having a clearer explanation to provide her.
And most of all he, hated himself for doing this to her in the first place. But he was well aware that after the events of tonight, it would never be the same. He could turn in his hoodie tomorrow and skip town with her, and she still wouldn't trust him. Not for a long time, anyway.
Yes. It was best to make a clean break for now. It was better for her – better for him – better for everyone. He knew how she was – she would feel guilty if she gave him another chance, wondering all-the-while if she was putting her friends in more danger by sleeping with the enemy. He couldn't blame her. He wouldn't have trusted him, either.
He sat there for most of the night, fantasizing about what things would be like if everything were different. Wishing he could bring himself to make a decision – wishing he could rewind the past year of his life and start fresh. She would have still showed up on his porch – they would have still found an inexplicable connection between them, buried deep beneath the hate and resentment. He could have had her all to himself without anyone to answer to – like a normal boyfriend in a normal relationship.
But nothing about him had ever been normal. And after the choices he had made – the mistakes he had so foolishly committed – nothing ever would be again.