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doublethepainThe thing about having an eidetic memory is that try as he might, Spencer can't make himself forget. He doesn't need to look in a mirror to know that he's a complete mess between the blackening eye and the stitches at this temple and the finger-shaped bruises on his neck. He flexes his fingers on his right hand as he glances down at the cast on his left, the one the doctors had insisted on putting on him because three broken fingers apparently need more support than just a splint. His ankles and wrists are still bandaged because they're raw from trying to wriggle his way out of the zipties Mark had bound him with and he's about ready to rip his own hair out because every time he feels it brush against his neck, he remembers the way Mark had used it to his advantage, taking care to be nothing less than rough.
It's only been a few days since Joel had found him in the lighthouse but Spencer almost feels like years must have passed. He'd refused overnight treatment at the hospital--against medical advisement--and locked himself in his house because it's the only place he can go. He hasn't been in his library since he'd gotten home, though a glance inside has told him that someone--not someone, Joel, there's nobody else who could have--has cleared the floor of the glass and blood that had been left after Mark had come for him. He flinches as he remembers the sound of the glass shattering against the side of his head, remembers the sting of the whiskey spilling onto the cuts and the way Mark had grabbed his hair to assist in dragging a half-conscious Spencer out to his car.
He's supposed to be taking it easy, has already been banned from coming to work for however long the doctor had recommended, though Spencer knows he'll likely be back long before that just for the sake of his own sanity. Sitting here at home has done him little to no good, not when he'd been abducted right downstairs, in one of the few places he's ever felt truly safe. It makes his good eye water with the threat of tears at the thought of how long it might take to feel that way again.
He knows there must be talk of what happened; it's a small town and gossip travels at lightning speed and besides that, he's had people ringing the doorbell and leaving things on his doorstep and leaving messages on his phone almost non-stop. It's nice to know there are still people that care, he supposes, but one very notable person hasn't tried to check on him at all. Joel hasn't come around or called or texted and Spencer feels like such a fool. Joel's the one person he'd be willing to let in the door but he realizes now that he should have known better than to think that Joel would want to even be near him after what Spencer had put him through with Mark.
He needs a distraction, he decides, a reason to get out of the house. What's more, he needs to get rid of this hair. Nearly everything seems to be a reminder of what had happened at the moment but at least he can fix the hair. He grabs one of Dane's old baseball caps and shrugs on a jacket, mindful of his injured hand, before walking out the door and heading straight toward the barber shop. The whole cut takes less than an hour and though the bruises on his face are more pronounced now without the frame of his longer locks, Spencer already feels a bit lighter. One less thing to remind him of Mark's assault.
He shoves his good hand in his pocket as he leaves the shop, unsure of where to go or what to do next.
[OOC: You can find Spencer anywhere you'd like. Roaming around town, grabbing a coffee, back at his house, anywhere. Dude needs a friend.]
It's only been a few days since Joel had found him in the lighthouse but Spencer almost feels like years must have passed. He'd refused overnight treatment at the hospital--against medical advisement--and locked himself in his house because it's the only place he can go. He hasn't been in his library since he'd gotten home, though a glance inside has told him that someone--not someone, Joel, there's nobody else who could have--has cleared the floor of the glass and blood that had been left after Mark had come for him. He flinches as he remembers the sound of the glass shattering against the side of his head, remembers the sting of the whiskey spilling onto the cuts and the way Mark had grabbed his hair to assist in dragging a half-conscious Spencer out to his car.
He's supposed to be taking it easy, has already been banned from coming to work for however long the doctor had recommended, though Spencer knows he'll likely be back long before that just for the sake of his own sanity. Sitting here at home has done him little to no good, not when he'd been abducted right downstairs, in one of the few places he's ever felt truly safe. It makes his good eye water with the threat of tears at the thought of how long it might take to feel that way again.
He knows there must be talk of what happened; it's a small town and gossip travels at lightning speed and besides that, he's had people ringing the doorbell and leaving things on his doorstep and leaving messages on his phone almost non-stop. It's nice to know there are still people that care, he supposes, but one very notable person hasn't tried to check on him at all. Joel hasn't come around or called or texted and Spencer feels like such a fool. Joel's the one person he'd be willing to let in the door but he realizes now that he should have known better than to think that Joel would want to even be near him after what Spencer had put him through with Mark.
He needs a distraction, he decides, a reason to get out of the house. What's more, he needs to get rid of this hair. Nearly everything seems to be a reminder of what had happened at the moment but at least he can fix the hair. He grabs one of Dane's old baseball caps and shrugs on a jacket, mindful of his injured hand, before walking out the door and heading straight toward the barber shop. The whole cut takes less than an hour and though the bruises on his face are more pronounced now without the frame of his longer locks, Spencer already feels a bit lighter. One less thing to remind him of Mark's assault.
He shoves his good hand in his pocket as he leaves the shop, unsure of where to go or what to do next.
[OOC: You can find Spencer anywhere you'd like. Roaming around town, grabbing a coffee, back at his house, anywhere. Dude needs a friend.]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-17 09:06 pm (UTC)It's the waiting, and the praying and when you finally just wonder if you're going to die there, if you're going to die and you've gone through all this pain for nothing just to die in the end. She's been there. She's been there, and Spencer's been there, and she's recovered. it took seven months because of the infection; but she recovered.
She's still scared of being underground; she's still got the limp, she still freaks out about people not knowing something would have happened to her. Maybe that's why she reaches out, after all - because if she touches as many lives as possible, maybe somebody'll find her.
She's lying to him, too. He says she deserves all the good, and she doesn't really think he's right; she's lying to everyone here but Jason, she's let her mother think she's dead, let the cops back in Boston presumably search for her when they could have been helping other people, just to try and save her own skin. "I guess I have my reasons," she said after a second, and she says it quietly. She pauses when he does, but she follows him, listening.
She's got this sinking feeling, and he says the words - I found her out here, and her eyes well with tears, and she stares at the spot and maybe it's because she's felt that connection for a while. Maybe it's because she feels like she knows a lot of what Spencer is going through right now, but she's projecting herself into the situation and the sick twist of her stomach because it's not some random woman, it's not Vera, it's Emily Gregson lying on in the grass, completely still.
Scrubbing her hands over her cheeks, she tries to find the words, not realising it's not done. That his brother - he had to be somewhere, and that's when she thinks about Matt. Her little brother - he's got to be 17 now, nearly going to college himself, and looks over at Spencer, her own voice raw when there's no reason it should be. She shouldn't be this upset. "Where was your brother?"
no subject
Date: 2014-06-19 01:05 am (UTC)He can't thing of a single one.
He sees the visibly upset look on her face and can't face her for long, taking a few steps closer to the water. "My brother. A fisherman found his body in the water a couple hours after I found my mom. They both died the same way, their bodies were drained of blood." He swallows hard, rolling his eyes before he continues. "They arrested me. One of the neighbors saw me back here with her, they called the cops. I had touched her, you know? I was trying to warm her up, I didn't--"
He hadn't even thought about what it would look like, he'd just been trying to save his mother. "Anyway. It was in all the papers, I wasn't Spencer Waters, Librarian anymore. Just Spencer Waters, Accused Murderer." He purses his lips together, thinking of all the nasty headlines and articles that had been written about him in The Daily Siren and he knows that everyone had just wanted someone to blame--it had to have been easier to believe that Spencer had been responsible than to believe that the actual killer was still out there--but that doesn't help him feel any less bitter.
"Some people still think I did it," he tells her. "So if you get people asking you why you're friends with scum like me, I suppose it's better than you're prepared for it."
no subject
Date: 2014-06-20 03:55 am (UTC)The fact that they ruined his life - they ruined his life after his mother and brother were dead, after he literally lost everything - it was horrible. The evidence was that he'd touched her?
He was her son. And it was his birthday, and Raleigh can't think of much else that'd be worse. "But I'll be prepared." Because if they ask her that? They're getting a piece of her mind, not just because of the fact that they're trying to tell her who her friends should be (which is ridiculous in and of itself) but because they're being horrible human beings who have no evidence.