Chapter 5 - The Devil Is In The Details
The world was a murky, grey place. Spencer's movements were slow, her arms swinging like weights as she moved through the thick air, pushing against a smoked-glass door and into a cafe. Everyone was moving as if swimming through molasses, and time itself seemed to be crawling by, weighed down by lethargy. Something was not quite right.
But that didn't matter now. The cafe was busy, the air inside tickling Spencer's nose with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants. Ah, the smell of fairy-tales.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle", the thin, elegant old lady at the counter called to Spencer, her eyes sparkling with familiarity. "Un café noir, comme d'habitude?", she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled.
"Oui, Maurine, merci." Spencer's answer came instantly, as if she'd been saying it all her life. She swung her slender body into a chair in the corner of the coffee shop, her favourite seat, by the ceiling to floor glass windows. She loved watching the people walk by, all in wrapped up in their busy schedules, hurrying towards a particular destination. She felt a great sense of satisfaction, knowing that all she had to do was sit here and pen her thoughts. Life was that easy. Being a journalist had its perks.
The grey world seemed to lose more colour, like it was being leached of life. Somewhere in the distance, an ominous rumbling heralded the sudden onslaught of rain that drummed against the glass window. The sound soothed the questions in her mind. Spencer looked out at the water rolling down the frosted surface, the picture of busy pedestrians washing away like wet paint.
A bell tinkled, and the door of the cafe opened once again. Surely, it was someone who wanted to take shelter from the shower. But Spencer's eyes still lifted with hope, and she saw a familiar figure walk through the doorway. Again, sluggish movements. As if life was happening frame by lazy frame. In agonizing slow motion, Emily Fields walked with purpose and joined Spencer at her table.
Life certainly was a French film. With exquisite cinematography. The lens of her vision zoomed in on the wet hair that curled at the base of Emily's neck, the beads of moisture that clung to her smooth skin, the tip of the tongue that darted out to lick full lips, the sheer white shirt that clung to every single (heartbreaking, teasing) curve. The camera of her eyes panned slowly to the graceful curve of a (bared by water) shoulder, the trail of water disappearing under the hollow between collarbones, the corners of lips curled up with smirk. There were cameos by delicate wrists, the hem, no, the corner of a skirt, legs (that went on for days, months, years). Unhurried close-ups of dark, enticing shadows that clung to wet lashes, and eyes, smouldering coals, that set fire to the rainy morning.
Oh. God.
"Spencer". Emily was mouthing her name, but an unexpected baritone came out of her lips.
"Spencer! Spencer, wake up!" Suddenly she was toppling over in her chair, falling through empty air as the world hung in a freeze-frame around her, and her head hit something soft. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with wool, and she felt her airways blocking. She couldn't breathe. (Were the credits rolling already?)
She was lying on her stomach, her face buried in her pillow, her hair a tangled mess, and Toby was slowly shaking her shoulders. Spencer Hastings rolled over to her back, squinting in the bright sunlight that bathed her bedroom. Their bedroom.
"What? I-", she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Oh. She'd been dreaming.
"You overslept, babe. Like, a lot. I'd say good morning, but it's almost afternoon now. What was it, nightmares keep you up? I was sure you'd fallen asleep", Toby murmured, concern filling his eyes as he patted the small of her back comfortingly.
"No. No nightmares." Spencer suddenly found herself wishing that she'd been awoken from nightmares. That would have been easier to deal with. Instead, she had each lucid detail from her 'dream' stuck in her head, each image taunting her. She groaned and fell back on the bed, shutting her eyes. She wanted it to come back. No, of course she didn't.
"Well, you're breathing all funnily. And let's see...", Toby grabbed her wrist, pressing his fingers against her pulse point, "...you have an accelerated pulse rate." A mischievous smile broke out on his lips. "Was someone having sexy dreams about her studly fiancé?" He wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, then kissed her knuckles.
"No! I don't even remember it. And you shouldn't be becoming so conceited", Spencer hastily said, turning a deep shade of crimson. His guess had hit too close to home. (No, it hadn't. You were just dreaming about your best friend whom you made up with last night, her brain interrupted. There's nothing wrong with that. At all.)
"Oh, so was it someone else?", Toby feigned a pout, knowing that would make Spencer melt. "Any competition I need to eliminate?" He narrowed his eyes, an air of seriousness suddenly surrounding him as he tried to look all business-like.
Spencer's eyes widened. She forgot all about her rule of not kissing without brushing, forgot about all her worries about morning breath and hygiene. She sprang up and pressed her lips against Toby's, anxious to make him stop talking. The kiss felt too forced, too unnatural, but Toby didn't notice. His plan had worked, after all. Spencer pulled back and smiled sweetly at him. "You have no competition at all. Even in my dreams." But was she reassuring Toby, or herself?
At that exact time, Emily Fields was walking out of her shower, clad in nothing but a fluffy, cream-coloured towel, which was wrapped tightly around her torso. Her girlfriend, Arianna, was sitting on the bed with a tub of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream, flipping through a well-worn copy of The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant. Arianna's dark eyes immediately rose from the book, and gazed appreciatively at the sight in front of her.
"Jeez, your beauty always surprises me, Em."
"And your sloppiness always surprises me, Ari", Emily retorted, chuckling as she gestured towards the ice cream marks on her girlfriend's black tank-top. Arianna frowned, trying to look disgruntled, but feeling fuzzy inside. Emily's laugh was the cutest thing about her, and she felt like she could listen to it for days. "What did I say about pre-lunch desserts?", Emily tried to scold her girlfriend, shaking her head as she wandered over to her wardrobe.
"Here I am, trying to pay you a compliment, and you make fun of me. Cruelty, thy name is Emily!", Arianna groaned, tailoring a Hamlet quote to suit her needs. "You are really cruel though. I think I should make a new rule in this house. No towels allowed. None whatsoever. This one's seriously impeding my vision", she complained. "And you didn't even invite me to join your sexy shower. Bad girlfriend."
"Is your mind ever out of the gutter?", Emily asked, honest curiosity mingled with a teasing playfulness in her voice. She dropped the towel (which made Arianna's jaw do the same), and put on underwear, much to Arianna's too evident disappointment.
"How can it be if you keep being such a tease?", Arianna pouted, abandoning her forgotten (and completely melted) ice cream. She jumped up to Emily's side, and smothered her neck with kisses, dodging Emily's reluctant pushes and shoves.
"I'm not a tease", Emily whispered quietly, her eyes flashing with delight. "You're just too horny. You act like a hormonal teenager around me."
"Well, maybe that's because you make me feel that way. All the fucking time", Arianna replied in a husky tone, proceeding to undo all of Emily's efforts at getting clean and dry, while the ice cream turned to liquid.
Spencer was at the local library, square reading glasses perched upon her nose as she walked past shelves of thick tomes. She was in the Psychology section, a part of the library that she'd never thought of frequenting before. It was almost evening now, and Toby had excused himself to his shed, claiming that he had some important drawings to do for a patio he was designing. Spencer had teased him, claiming that he was competing with her for the workaholic title.
But she had been secretly annoyed. She didn't want to be left alone. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop' was the phrase she had heard a lot. In Spencer's case, it was completely the opposite. She thought too much. And now she was obsessed with analyzing her dream. (Even thinking of it left her with a dry mouth and a throbbing heart, but she tried to pass those off as side effects of confusion.)
The dream had to have some deeper meaning to it, she was sure. It was obviously not to be taken at face value. Maybe the whole French coffee shop and rain and Emily (oh, dear God, Emily) were an elaborate allegory for work related stress. Or something. Maybe her and Toby weren't having sex enough. God, she did feel frustrated. But it was a mental frustration too. (Although the physical part made her want to die.) She needed to stop, stop analyzing everything so much. But she couldn't help it. This was who she was. She loved picking things apart, she loved knowing what made everyone tick. Now she wanted to know what made her tick. Or her dreams, to be more precise.
Spencer finally spied the volume that she'd been searching for, and let out a sound of victory. It was The Interpretation of Dreams by none other than the famous psychoanalyst, Sigmund Freud himself. She'd figured it would help her understand the meaning behind the dream that refused to leave her mind.
She took a seat in a shaded alcove, and started leafing through the book. It began,
"In the following pages, I shall demonstrate that there exists a psychological technique by which dreams may be interpreted and that upon the application of this method every dream will show itself to be a senseful psychological structure which may be introduced into an assignable place in the psychic activity of the waking state..."
She sighed, already feeling her thoughts begin to drift away. Certain images lingered in her mind, like an echo of the visual feast that had been offered to her by her subconscious. She focused her mind elsewhere, like the fact that she'd been certainly happy as a journalist. This, obviously, could be taken at face value. She'd always wanted to be a journalist, but she'd taken law to keep her parents happy. A small sacrifice, it had seemed, at that time. Her parents had strongly objected to their daughter being in a relationship with a carpenter, but she'd brought them around. If she'd even given up law, she was sure her parents would have done something drastic like disown her. And she hadn't wanted to lose her claim on being a Hastings. No matter how much she complained about her family, she still loved them.
Her mind flipped on to the next thing on her mental list. Emily. (How did she end up on the list?) Spencer could think of an extremely reasonable explanation for her inclusion in the dream. It obviously meant that she was happy that at least one of her old friendships was on the mend. There couldn't be another interpretation, right? She was sure Freud would agree. She didn't even have to read the book to figure that one out.
Again, the images came flooding back, arresting her thoughts, storming through the well-guarded gates of her mental fortress. They attacked her with strange feelings. The symptoms Toby had diagnosed that morning (or afternoon) were making a reappearance. No, Spencer. Think about something else. Where was that self control of hers? She couldn't possibly be lingering over details. (Like how the shirt had been so soaked that it resembled cellophane, how she could see the blurry outlines of a lacy camisole through it. Emily's fingers, how they had rested within touching distance of Spencer's hands.) These thoughts had to be banished.
"Ahem." A cough echoed, sounding really close to her. Ugh, people. Did no one respect the sacred silence of libraries anymore? Humanity was certainly coming to an end. She sighed and returned to her rain soaked thoughts, slipping blissfully into the not so analytic replay of her dream.
"Spencer." The cough sounded a lot like her name. Spencer whipped her head up, her features twisted into a mask of annoyance. Arianna stood next to her, smiling apologetically at her. She didn't look scared at all, even though Spencer knew her own eyes were flashing with irritation. It earned her a little of Spencer's respect. Just a little. People usually wilted under the famous Hastings glare.
"Oh, hi. It's you." Spencer forced a smile and gestured to the empty seat next to her. "Why don't you sit down?", she offered out of mere politeness. She hoped the girl wouldn't accept.
She did.
"Are you into Freud? I love him. He's a little mad, really. But all the best people are, right? His theories are a bit...strange. But I love reading about psychology, and he's the one I read when I got introduced to the topic. I often wander here and read about the topic." Arianna's eyes were alive, and she moved her hands around a lot, talking with enthusiasm. It was obvious that she truly loved the subject.
"Huh", was Spencer's intelligent response. All of this threw Spencer a little. She didn't know Emily was into the intellectual type. But then, she really didn't know Emily's type at all. (Hanna would know, but the quirky blonde was nowhere around. Spencer was suddenly filled with an aching sense of absence in her chest.) She'd always assumed that Emily was attracted to girls like Samara or Maya. Or even Alison. Girls with lot of spunk, but no real substance. (In Spencer's opinion.) But Arianna seemed really...book-smart. Really different.
"I'll take that as a tentative no", Arianna grinned, her eyes glinted with hidden amusement, an eyebrow arched at Spencer's obvious muddled state of mind.
Spencer didn't like it at all. Did the other girl think she was stupid? "I'm more of a history person myself. I tend to read about real things, rather than theories. Life altering things", she clarified, her eyes answering the questioning smirk on the journalist's face.
"Hmm. Then what led you to The Interpretation of Dreams? Are we trying to understand abstruse symbolism behind strange subconscious escapades?", Arianna inquired, curiosity lighting up the caverns of her eyes. Spencer snorted mentally. This girl spouted words like a talking thesaurus. Then she wondered if that was what she sounded like to others.
"No-oo", Spencer stretched out the syllable, as if prolonging the word would really back her denial. "Simple curiosity."
The tanned girl didn't seem satisfied with the response, but didn't press it. "What did you think of Emily?", she asked instead, hoping to get more than stock phrases out of the intelligent-looking girl sitting in front of her.
"Wh-what? I mean, why does it matter what I thought of her?", Spencer's eyes widened, wondering if Emily had gotten caught returning home after their midnight rendezvous. Did Arianna suspect something? (Not that something illicit was going on, Spencer added to herself.)
"I mean, she's new around here, so I was just asking. No need to get all flustered."
"I'm not flustered. Simply...", Spencer groped around for words, "..surprised." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You two seem pretty much in love", she ventured, her eyes boring into Arianna's bottomless ones.
"We are." A simple acknowledgement. But underneath those two simple syllables, Spencer thought she could hear slight undertones of bragging. Arianna looked cocky, and although her lips were expressionless, her eyes danced in the dim light of the dusk. She leaned forward, her hands forming a steeple. "I think Em and I are perfect for each other. Don't you?" Was that a metaphorical throwing of the gauntlet? Spencer remembered Emily's words from the night before. Arianna had definitely mistaken the tension between her and Emily as some sort of a chemistry.
"Yeah, you seem like it. Just like Toby and I. I just can't imagine life without him. He's so perfect", Spencer cooed, feeling like she was back in school, working on her lines for drama club. Wasn't there a time when these lines came naturally to her? What had changed? (She knew the answer.)
Arianna seemed satisfied by the display of affection. "Yeah, Toby talks about you non-stop. He's so smitten. When's the wedding?", she asked idly, now distracted because her main purpose of interrogation was done.
The wedding. Oh, the wedding. She was engaged. Right. Not like she had forgotten or something. Not like she'd wondered what the hell Arianna was on about.
"We're taking it slow. We'll look for the right moment. Work's been harsh for both of us, so it'll be a while before we can take some time off. But rest assured, you and Emily will definitely get an invitation when the time comes", Spencer replied with a smile that sat awkwardly on her lips, like too-tight clothes, or a loose ring.
"We'd love to see you guys get married. I definitely think Toby would look quite handsome when he's not covered in sawdust." Arianna's mind was shifting from the conversation already, and Spencer could sense the other girl's inattention. "So, I've got to go. I just came to return a book. Emily will be wondering where I've been off to. It was really nice talking to you, Spencer. Goodbye." She rose, offering her hand to Spencer as a parting. Her grip was firm, and that sly challenging look was back in her eyes momentarily as she focused on her goodbye.
"Same here. Freud had begun to bore me, really. I think I'll look for something more suited to my palate next time. See ya later", Spencer responded, shaking her hand and rising herself. She watched the girl swagger down the aisles without a second look behind her shoulder, wondering what Emily saw in her.
A/N: Yep, short chapter. Y'all must be thrilled. This is kind of a filler, really. I apologize for things being quiet on the Emily front, but I really went into Spencer-mode while writing this. (And sorry if I suck at dream sequences. I tried to portray the 'real but not real' thing we all feel while dreaming. Or maybe that's just me.
spinoza-off: I honestly adore your reviews. :) And I'm so glad you picked up on that. Arianna is basically Spencer in a different life. Which is why Spencer can't stand her. In my opinion, Toby's a lot like Emily, personality wise. They're both shy and sweet, both silent and misunderstood (Emily, due to her earlier confusion with her sexuality). So I thought Emily's love for someone who was a lot like Spencer would make her see what she was actually craving.
064548: Thanks a lot. Yeah, Spencer did overreact, and Emily too didn't try to clear up the confusion. Trust me, things aren't going to be easy at all for these two. And jealous Spencer will soon make an appearance. xD
angelgirl201: Thank you very much! :)