#spencer

The Little Trashmaid

Introduction part 2

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The Little Trashmaid

Make a wish

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“Spencer” is a meditation on practical, private horrors. 

Review includes discussions of disordered eating, anorexia, bulimia, and mentions of self-harm.

***Spoilers*** 

Keep reading

“Spencer” is a meditation on practical, private horrors. 

Review includes discussions of disordered eating, anorexia, bulimia, and mentions of self-harm.

***Spoilers*** 

Spencer is directed by Pablo Larraín who also helmed “Jackie.” He takes a story we’re familiar with, JFK’s assassination, and presents it as a murder. In “Jackie” a woman witnesses her husband get murdered right in front of her. She has to deal with the practical fallout e.g. where will we live, where will the kids go to school, how will I get a job. She has obvious advantages but in the face of personal trauma she is bound to struggle.

“Spencer” is a similar meditation on practical, private horrors. Diana is a woman who would really benefit from divorcing a checked-out, loser husband and ditching in-laws that are at best indifferent and at worst saboteurs. She is coping by controlling what she can resulting in self-harm, impulsivity, and an eating disorder. Like “Jackie” we’re presented with a captivating performance of an historical figure and attention to the details of the period, but it’s really about a woman realizing she has to get divorced in order to have some hope of future happiness.

Except, uh oh, she’s a princess. Diana ruminates on the fact that she’s married into a family descended from a man who murdered his wives. The monarchy is a multigenerational shit-show and deciding how to get out is agonizing. Despite being young, white, attractive, intelligent, and wealthy, she’s overwhelmed. 

“Spencer” is a devastating depiction of anorexia and bulimia, succeeding in showing why someone would engage in disordered eating and how the behavior manifests. There’s a moment where Diana raids the fridge late at night. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweater, an outfit that for most of the world would be fine to wear to a family dinner, but here she’s out of place. She finds it impossible to eat in front of others, so here’s a moment at the end of the day where she can be in and out of control in the same moment. The horror of her being interrupted in this intimate act is hard to overstate. 

There’s another moment when Charles says that the bees made the honey and the cooks worked on this and you could, you know, not vomit as a thank you. It’s a horrible thing to say. It stands in contrast with the head chef who tells Diana about the waste from the food prep, specifically from the pheasant hunt. He doesn’t belabor the point but in mentioning there is food waste, we touch on something related to disordered eating. Once you eat food it’s garbage. Someone trying to stop purging should be absolved from feeling like they’re wasting food. It’s garbage at that point. Really dealing with food waste and food insecurity is important, but torturing yourself with guilt in addition to being bulimic doesn’t help.

All around incredible cast. Kristen Stewart deserves every good thing said about her. Timothy Spall is a monster. Sean Harris shows his range by playing nice. And Sally Hawkins is great. This movie made me think that if Sally Hawkins hugged you, your problems would go away for a half hour.

summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.

word count: 1,007                                                                                     reading time: 4 mins

warnings: angst

a/n: HERE IS THE FINALE!!! I’ve had the most amazing time writing with the talented @goldentournesol​. Steph is incredible and so creative, please show her some love! Hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

part 1 part 2

I was afraid the chocolate he got me would taste sour, but it was luscious. I found comfort in the sweetness, just as I had found comfort in Spencer. It’s been a week since his confession. I also couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous in my accusations. I had jumped to conclusions and couldn’t see the signs of my boyfriend in pain. The guilt ate away at me for a while, but Spencer let me know that he had been hiding it to the best of his ability. I eventually told him that I wanted to be the one he ran to when he was in pain. Both of us had our fair share of issues with vulnerability and insecurity, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t work through them together.

And so, here I sat, my head in his lap, his hand in my hair like all those weeks ago. This time, when our gazes met, there were no underlying feelings. No words left unsaid. The air was finally cleared and we could finally breathe. The air tasted sweeter somehow, now that I understood fully.
The past week was not easy. Reconciliation was a bumpy road and I was not prepared for the ride. Spencer and I are stubborn, proud individuals. I had almost kicked him out of my apartment that night. I had almost ended the relationship right then and there. What else was I supposed to do when he’d said such vicious things?

But he’d seen the crack in my armor. The room was heavy with the guilt I felt and my subsequent tears were even heavier. The tears fell free before I could even tell them not to. His behavior made sense. I saw it then, he’d squint if the room was too bright and would often ask me to turn the TV volume down. His stories had become less animated, he had become less animated. He was going to sleep much earlier than he usually did. I should have caught on, but I just assumed that his long days had taken a toll on him. Spencer was no stranger to overworking himself.

He explained that he’d gone to countless doctors and I expressed how upset it made me that he was going through all that on his own. I could have been there for him, I could have supported him, but he wasn’t used to having someone to lean on. He was his own protection all his life, and I understood that. I made it clear that he had someone to lean on now, someone who loved him and looked after him.

The doctors had trouble diagnosing him so he referred to a renowned geneticist. She was one of the greatest minds in her field apparently. It was a she, after all, and she had a name. Maeve Donovan. It was easier to have a name. It personified her. She was less of an abstract being and more of a person. I thought about how much of my time and energy she’d unknowingly spent before I even knew who she was. Or I guess I was the one who’d spent it.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, looking up at Spencer, who was focused on the TV now. He finally had the weekend off after finishing a case in Wisconsin. I’d been tasked by Dr. Donovan to make sure that he’s getting at least eight hours of sleep each night. He’d been good at going to bed on time, his issue was with staying asleep more than going to sleep, anyway.

“I’ve been better, but to be honest, I’ve also been much worse.” He shrugged. Spencer’s eyes were never unkind, his soul was too kind to let them show anything other than that. Even now, his eyes were soft, even softer due to the dim light in my apartment.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I sat up to face him. I’d been doing my own research on migraines. Mostly how to relieve pain. Dr. Donovan also mentioned a series of supplements that he had to keep track of. I’ve made sure to incorporate more vitamin-enriched foods into our diet as well as made sure to keep him adequately hydrated.

I recognized the mischief in his eyes before he could even get a word out, “Actually, I think it’s time for my hourly dose of kisses.”

I threw my head back in a hearty laugh before cupping his face gingerly and bringing it closer to mine, “Who am I to deny you your medication?”

His grin was contagious, it went straight to my heartstrings and I felt weightless when he looked at me like that. His hands were perched on my waist and I brushed our noses together once before sealing our lips.

Together we lived in the clouds, sharing the same bubble. We’ve finally rebuilt the fantasy we had before, although this time a newfound trust had formed. However, that is not to say that everything was instantly perfect. Frankly, I think that the inexperience and the unknown is what gives beauty to this world, our world. To me, anything with him was perfect, no matter what the great philosophers say. But they were right in one aspect: defining voluntaryignorance.

The bliss I felt in our intimate space was addicting, it turned my brain into gullible mush. I didn’t want to believe that eternity didn’t exist. How can it not when it feels like this? I refuse to believe it. But harsh reality does not lie, it is only ourselves willing to fall for it. One day, Spencer’s arms would no longer be around me, and his lips would no longer brush softly against mine. The bubble would shatter like glass, the deception following suit. But for now, this lie was a silent agreement between Spencer and I. No matter the blissful ignorance we shared between us; no matter the ignorance of Spencer’s remaining lucidity, I knew this was the only lie we wished to be true.

-

taglist:@rexorangecouny@howdycharlie@honeymilk-4@linthebinbag@andreasworlsboring101@ssareidbby@kyleetheeditor@fanofalltheficsx@jimilogy@lulwaxim@jhillio@m3ssytrash@haylaansmi@meowiemari@ashwarren32@codyf3rnsupremecy@goldentournesol@measure-in-pain​@louisetheblue

to be true, to not be true taglist: @sassymoon@jackiehollanderr@gubleryum​@cielo1984@allexthakatt​@escapingrealities​

summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.

word count: 3,969                                                                                     reading time: 14 mins

warnings:angst, cheating allegations, mental illness

a/n:PLEASEREAD!!!! the epilogue/finale for this will be uploaded on @goldentournesol later today! 

masterlist

part 1

What kind of life is lived when all you’re doing is waiting for the other shoe to drop? Waiting for the inevitability of cruelty? I stepped into a relationship with Spencer never expecting that I’d be waiting for the cord to snap. He led me into a cocoon of safety, one where I never doubted his motives. One I wasn’t sure I deserved.

Three little words can seemingly make or break a relationship, and the words Spencer had uttered confirmed that theory. However, unlike in most relationships–at least the fortunate ones, it wasn’t the three-word spectacle that symbolized the deep passion or confirmation of the shared sentiments. Instead, the dreadful trinity cut me deep, symbolizing the undoing of what we have–correction, had. 

“It’s a date.” 

I wish I could curse the air, scream into the sky, and stomp at the earth below me, but I couldn’t help but direct all malice to me. 

What did she have that I didn’t? It must’ve been my intelligence. Everyday, Spencer was surrounded by the brightest minds–him outshining the rest, although his humbled self would always discredit that matter. With a considerate heart, he would mind voicing his opinions of people out loud, keeping to himself. However, there’s a significant distinction between publicly expressing your judgement and having internal thoughts, though unshared, still exist. 

This baffled me, considering Spencer had always reassured me of this particular insecurity, suppressing the disquiet of my thoughts. Would he have lied? He seemingly excels at that, as of recent, among his other accolades. I would never admit it to him, but I would often find myself skimming through the books he loved–analyzing them so I’d better understand his mind or to offer a common topic. All the things I did for him to seem smarter in the past makes me look stupid now. The wasted effort should set every fiber of my being aflame and angered, however, all I can really feel is the doubt and self-resentment pricking at the walls of my chest. 

All I can show for it are the blotched texture of my cheeks from incessant wet streaks, the suffocating push and pull of my throat, and the tautness of my muscles from the inability to move. On top of that, a heavy heart that carried the haunting spirit of a failure. 

This disposition left me paralyzed on a Thursday night, alone in my apartment. The parallel left me with an incredulous expression. Just last week, I was on the precipice of my relationship without knowing it–senseless to the downward spiral that followed. What would I have changed, had I known this was going to happen? I tell myself this was all on him, but what if it isn’t? What if I led him to do this? To seek love and comfort in someone else.

Spencer’s been out of town for the last four days. I should have kept up with our nightly calls, but the truth is I couldn’t hear his voice without breaking down. His calls were left unanswered and I didn’t even know if that worried him or not. My insecurities had me by the throat and I just couldn’t shake them. Why was I dreading the day he returned? I’d seen his text messages, but hadn’t bothered to reply. I didn’t want him to know that I was festering in my own self-pity, so when I finally answered the call after he texted me to let me know that he was in town, I pretended I was someone else for it.

 But then I thought…maybe, just maybe, it was all in my head. Maybe he wasn’t calling her as much as he was calling me, I didn’t even know if it was a her. I still thought that I might be desperate enough for his attention. So much so that I was willing to be the second option.

The phone call was short and dry, but I did my best to pretend that I was fine. He said he would take me out on a date tomorrow. It would be Friday, not Thursday. He said he was busy today and I didn’t ask him what he was doing, I had a feeling the knowledge would only cleave our relationship further. As tempting as it felt to pull away from him even more, I must admit that I missed him. I missed the way his nose scrunched when he was listening to me talk, I missed the way he’d always chime in with his facts and stories. I missed what we had and who we were before things started to change.

I forced myself to get ready for our date the next day. I circled around my apartment like a vulture circling around its prey, as if I’d find any motivation lying around, but it felt redundant so I stopped. I sat on my couch and nervously tapped away my anxiety until the doorbell rang throughout my apartment. Taking a deep breath, I made my way over to the door and opened it to see him holding a large bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He’d never been one for grand gestures, and I’d never been one for flowers and chocolates, but from him, they were precious. I let myself accept them with a smile, even though the dread was eating me alive from the inside. Don’t cheaters and psychopaths buy gifts for their victims in a way to suppress their guilt? Did I just compare my boyfriend to a psychopath?

“What’s all this for?” I asked him after he greeted me with a kiss to my cheek. I put the flowers in a vase as he spoke, following me through the hallway and into my kitchen.

“Well, I felt bad for postponing our date and you sounded upset over the phone. I’m sorry I technically missed our date night.” Spencer said, tapping his fingers on my counter, waiting for my reaction. I surveyed him under my lashes. His remorse seemed genuine, but I was no profiler. I wouldn’t be able to catch his quirks as easily as he would. 

I merely nodded, “Thank you, I love them.” I said, but the words felt like they were spoken from behind me, from someone else’s mouth. His eyes raked over me like they were assessing me, just as mine had a few moments ago.

“What?” I asked, trying my best to convey curiosity instead of acidity.

“Nothing, you just seem a bit on edge.” He said, smoothing a hand over his cardigan. My eyes followed his hand instead of meeting with his. His gaze felt sharp, even though I know he didn’t mean it that way.

“I’ve just been having a hard time at work.” I dismissed the conversation and quickly changed the subject, “So, are we ready?” He nodded, dropping it and we left my apartment.

The slight chill passing between the backs of our hands felt foreign to the skin. I guess I was so accustomed to the warmth and comfort enveloping the appendage that it felt like a phantom limb. I even miss the claminess of his fingers and how my own fit perfectly between the dips in his hand. However, it was difficult to reminisce with the penetrating thoughts of resentment and self-scolding in the back of my mind. 

Every other step, Spencer would ask a shallow inquiry, in which I would reply with a mindless response. It’s like we reverted back to the naive touches and suppressed sentences in the beginning of our relationship. However this time, a tense air constricted the blood flow to our heads. 

“So, what’s been going on at work?” he hummed, tilting his head towards me. Without meeting his analytical gaze, I responded with a mere quirk in the lips, suggesting a less than satisfactory experience. He nodded, sensing the imminent disinterest of the conversation. 

While we walked on, I subconsciously laced my fingers togethers and observed the oscillating space between us. My feet staggered as I took a heavy interest in kicking stray pebbles and counting the cracks on the sidewalk. At this point, Spencer’s baffled yet indistinguishable expression had locked onto the side of my face. I would never mind his curiosity, but this time sent pins and needles shooting down my spine. 

Unable to handle the suffocating air, I pushed the words off of my tongue and took a leap, “What did you do yesterday?” I sputtered out, cringing out how desperate and invasive I sounded; huffing, I rephrased my question to be less encroaching. Although why would that matter at this point? We’ve hit our climax, and we’re frankly teetering on the precipice.

“I had to deal with some family business,” he admitted breathlessly, a stutter undetectable in his words. I peaked at him from my disengaged stature, noticing the slight hilt in his voice was gone–a tell of dishonesty that was usually easy to spot. I guess he really did get better at it; they say continued practice makes perfect, right? 

My head throbbed at the thought, and my nails dug into the surface of my fist. “Family business,” I nodded, not noticing the pure indignation evident in my tone. I hadn’t even realized that the phrase came out as a jesting scoff until Spencer had called my attention. 

“Is something wrong?” He stopped suddenly, straying a few steps behind me as he waited.  I could tell by the firmness of his voice that he was slightly annoyed by my reclusive behavior. Everyone had a limit, and Spencer wasn’t an exception to that. 

I shook it off, finding my composure once again. I fought the bubbling feeling of impulsivity, the wanting to throw the whole world at him for deceiving me. I suppressed the desire to scream and yell, leaving them hidden in my imagination. I detested the way his eyes would scan over me in a mixed expression of pity and displeasure, adding onto the blaze inside my stomach. 

“No.”

My delivery left me stunned, and hearing the tenacity and resolve in my voice was almost unheard of. Although it did set a culpable insecurity in mind, knowing that it sprang from a place of abhorrence and anger. The second the word fell breathlessly off my tongue, it rubbed Spencer the wrong way. We’ve had petty fights before, but as individuals we’ve always advocated for fighting the problem together rather than each other. I hate to admit it, but between the two of us, it wasn’t surprising that Spencer had a sound mind. At least, that’s what I knewof. 

He took a deep breath, as if he were resetting himself and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, “Let’s just eat something.” Instead of fighting, I heard him add, but of course he didn’t actually say it.

-

I wish I had the privilege of saying that dinner was intense or full of passive-aggressive bickering but instead it was a suffocating silence, only broken by conversing with our server. The room shrunk to the size of an elevator, and the extravagant decor transformed into four silver surrounding walls. Despite being only 3 feet away from each other, our presence felt miles away. At one point, I even contemplated fabricating a convoluted excuse to leave abruptly but it was my pride that prevented me from doing so. 

The walk back to my apartment was even more tense. Spencer’s breathing pattern was off. I couldn’t remember when I’d begun analyzing his breathing, but I could tell something was off. The second the door of my unit slammed shut, I knew I was trapped in a vulnerable position. Spencer leaned against the door, dissecting every movement I made. I felt scrutinized under his line of sight, my resolve shrinking into nonexistence while I bit my tongue. 

He scoffed under his breath, throwing his coat and phone onto the side table by the entrance. “So are we going to talk about what happened, or frankly, the lack of anything happening back there?” He held a pointed gaze, shifting his weight onto his hip. His tongue swiped the bottom of his lip, patiently waiting for an answer. 

A breath was caught in my throat, preventing me from getting any words out. I refused to face him, keeping myself busy by trying to find a place for my belongings. I knew I had to be wise with my next words, however, my impulsivity was, sooner than later, going to send me into a fit of combustion. I found myself teetering at the precipice once again, thinking back to the lies and excuses he shamelessly threw my way. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but confide in the sunlight of our past. With only a few more seconds of running oxygen, I sighed, mumbling a deflecting response, “There’s not really much to talk about.” 

The soft bang against the door caught me off guard. Shock ran through me as I turned around with an incredulous expression. My stature unconsciously shriveled into itself in fright as Spencer’s fist slide from the oak door. My mouth hung open, frozen in state, unable to form coherent sentences. Never once had I seen Spencer express himself by physical means, let alone operate on his own anger. Maybe it was the present naivety that lingered in our relationship, but judging by the discreet upset shown on his face, he too was stupefied.  

“What is going on with you lately?” I asked, looking at him with a certain level of incredulity. His mouth flew open as his brows rose to his hairline. The once tense hands dropped to his sides as he swiped a few hairs from his face. 

He gestured to the air with a nonchalant figure before deflecting the question at hand. “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N.” I could hear the slight stagger in his tone, like he was holding a part of himself back. It must’ve been the adrenaline pumping through his veins from whatever affair he participated in. Frankly it made me question the integrity of his fib; how long was he going to hold out on me? 

I couldn’t distinguish between the thoughts of Spencer possibly continuing this fib because of his cowardice or if Spencer truly thought I was too gullible. Both sent a blaze through me that attacked every piece of rationality I had left; it was as if shots of espresso were injected into my veins. Spencer’s elusive response hadn’t helped with the compelling sensation either, leaving me defenseless against my absurdity. 

Although, to think of it, is it really illogical to be vexed by Spencer’s vague behavior? 

“Me?! I’m not the one who’s being secretive.” I defended, my fists at my side.

“And how exactly am I being secretive, y/n?” Spencer raised his voice, an unfamiliar boom echoing throughout the room. “Please! Tell me ‘exactly,’ how I’m being secretive.” He responded like a petulant child, emphasizing simple words to enhance the condescension in his tone.  

“Oh, so you think I haven’t noticed the calls? The way you hide your phone from my view when you get a notification? Do you really think I’m that stupid, Spencer?” I said.

“And, how is that exactly being secretive, y/n? I have my own business to attend to,” he defended. “Frankly, I think you’re the one overstepping here!” Spencer avoided the question per usual, unconsciously switching the scope to me. I felt a bubble rise in my throat, similar to the tightness I felt whenever I cried, however this time, it was from a place of malice. 

“I am not overstepping because you are being secretive! I have no idea who you’re talking to! Where were you last week? Where were you yesterday?” I fought to keep my voice even.

“How is that even your business in the first place? You’re not my mother.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, almost undetectable to unknowing ears. He tried to brush it off, using intimidation to distract from the emotion crawling up his throat. Knowing Spencer, he did a rather exceptional job, although at this moment, I suspected a chink in his resolve. 

“I don’t have to be your mother to know that something is wrong! Stop deflecting!” I blurted in a fit of frustration. 

“You see, you keep trying to tell me that there’s something ‘wrong,’ with me! But there’s obviously some unresolved issue that you’re getting at here to be this upset!” He threw his hands into the air, shrugging his shoulders with an air of arrogance. 

“God, do not twist my words here, Spencer Reid! I did not say that there was anything wrong with you, I said there was something wrong. Unresolved issue?! What the hell does that even mean?” 

“You know for someone who’s claiming to be so perceptive of what’s ‘wrong,’ you’re really awful at being self-aware. I mean…the attitude, the distance, the–the closed off expression at dinner! I mean wh-what the hell was that!” He grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek as he finished his heated spiel. 

I couldn’t help but scoff at his words. Me not being self-aware! “Oh, please. Ladies and gentlemen, a world class behavioral analyst!” I gestured to him sarcastically, like a ringmaster would with his gags, hoping that Spencer could realize how ridiculous he sounded. “You tell me why I was acting so strange!” I was livid, the words that came out didn’t seem to make any sense. I just wanted him to feel what I felt. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! Let me play my part,” he pathetically bowed to me, exaggerating his movements. “Here, I’ll sit and do the things that you can’t, and practically feed into all your insecurity!” He mockingly laughed, “because that’s what this is all about right? You’re not getting enough attention?” 

I groaned in frustration, “You are so infuriating!” I could feel the anger ripping its way through my skull.

“And you’re so invasive! All I needed was time and space to figure a few personal things out. I’m sorry that we’re not at a point in our relationship where I’m expected to tell you every bit of my life.” He pointed to himself with such ferocity, although it was the pure indignation in his eyes that sent a harsh chill into me. “I’m notcomfortablewithyou, and that’s that.”

I couldn’t ignore the way his words stabbed their way into my heart upon hearing them. They violently ripped open a cavern in my chest and settled there. My moment of hesitation must have caught him off guard and he reeled back slightly, as if aware of what he had said. The air in the room began to shift as the silence danced between us, taunting us.

Beyond my control, my lip quivered slightly as I stared at him, my eyes growing wetter by the second, “Is that…is that why you’re cheating on me?” I asked, my voice coming out shockingly small. I was never the best at showing my emotions and being vulnerable, but if he was going to break up with me, he had to do it now before the dam released.

His eyebrows cinched together, his mouth following suit. He turned his attention away from me, taking his head in the palm of his hands. The tips of his fingers rubbed at his temples while I stood there helplessly. It was as if my words were obsolete in his ears, getting lost in the thick air. His shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed; his eyes were also scrunched closed like he was tired of hearing my voice. “God, y/n,” he whispered, dropping his head, “can we not get into his right now?” 

A ball had expanded in my throat, and the gates that fortified every tear I suppressed crumbled. My chest compressed and expanded at the same time, leaving me in an aching loop. “Did… Are you just…” I bit my lip as it continued to tremble, stifling the sobs crawling up my esophagus. I leaned my head back, diverting my attention to the ceiling to save the last bit of my composure. 

Soon enough, the fire from before mixed with the saltiness of the fluid staining my cheeks. I had needed some part of me alive–I needed part of me to live for me. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the constriction of my muscles, contrasting with the exhaustion coursing through my head. At this point, I didn’t know if I was going to fall or peak. I didn’t know if I was on that precipice again or if I was soaring into a disposition much worse. 

It was poetic if you thought about it. The pain and exhaustion was my kerosene to an unforeseen ember. He sighed, reaching my prodding eyes once again, “I’m just… I’m getting a headache from all this.” 

“Spencer fucking Reid, ladies and gentlemen.” I brought my middle fingers under my eyes, wiping away the pain and grime. I shook my head, biting my bottom lip but not biting my tongue. Not this time. “All you can fucking say is that… you have a headache?” I scoffed. “Well you know what Dr. Reid-” 

“Y/N, we’re not getting into this.” He began to cower away, brushing past me to get to the kitchen. Gently pushing me aside, he dared not to look back at my provoked visage. 

“No, let me talk” I asserted. 

“You can talk however the hell you like, y/n.” Spencer turned around, shrugging his shoulders like an odd air of indifference. His head was still in his clutch, explaining his lack of eye contact. “But I sure as hell won’t be listening to you.” 

“Funny how I’m causing you a fucking headache cause your mouth is doing the same damn thing to-” 

“Y/N…” 

“GOD, can you let me speak!” I huffed, feeling an overpowering shock shoot through my resolve. Sparks fused with the blood in my veins and the adrenaline felt like battery acid. I guess I was soaring rather than falling. 

“Y/N, I really don’t want to get into this…” His voice went suspiciously soft, although I knew better than to let that hinder my determination. 

“Why don’t you see a doctor then?” I spat, unbeknownst to the animosity tied to my words. “You know what?! Why don’t you fuck them too, since you’re on a damn roll!” 

The air changed the second those words rolled off my tongue, however, I was unfortunately unconscious to the great shift. Spencer’s hand left his temple, and his head slowly raised to reach my eyeline. He held a blank expression, but by the indistinguishable twitch in his cheek, I knew his nonchalant demeanor dissipated. 

“You don’t know a damn thing,” he mumbled in intimacy, like he was reassuring himself. “Maybe I should see a doctor–MATTER of a fact, I am seeing one,” he nodded mockingly, his eyes lined in a penetrating glare.

My heart sank at his words; the ground below me decayed, seemingly unable to support the withered organ. However, if I had known that the world, myworld, would collapse with an unsettling phrase that would follow, maybe I would’ve preferred falling off that peak after all.

“But I’m not fucking anyone, y/n. I never did.” The words left him breathless and gritted with every syllable, although that didn’t take away from the pure abhorrence towards me. 

“I’m sick… Are you satisfied now? My mind is slowly deteriorating, my mother’s illness is slowly killing me,” he cried, “an-and all you care about is yourself.” His face fell to the floor, hiding the blotchy redness invading his cheeks. “Frankly, with whatever lucidity I have remaining… I would rather spend it on anyone better thanyou…”

final part

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to be true, to not be true taglist: @sassymoon@jackiehollanderr@gubleryum​@cielo1984@allexthakatt​@escapingrealities​

THAT’S RIGHT OUT TOMORROW!!!! I and @goldentournesol are incredibly excited to have worked on this project, see ya’ll soon