Hey, everyone. Here's another chapter for you. In this chapter, I touch on Spencer's feelings after her revelation. As well as Emily's reaction to it.

Chapter 40: Fears

Spencer's POV

It hurts too much.

My body jerks backward. The contact on my skin burns. I can't—I just can't. I don't mean to, but the instinct is too strong to fight. The group hug they've pulled me into is too much. I stumble out of bed, nearly tripping, and when I finally break free, I wrap my arms around myself, gripping tightly. I need to erase the feeling of hands on me. I can't bear this. Not now.

"Spence?" Emily's voice is soft, careful. But it's still too much. I shake my head sharply.

"I'm fine," I whisper, though the words barely leave my lips.

My pulse is racing, my skin cold and clammy. I'm not fine, and they know it. I can feel their eyes on me—watching, waiting, worried. It's too much. I want to disappear.

I've always been the strong one, the reliable one, the fixer. But now? Now they see me breaking, see the pieces I've kept hidden for so long. They've heard the words I swore I'd never speak. There's no undoing that.

My chest tightens. The air around me is too thick, too heavy. I can't pull it in. I grip my arms tighter, nails digging into my skin, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to.

"Spencer," Hanna starts, but I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head.

"Don't," I say, my voice cracking. "Please, don't."

A sharp ringing fills my ears, drowning everything else out. My vision blurs at the edges. My breath wavers, my heart hammering against my ribs. I'm spiraling. I'm losing control. And I can't stop it.

A hand brushes against mine.

I flinch violently, a strangled sound escaping before I can swallow it back. I stumble, my back hitting the wall. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

"Spencer." Emily's voice cuts through the noise, steady but gentle. "You're okay. You're safe."

I shake my head rapidly. No. I'm not. I'm not.

My hands claw at my shirt's neckline—it's too tight. My chest won't expand.

Emily doesn't touch me again. She crouches down, her voice soft, steady. "Listen to me, okay? Just focus on my voice. Breathe in with me."

She inhales slowly, exaggerating the motion. My chest tightens painfully, but I try. I gasp in a shaky breath, but it's not enough.

"Again," Emily coaxes.

She leans in slightly, just out of reach. Warm air brushes against my face as she exhales. Air. Real, tangible air.

I try again, my breath hitching on the exhale. It still feels wrong, uneven, but Emily stays with me, guiding me through each inhale and exhale until the ringing in my ears fades and my vision clears.

"There you go," she murmurs. "You're okay."

Exhaustion crashes over me. My body trembles as I slump against the wall, forehead pressed to my knees. What's happening to me? How am I this weak? This pathetic? It was years ago. Ian is gone. He's nothing. So why does it still feel like he's here?

Emily shifts, settling somewhere in front of me. Nobody speaks. Are they exchanging looks? Wondering what to do? The thought makes my stomach twist. And yet, the silence—their presence—feels grounding.

I don't know how long we sit like this, but eventually, the rawness dulls just enough for me to lift my head. Emily is still on the floor, Hanna in my desk chair, Aria lying across my bed.

They haven't moved. They stayed. They didn't leave.

My throat tightens, and my eyes sting. Emily notices instantly. She starts to reach for me but stops herself.

Instead, she speaks. "Hey, love. It's okay. You don't have to hold it in. We're here. You're safe."

I want to cry. I want to let go. But I can't. My body feels empty, drained. The panic attack took everything.

I don't know what the girls expect from me. I don't even know what I expect from myself.

The silence stretches again until Hanna reaches for a book on my desk. She flips it open and starts reading aloud: "On the 24th of February, 1815, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naple."

I'm surprised at first. I thought her voice would irritate me. That it would be too much, too intrusive. But it isn't. It's soothing.

She glances my way, and when she sees my posture relax, she keeps going. Her voice fills the room, taking up space in my head until there's nothing else. Everything fades. I lie down on the floor, staring at the ceiling, letting the words wrap around me.

It's well into the night when Aria and Hanna leave.

I beg Emily to go home, too. I can't be the reason she gets into even more trouble. "Baby, please. What if your parents decide I'm a bad influence? What if they blame me when they finally make you move to Texas?"

Emily wipes away the tears I didn't even realize were falling. "Love, it's okay. I texted my mom this time. I'm staying. It's okay."

She stands, then extends her hands to me, helping me up. As soon as I'm steady, she lets go, probably unsure if I can handle the contact. I don't know if I can either. I don't know if I can feel anything right now. I just stand there, frozen. Emily notices, but she hesitates, unsure of what to do.

A voice in my head screams at me to pull myself together, to stop putting more weight on her shoulders. She's been through enough this past year. So strong. So fucking brave. But vulnerable too. No matter how loud the voice gets, I can't move. I can't drag myself back into my body, back into this room with her. I'm stuck. Numb.

Emily sits on my bed and pats the space beside her. My body responds before my mind catches up.

"Spence, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise," she says softly. She starts playing with her fingers, one of her tells. She's anxious. "But… do you think that… maybe…" Her voice falters. "I know it's hard. And I know I was difficult for you to deal with, refusing to get help for so long. But it has helped me. A lot. So maybe, tomorrow morning, we could go see Miss Carson. Or you could go alone. Whatever feels right for you."

She stops rambling and looks at me, waiting.

Maybe she's right. Maybe it's time I do this—not just for me, but for her peace of mind. So Emily can focus on healing without worrying about me falling apart.

I nod slowly.

I can do this for her. Right?

Emily's POV

I never saw it coming. Spencer has always been the one looking out for everyone, making sure we're okay, making sure we stay okay. She's always been steady, strong. Or at least, that's what I thought. Now I know she's been carrying the weight of something unbearable, alone, for years.

I shift in my chair, glancing at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticks forward, steady and unbothered. My mind, in contrast, is racing.

Miss Carson watches me patiently, giving me space. She probably knows exactly how fast my thoughts are running, how tangled they've become.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be there for her the way she needs."

Miss Carson nods slightly, still letting me take my time. I exhale sharply, trying to gather my thoughts.

"It's been a few days," I continue, voice unsteady. "And I still don't know what to say to her. I don't even know how to act around her. She's been through hell, and I—" My throat tightens. "I'm scared, Miss Carson. I don't know how to help her."

Miss Carson watches me with careful eyes, waiting, letting me say what I need to say in my own time. There are too many feelings running wild inside me. I'm not sure how to understand how I'm feeling. Honestly, a little part of me isn't sure if I'm allowed to have feelings at all; it's Spencer's experience, not mine. But the feelings are there anyway, impossible to ignore. And underneath it all, there's one that won't go away: fear.

Her disclosure made me realize something terrifying. Spencer has been suffering in silence for years. And I'm ashamed to admit it, but… how can I trust that she'll tell me if she's not okay?

"She never asks for help," I continue. "Not when she was struggling with her sexuality. Not when she was hurting herself. Not when she was suicidal. Not when she was… raped." The word catches in my throat. "Not even now."

Miss Carson nods. "That's a lot to carry, Emily. And it makes sense that you're struggling with it."

"I keep thinking," I whisper, "what if she still feels that way? What if she's still hurting and just… not saying anything? What if she never tells me?"

She doesn't answer right away, letting my words settle between us.

"That fear is valid," she finally says. "But it's not something you can control. You can encourage her, remind her she's not alone, but you can't force her to ask for help. That has to come from her."

I know she's right. It doesn't make it any easier.

"There's something more." I look away, embarrassed.

"What's that?" Miss Carson asks, her tone neutral.

"I know how hypocritical all of this is," I manage through gritted teeth.

She notices the shift in my attitude—from helplessness to anger. When she speaks again, her voice carries even more compassion. "What do you mean, Emily? Why is it hypocritical?"

I swallow hard, my hands twisting together in my lap. "I know that if it hadn't been for Spencer and Hanna breaking through the walls I built around myself, I wouldn't have opened up to them either."

Miss Carson nods but waits, letting me finish my thoughts.

"Sitting here, questioning whether I can trust Spencer to tell me when she's hurting… it feels selfish. Hypocritical. How can I doubt her honesty when I did the same thing?"

"I want to explore that with you, Emily, and we will. But first, I want you to hear the words you just used to describe yourself: selfish and hypocritical." She pauses, letting them sink in. "Do those words truly reflect who you are?"

Her question catches me off guard. "I… I don't know. Maybe? It feels like I've been worrying my friends and dragging them through this with me for so long. It should've never been their problem. They never should have had to deal with all of this. Isn't that at least a little selfish?"

Miss Carson tilts her head slightly. "Does worrying about burdening people sound selfish to you?"

"Hum…" I hesitate, actually thinking about it. "I guess not. But even if I do worry about them, I still pull them into it. Shouldn't I keep them out of it?"

"This brings us back to Spencer." Her voice is gentle but firm. "Aren't you sad, hurt—even a little wary—because she kept you out of it for so long?"

Oh, fuck.

I wasn't expecting that.

A realization settles deep in my chest. I've been holding myself to a double standard. Maybe all the girls want from me is exactly what I want from Spencer—to open up. To let them in.

I've spent so much time feeling guilty for being in pain, trying not to impact them. But maybe… maybe all they want is for me to feel whatever I need to feel—as long as I don't do it alone.

I hesitate, then glance at Miss Carson.

"So… what do I do now?"

She offers me a small, knowing smile. "That's something we can figure out together."