The perpetual wave of in and out, in and out…

It was enough to make her nauseous.

A far-off drone occupied her obscure purgatory. Hushed conversation wove through her disconnected sense of lucidity. An enduring pressure weighted her hand down. She dreamt of sapphire crystal and shadowy trees. Floating images of long corridors and lonesome ghosts distorted her vision. Black. Red. More black.

And a whispered cry. "Please come home to me, Spencer."

Maybe it was Alison. Maybe she was on her way to wherever Alison was. Probably hell. After all, that's where they both belonged.

But even in this blurred state, she knew that voice did not belong to Alison.

…

White walls. White sheets. White lights.

White gown.

Will the circle be unbroken?

No, not—

"Spencer! You're awake."

The pressure on her hand, the sapphire eyes.

"Where am I?"

His brows knit together in something resembling despair. "In the hospital, Spence. You don't remember anything from last night?"

She tried to shake her head but it was too heavy. "No."

A nagging frown marred his handsome face. "Someone attacked you…you were home alone, and someone came in and hurt you. Do you remember that?"

"No." Her voice was so pathetically raspy. She hated it, hated this place.

"Okay…can I get you anything? Something to drink…or are you hungry? Maybe I should call the nurse—"

"I just want to sleep. I'm so tired." It was true; her eyelids seemed to balance hundreds of pounds each.

"Sure." It was barely a mumble. A small, sad syllable. He absently brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face.

"Toby?"

"Yeah?"

Her eyes were already closed but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice without having to see it in the uneven strokes of his tortured expression. "Are they sending me to Radley?"

"What? No. Why would they do that?"

She hadn't cried in a long time, not since the day he came back to her. The day she became whole again, the day she found restorative promise. She thought everything had changed that day, that it would all go back to the way things had once been. How tragically naïve.

So the unwelcomed surge of saltwater behind her abundant lashes caught her off guard. "Because maybe I belong there."

She fell asleep to the melody of Toby's soft cries.

…

"Have you ever thought about dying?"

She had been awake for at least an hour, but they had barely exchanged more than a few words. He was noticeably at a loss for what to say or do. So when that imaginary thread of a doubt began to snake its way across her tongue, she fully expected him to freak out on her—yell, cry, call the suicide hotline—but he seemed unfazed. He turned his somber eyes toward hers in what felt like slow motion.

"Yes. Of course I have."

So apparently this was on the approved list of conversation. "And?"

Toby sighed deeply, exhaustion painted in the creases around his mouth and in the dips of his forehead. "Well when my mom died…especially with the way she left us…I couldn't help but think about it a lot."

"Right. Sorry."

"It's okay." Some unresolved emotion flickered in his gaze. "And if I'm being honest, it ran through my mind a lot when I…while I worked with Mona, and when you found out. I spent a lot of time off the grid, Spence, and I kept thinking…everyone would be better off if I just wasn't here. If you hadn't found me when you did…I don't know."

There it was. A lifeline. She wasn't the only one who got wedged in the darkness. He seemed lost in his own reverie now, but Spencer felt a spark of elusive hope at his confession.

Hope breeds eternal misery.

No, that voice, that stupid impetuous thread was trying to bind her. She sensed its resilient grasp on her wrist.

"Spencer."

Wait, that grasp on her wrist was warm and familiar. Toby was still here. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

She hated how often he said that. "I know."

"No, you don't. I'm sorry for what happened the other day at the Brew, for not telling you myself that I was worried about you. But more than that…I'm sorry that I haven't been listening to you lately, really listening to you."

She lifted her frail shoulders noncommittally.

"I'm here now, okay? I love you so much. I don't think I've told you that enough lately." His voice was so steady, so insistent.

"I'm fine."

Her mumbled reply did little to alleviate that rumpling line between his eyes. "That's not true. Come on, Spence, we're sitting in a hospital and you're asking me about dying."

"What am I supposed to say?"

He looked pained. Maybe he should be the one in the white gown. "I want you to say everything that's been buzzing around in that head of yours."

A forgotten fire blazed in the pit of her stomach. "Everything? What version of everything? Do you want to talk about the fact that I'm not going to college, or how the burden of lying to my friends for weeks has been killing me, or maybe how we never talk anymore?"

She saw the muscles jumping in his jaw as he released her arm and sat back in his chair. "I told them."

"What?"

He swallowed heavily. "I told them, Spencer. Last night, they were all here and I told them the truth about A and my mom. I'm pretty sure Hanna would have slapped me if Caleb hadn't been holding her back."

"Maybe she should have." Where those twisted words sprang from, she wasn't sure.

But he was too patient, too forgiving. "I wouldn't have blamed her."

An elongated stillness enveloped the cold room. It was always so cold.

"Spencer, you are going to college. UPenn made a huge mistake, but a thousand other schools will want you."

"And when am I supposed to apply to thousands of other schools? Between hunting down Dr. Palmer, CeCe Drake, Wilden's killer, and Red Coat? Sorry, I'm a little booked."

"I'm sorry, I know I have—"

"You already said that."

"Listen." She shrank back and another apology seemed to hover on his lips, but he stifled it. "I've really screwed this up, Spencer. This is how it happened before and I should have known better than to let it spiral like this again. It just...it felt different this time because I was being honest with you, but that doesn't justify the fact that I have dumped my mess into your lap. That wasn't fair. I know that you're tired of the words 'I'm sorry' and truthfully, so am I. If you want me to walk away from this…I will."

Every particle of air was sucked from the room as his watery eyes zeroed in on her threadbare soul.

Pretending not to love you was the hardest thing I've ever done.

What we had was real.

"Don't go." It was a squeak, but it was enough.

"Okay." His voice was unequivocally rough, something akin to the sandpaper he so often carried with him.

a/n

two down, one to go.

more reviews = faster update.

Spoby forever.