I am literally so happy I cannot contain myself and it's a complete 180 to the way Toby's feeling in this chapter. I'm going to share a little anecdote with you from my life so you know why I'm so insanely happy but don't feel obligated to read it haha. So I'm getting my BA in Creative Writing in like two weeks and I have an insanely harsh workshop leader who has like two positive things to say about your stories before ripping them apart. Well today, he actually told me that he LOVED my story. I've heard him say that to only two other people before; it's nothing to bat an eye at. I still can't stop freaking out about it; everyone in my class loved it and my professor said that it was "exquisite and professional." Well hey, at least I know I'm doing something right. ;)

Today's chapter title comes from "The World Spins Madly On" by The Weepies. Kudos to you if you actually read my little life story. I've wanted to be a writer since I was little and have been writing since third grade, so you know, it's just nice to be recognized for it. I am my toughest critic, of course, but that professor of mine is next in line. It's nice to know I'm in the right business, right? :P

the night is here and the day is gone

As is custom with any being of the human race, there are good days and there are bad days. There is supposed to be a fair balance of the two, or if you're really lucky, there are far more good days than bad. Of course, you could tip the other end of the scale too and drown underneath the bad days with only a handful of good to get you through. Toby Cavanaugh knows all too well what this feels like. When his mother had first been diagnosed, she had her manic days and she had her depressive days, but they were, at first, well balanced. But then she began to deteriorate; she'd stay in bed all day, the covers drawn and lights off, or she'd forget his name, or she'd run the shower to drown out her guttural sobs. It never worked; Toby always heard her.

After she'd passed, Toby felt like he was in an endless free-fall; living, but not feeling, there, but unacknowledged. His mother was barely cold before his father had moved on and Toby's endless stream of bad days was far from over. His stomach still churns at the thought of what Jenna had done to him, at what she'd made him do; he grips the steering wheel more tightly. He needs to calm down; this is only adding to his insurmountable anger. But the purpose of this mental walk down memory lane had been to distract himself from his current anger by providing himself with memories of when he'd been worse off. He hardly thinks that anything can be worse than his teenage years.

He was thought of to be a freak long before Alison DiLaurentis and her posse preached this from the mountaintops. His lack of athletic finesse and disinterest in what his classmates deemed "normal" easily set that in stone for him. Toby had heard all the rumors; that he was a Peeping Tom, that he delighted in murdering animals, that he was involved in hard drugs, constantly in pursuit by the law. He'd heard it all and he hadn't minded, not really, because if people were occupied with these thoughts, then they didn't have time to learn the truth of why he was the way he was. There wasn't really anything he could do about their thoughts; there wasn't really anything he could do about Jenna. And although it's pathetically tragic, he still would like to kiss Alison DiLaurentis's damn feet for getting him away from her.

That doesn't mean he doesn't still hate her. He hates her with a burning passion. He hates that he was blamed for murdering her when all he did was share a sweater. He hates that he spent time under law enforcement's watchful eye because of this accusation, when in reality, Alison DiLaurentis may not have been well, but she was certainly alive. He hates what she did to Emily, to Hanna, to Spencer; to girls she claimed were her best friends. He tries his hardest to channel his current anger into the past instead. Words cannot describe the way he felt when Spencer told him, through pained tears, that Alison was still alive. It wasn't until then, it wasn't until that very moment, that Toby realized he wanted her dead.

Okay, his displacement isn't working. Today had been an absolute stress-fest and everything that could have gone wrong absolutely did. He'd gotten a job just on the outskirts of Paris and had rented a car in which to transport him there, just to save time. But everything had pissed him off; he'd had an unwanted coworker, the car he'd rented had been on its last leg and the client he'd worked for had been an absolute disaster. They'd been living in Paris for three months now and just when Toby had started to believe that everyone in Paris was gracious, warm and kind, the client he'd worked for today turned out to be a human cesspool and he wanted to take everything back. He pulls into the rental car agency, returns the keys and demands in angry French for his money back. He succeeds. Heading straight for the metro, Toby realizes he has to find a way to harness his anger, because there's no way this is good for his body.

A little after eight p.m., Toby arrives on the 8th arrondissement and starts towards their apartment. He'd grown accustomed, when he was younger, to a slew of bad days, but he hasn't had many of them since. Perhaps that's why he's so irascibly angry; he hadn't had a bad day in a while and maybe some naïve part of him thought they were over. He shakes his head, turns the key and pushes open their front door. His family's nowhere to be seen and most of the lights are off save for the one above the stove; the one Spencer keeps on superstitiously all hours of the day and night. There is a glowing light coming from their daughter's room and he can hear giggles, so he follows the sound and comes to observe from the hall.

"Polar bears have black skin under their fur to better absorb the sun," Spencer reads.

"That's good," Grace comments, perched on her mother's lap. "'Cause sunblock would make their fur all sticky."

Spencer nods and turns the page. "Galapagos tortoises sleep sixteen hours a day and can go a year without food or water."

"Don't they get hungry?" Grace asks, wide-eyed. "That's a long time to wait."

"It really is," Spencer agrees. "It also says that the longest-living Galapagos tortoise lived to be 152 years old!"

"Oh my gosh!" Grace exclaims. "That's just like Crush!"

Toby smirks, not even a bit surprised by her reference, as she has become quite the Disney encyclopedia. Her reading material also does not shock him; an A-Z National Geographic book is exactly the type of thing he would expect Grace to select from the library. Toby watches them a moment more, unwilling to disturb their mother-daughter bonding, and can't help the grin from forming on his face. Was he angry before? Did he have a horrible day? He doesn't remember. He's too busy witnessing one of the most beautiful things life has ever given him. Spencer and his mini-Spencer; his two favorite girls. They're happy, extremely happy, and by extension, so is he. He should have known that returning home would make his terrible day feel as though it never happened. These girls always make anything awful inconsequential.

Spencer glances up, then; she must have sensed his presence. "Hey. I didn't hear you come in."

"That's okay," He insists. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Daddy," Grace greets jovially. "Did you know that the king cobra has enough poison in him to kill an elephant?"

Toby's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "I didn't know that. That's pretty awesome."

"Not for the elephant," She giggles and her parents agree.

"Is this really a good bedtime story?" Toby questions and Grace insists adamantly.

"Yeah I just got it today!"

"We took a trip to the library after school," Spencer informs him. "She's been begging me to read it to her ever since."

"It's really cool," Grace nods. "I like the pictures, too."

"It's pretty long, though," Spencer informs her daughter. "I think we'll have to save the rest for tomorrow."

"Aw," Grace frowns. "But it's so good I don't want to finish!"

"Hey, think about all the cool things you'll have to tell your friends tomorrow in school," Toby points out. "You'll be the smartest one in the class."

Grace giggles. "Okay."

Her parents fold her beneath the sheets of her bed and kiss her goodnight. When they've retreated to the living room, Spencer properly greets him with a kiss of his own and asks, "How was your jaunt to the French countryside?"

"Awful," Toby says truthfully, sensing the concern in her eyes and squandering it before she can ask. "But my day's much better now, thank you."

"Because you're home?"

"Because you're home," He elaborates. "And honestly, that's all I need."