Spencerexia
Title: Spencerexia
Author: mitchiemarie
Rating: R, can't take chances, and it's very depressing
Pairing: Joncer, Ryden
POV: Ryan's, first
Summary: The long standalone about Spencer's life after he died from anorexia and bulimia. Character death ensues.
Disclaimer: I don't own this. Spencer and Jon are alive, and I don't own any song/book lyrics/words that have managed to sneak in there. Also, cut belongs to the song seasons in the sun, which is also, not mine.
Beta: The wonderful, longerthanwedo for beta-ing this so fast! :D
Author Notes: Character death, eating disorders. Not a happy fic. This is the longest thing I've ever written, at about 6,500 words. This was my goal of the month, for joncerjumpstart . Without further ado,
"Now, we will go into a half hour cover-story of the dangers of eating disorders, and how models have started this "religion" that worships ‘Ana’ and ‘Mia’." The annoying voice of the news reporter irked me to no end; I threw a shoe at it and ended up breaking it. I laughed menacingly at the broken screen. That "half-hour cover story" which was really a 10-minute briefing (with about 20, 1-minute commercials about Botox, breast implants, liposuction, weight loss and food) about something the news station had deemed good enough for 3:00 p.m. I knew it didn’t mean anything to them, especially not as much as it meant to me. It was about my best friend, my first love, practically my brother, Spencer Smith. I had known him since we were little kids dreaming of walking down the runway; except now I had Brendon, a fashion magazine editor boyfriend, a promising career and no best friend. And Spencer, well, Spencer used to have Jon, a photographer fiancé… But now, well, now Spencer is dead. Gone to the wonderfully deadly Misses, "Ana" and "Mia". I know, I keep mentioning them and you’re probably wondering, "Who are they?" Well, "Ana" is short for anorexia, and it should be obvious that "Mia" is short for bulimia. Two deadly eating disorders. My own best friend, fallen prey to them and after about half a year of hiding it enough for us not to notice it, it got to the point where he looked like cold death. A few weeks later, he "collapsed". His whole body just shut down, and he died. That was about two weeks ago. I was devastated then, and still am.
I’m pretty sure all this started when we both moved out of our houses and decided to move to New York and work in the modeling business. Spencer was so innocent, I was scared that they would break him, and I knew that all was not glamour and glitz in the business. But modeling was Spencer’s dream and mine too. It had been since we were little and I couldn’t stand in his way. Turns out I had good reason to be worried. Spencer wasn’t very confident; he hadn’t been since a kid in fourth grade decided to make fun of him. The kid thought it was funny, his mocking comments about Spencer being a fairy, a faggot, a fat-ass. Any name that was insulting and involved bad words, you name it; chances are he called Spencer that. Poor Spencer refused to eat for days until his older brother went and beat the crap out of that kid. But that incident changed Spencer.
Anyway, when we first auditioned for photo shoot for a hipster-styled magazine, it turns out that I was accepted at the first glance, they said I was "perfect" (Insert eye-roll here) while poor Spencer got rejected because "his baby face is a little too big for what we’re looking for," or "he’d make a very nice plus-size model." Every one of those comments burned, stung, killed a miniscule piece of his soul; you get the idea. The point is he tried doing something about it. What do you think that was? That’s right. He tried losing the weight and he did. He looked normal, healthy, yet they still said he was fat. So he lost more weight and they accepted him. He looked emaciated, like a walking skeleton, and they praised him for it. In his mind, he probably thought that if he lost even more weight, he would get more praise, and he did. Just not from us.
Jon started worrying about him. He always made sure to get Spencer to eat at least half of his food, but Spence, being Spencer probably threw it up afterward. He could barely walk and his hair kept falling out by the handfuls a few months later. He couldn’t keep anything down. His system was screwed up. He wore big shirts to try and hide how skinny he was. Then he and Jon started having fights about Spencer’s weight almost every night. I, living next door to them would have to hear all of this. Sometimes, Brendon would come home late, only to find me curled up on the couch crying my eyes out. Thankfully, Brendon being Brendon would just cuddle with me, and let me cry. Those were the times I loved Brendon the most, for just being there. But I digress. Really, this story isn’t about me. It’s about Spencer and his life. Give me a second to dig through all my memories of him to find some good ones. Where to continue, where to continue...
Oh, here’s a good one. It’s my memory of when Jon met Spencer. I was there, naturally and so was Brendon. He was covering our photo-shoot and Jon was the photographer. I believe it was a case of love at first sight. When Spencer looked into Jon’s eyes, he was gone. Lost. He left with Jon awhile later and I was left to talk to Brendon. I later found out that Jon had asked Spencer out as soon as he could. Spencer was ecstatic, I was happy for him; I hadn’t seen him this excited in forever. After their date, Spencer came home squealing like a schoolgirl. He was gushing. Apparently, Jon was perfect according to Spencer. I knew Spencer was in love, but I was afraid Jon would screw-up. I had no reason to be worried though, Jon could fix everything that I couldn’t.
He knew a lot about the pressures of modeling. He had been a professional photographer for awhile. He was used to models going to the bathroom to purge themselves of recent food, or to faint in the middle of a shoot. He was used to the jutting veins and the visible ribs. He was accustomed to all this, but that didn’t mean he approved of it. He loved Spencer enough that every time he would see Spencer go to the bathroom after a meal, he would cringe and hold back tears. I remember this one time when I was with them at a restaurant, it was just before dessert arrived and Spencer had gotten up to go puke. Jon went after him and when they came back, Spencer’s eyes were red-rimmed but they didn’t look unfocused, and his hands weren’t shaking like they usually did after he puked. I noticed that the thick taupe-colored rubber-band that Spencer usually wore on his wrist to keep him from indulging in food, and associate it with pain instead, was gone. Jon wore a concerned expression on his face, and was helping Spencer stand. When I looked at him questioningly he just gave me a tiny triumphant nod before helping Spencer sit down. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what had happened, but I wasn’t completely sure. I glanced at Spencer but he just looked down, picking a hangnail from his thumb. That gesture, something he used to do when he was in trouble, proved my guess correct. Jon had intercepted Spencer and had gotten him not to puke.
I was very proud of Jon for being able to do something that I hadn’t failed at. It gave me a spark of hope; maybe Spencer could finally overcome his disease and go back to a healthy weight.
Even though Spencer was slowly deteriorating, he was actually gaining fame as a model. Every few days I would go with him to a photo shoot. I would just stand back in the shadows while the photographer would smile falsely, telling Spencer to pose this way and that way. He would obediently oblige, turning whichever way. Then, the photographer would smirk and say, "That’s it baby, now give me envy! Give me malice. Give me tired. Give me superior." I would roll my eyes; it was always the same lines. Give me this, give me that. Give me a loaded shotgun to silence those sleazy slime-balls. Sadly, Spencer would shine with triumph every time they gave him some pseudo-praise. He was too far gone, I couldn’t help him. Jon couldn’t help him.
Give me regret. Give me sorrow.
Jon tried and failed. I learned this from him calling me one day, I was waiting for Brendon to come back from the doctor’s office, and I got the urgent call. Jon was freaking out. Apparently, Spencer hadn’t been feeling well that day, and went to bed early. Jon had gone to the bathroom to see if there were any pain relievers in there, and he noticed that the toilet seat was up. That in itself wasn’t very out of the ordinary, what was strange was what was inside. What was inside, you ask? A bit of bright red blood. It had mixed in with the clear water, causing it to diminish a bit, but it was still very noticeable. Jon freaked and called me as soon as he could. That was the start of the fights. He was so worried, even Spencer could tell. But there was nothing that could’ve been done. Spencer was too far gone. He was just bleeding on the ballroom for, just for attention. It was ridiculous, but there was nothing we could. It was suicide in the worst way. Pulling the trigger in entirely the wrong way. A photo-op gone wrong.
Spencer’s funeral. One of the memories that I can’t forget. It’s burned into my brain, searing flesh. It hurts so much, but I keep visiting it. It hurts you but you still love it. It wasn’t supposed to be like how it was. Spencer would have wanted something small, not superficial, like it ended up. There was fake-rain and nosy cameras. I guess that the paparazzi follow you everywhere, even when you’re dead. Everyone’s mascara was running in dramatic streaks, clearly planned to end up like that. It made me want to rip anything apart. I hated it. Spencer was dead, and the only thing people cared about was press coverage? What the hell?! Aside from that, all I can say is it shouldn’t have happened.
Spencer was too young to die. Sadly, I can’t change the past. I can’t change the present. I can only try to change the future, which never works out well. After my tearful eulogy, I scanned my eyes over all the attendees. Most notably, Spencer’s sister was crying her eyes out in some corner. Some dark-haired guy was probably making sure she didn’t have some sort of aneurysm or something. Jon was sulking next to Spencer’s coffin. He was probably apologizing for anything that he hadn’t already. Brendon was next to me, quiet for once. He had been Spencer’s friend too. I’m sure he missed him terribly also. I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything. Denial.
Two important people were missing. The two people who had the most to do with Spencer’s destruction. His parents. Of course they weren’t there. They had never cared about Spencer. Those horrible excuses for parents. They should’ve just signed the dotted-line on Spencer’s death certificate. For all they cared, Spencer could have been dead years ago, to them he was gone. They were an extremely broken family.
It all started when Spencer was about 5 years old. His mom was a former model; his dad was a wealthy business owner. They expected Spencer to be perfect, and were always insulting him when he was not. Then, after weeks of fighting, Spencer’s mom left. No personal item was forgotten. Not even a picture of her. It was like she never even existed. It tore Spencer apart. Even though his mom had been a huge bitch to him, he’d loved her. When she left it really messed him up. I told him, "at least you have your dad," but I knew he didn’t really. His mom had truly been the better parent, at least until she left. His dad was never there, or if he was simply didn’t care what his son was doing. It enraged me that they were so self-centered that they didn’t realize what their lack of attention was doing to Spencer.
It got worse though. It was Spencer’s high school graduation. I, being about two years older than him, had already graduated and was living in an apartment while I went to college for awhile. Truthfully, I was scared to become a model. I had heard of all the terrible things they had to go through. Spencer had wanted me to stay behind until he graduated so that we could both go to New York together. I happily obliged and took some basic courses (incase modeling didn’t work out.) and ended up with my basic degree in Journalism, but I digress. The point is, after Spencer’s graduation, his dad was home from one of his weekly business trips and had decided to come to Spencer’s graduation party.
Spencer was so happy to finally be able to go and live his dream. (We were leaving the next day.) He decided to tell his dad that he was gay; he’d been debating that for awhile. Well, it didn’t go well at all. His dad flipped out and disowned him on the spot. When Spencer finally returned home, his dad had all his stuff outside. I found out because Spencer called me, crying, to go and pick him up. I was furious. I wanted to yell at Spencer’s dad. But when I saw how hurt Spencer looked, I left the bastard alone, and made Spencer number one on the importance scale.
He didn’t let anyone know how much what his father did hurt him. He put on an extra-cheery fake smile and continued whatever he was doing. We left soon for New York. From that point on, I’m pretty sure that Spencer hasn’t even heard once from his father. I wish I could go back in time and spare Spencer from that pain, even if I didn’t particularly like Spencer’s dad, I knew how much his approval meant to Spencer.
Flash-forward to Jon and Spencer’s fight. I, living next to them, was terrified of what would happen, but I think you know that already.
Jon sounded furious, angrier than I’d ever heard him and that’s saying something. He also sounded extremely hurt and scared, and I pitied him. I knew how stubborn Spencer could be, I also knew that he loved attention and wouldn’t stop this madness, not for me, not or Jon, not even for the president of the United States or worse, not even for himself. I was in the audience during this particular fight, their infamous final battle. It was the worst fight that they had ever had. I heard fierce yelling and smashing objects crashing against surfaces. I wince and grimaced and just curled up on the couch. I knew I couldn’t interfere in their relationship. It wasn’t my place to meddle anyway. At one point, I heard the door slam closed and a heavy silence settled over Spencer’s apartment. I felt like a scared child listening to his parents fighting and knowing that he can’t do anything about it. That feeling was so scarring that I can still remember it, to this day. I pressed my ears against the wall, afraid that Spencer was dead. It was so quiet, and the quiet was so eerie. My heartbeat slowed down when I head faint sounds of sobbing. My heart, it broke, when I heard the all-too-familiar sounds of Spencer’s choking sounds, and the loud, monstrous sound of him flushing the toilet right after.
I took this as my cue to rush over next door, and comfort Spencer. That was my part. That was in my job description. Best friend, comfort, couch, punching bag, shoulder to cry on. Now that I think about it, I probably should have tried harder. Between me and Jon, we could have done something. Between the lines of fear and blame, we didn’t know what to do. We didn’t have a fucking survival guide appropriately titled, "How to save a life" although I wish we would have had one at the time. Now, I don’t know where we went wrong. Everything is blurred, I lost a friend somewhere along in this tragic timeline. Now, I can only write this biographical work of fiction. I can only retell a story that wasn’t meant to end yet. Now, I can only hide behind words, and quotes. Words of words. Quotes of quotes. Phrases used in the same context as they will forever be. Nothing makes sense. I wish I knew then what I knew now. I wish I had known how to save Spencer’s life.
When I knocked on Spencer’s apartment door after their fight. Spencer looked terrible. His eyes were red, he looked tired. Resigned. Broken. The familiar taupe rubber-band was back, yet again, placed firmly around his wrist, cutting off circulation and marking the skin under it with an angry red mark that was still there and would probably never go away. I don’t know what I expected but it sure wasn’t what I saw. I think that day was the first time Spencer ever saw me cry. I broke down, whispering things that probably seemed incoherent and like gibberish to Spencer. His eyes widened in surprise and he held me that day. He hugged me tight and I cried. It felt strange, our roles were flipped.
Usually I was the one holding Spencer, but that day had been too much for me. I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I cried. After I was done crying, I felt selfish. So, I asked Spencer what happened with Jon. He simply said, "He got tired of putting up with my bullshit and left. He broke up with me." I was in shock. Jon wouldn’t do that, right? He’d promised Spencer he would never leave. Spencer must have read my thoughts and smiled sadly.
"That’s what I thought too," he whispered. I texted Brendon that I would spend the night with Spencer. Brendon, being Brendon, understood and left me to comfort my best friend.
About, not-even three weeks after Spencer’s funeral, Jon’s body was found drowned in Spencer’s apartment. (Jon had been living there after Spencer died just so he could remember Spencer.) I was incredulous when I heard that Jon had killed himself. Another funeral for a friend. I glared at Brendon and told him, "You better not die soon. I’m not sure how many more funerals I can take." He just nodded solemnly. Jon had been his best friend, like Spencer and me. This had been hard on both of us. The scene next door was crazy; police tape, chalk line and all that jazz. I felt cold. Everyone I loved was dying. I couldn’t deal with it. I broke down in Brendon’s arms. This was the second time I’ve done so, but Brendon silently wrapped his arms around me while I buried my face in his chest. The worst part was that now Jon would be with Spencer, and I would still be here.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brendon and wanted to be with him, but Spencer was like my brother. Practically blood. I couldn’t believe he was dead. I didn’t want to go on living without having him close, to laugh at un-funny jokes with, to cry with, to hug, to hold when Jon was being an asshole. I’ve lost all of that now.
The day Jon’s body is found, I go to visit Spencer’s grave. The graveyard feels eerie for some reason, although that could be because the sky is overcast and the wind is picking up. The weather’s changing, and I don’t want it to. I don’t want anything to change, because it feels like time is ticking too fast and if anything changes and time goes by, it’ll leave Spencer behind forever.
While, the weather’s changing, the grave and its surroundings are staying the same. The flowers that I placed on top of Spencer’s tombstone are still there. The flowers still look as fresh and flowery as the day I bought them. The only indication that time has passed is the tree behind the grave. The leaves are now dressed in golds, reds, browns, and oranges; whereas they were still bright green the last time I visited. Its amazing how little time has passed since the last time I was there, about two weeks ago, and how much has changed, but everything feels the same. It doesn’t hurt any less. A testament to how time will not heal any wounds. I know it feels like I’m contradicting myself. I know I don’t make any sense. I’m not supposed to. I’m an "unreliable" narrator. You can take my words at face value, or not. It doesn’t make a difference to me, but I'm just getting side-tracked from the actual story. Spencer.
Anyway, when I visited Spence’s grave, I brought some fresh blood-red roses to place on top of his grave. The wind was getting chilly, the sun was setting. It felt way too lonely out there, but it was perfect since, loneliness was my only friend now that Spencer and Jon were gone. Sure, I had Brendon but Brendon was always doing his job, he worked late and came home around 11:30 p.m. making sure everything was in perfect order. I had no one else to talk to now.
It had gotten so bad that I up and quit all my modeling jobs yesterday. I felt like I was being squeezed alive. I couldn’t, can’t, don’t want to take it. I want to die. So I’ve come here to vent my feelings, and try to hope that if Spencer’s listening, he’ll give me a sign. I sit down next to the roses and just stare at my surroundings for awhile. It doesn’t feel creepy, being there alone. It feels relaxing. That’s where I spend my day, talking to Spencer, asking him for a sign that he’s there. Sadly, I don’t receive a sign. When I leave, I feel slightly guilty for not praying for him, but when I remember that he wasn’t very religious, I end up saying a few words to him. I tell him, that I miss him; I tell him that I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help him. I’m sure it might be my imagination, but when I turn to leave I hear a soft, "I miss you too," from the breeze. In any case, I just shake away the feeling that he’s here and continue towards the cemetery gates.
One particular memory that I’m not supposed to have seen was when we were little. This was just before Spencer’s parents started fighting. I had come to visit Spencer one day, and instead found him in his room, trying on his mother’s clothes. If I had not known about Spencer’s dream of modeling, I would have laughed and made fun of him for ages afterwards. But since I knew how important it was to Spencer, I just hid behind the door, watched and stayed quiet. Spencer moved with so much grace for his age. He was practically floating on a cloud, and he looked so happy. On his face was the rare Spencer-Smith-smile. So radiant, yet so rare that I, myself had only seen it a handful of times. It was then that I decided to try out modeling for myself. I wanted to look like that on a stage.
I was partly jealous of Spencer’s shiny, silky hair while I had dull, brittle hair that I kept chewing on. I was also partly amazed at how confident Spencer looked up there. At the time, I thought that confidence came from modeling. Sadly, I know better now. Confidence didn’t come from anywhere near that forsaken stage.
A few days later, I was dressed for Jon’s funeral. What a huge difference between the funerals. Jon’s parents, for one, were both there crying their eyes out. As was Jon’s sister and his best friend Christine. She looked utterly horrible, and I mean that in the best way possible. She looked like she was lost, heartbroken and miserable. Not like she was pretending to be mourning, which was what most of the guests at Spencer’s funeral looked like. I patted her back, when she came to hug me. (She knew the real reason why Jon had died, unlike everyone else.) "I’m sorry," she whispered. I just shook my head and hugged her back. At the funeral, I learned that Jon’s will and obituary would be read sometime later that week.
After everyone had gone home, "probably to keep on doing what they were doing, because that’s usually what happens when someone dies, Ryan. Everyone just goes back to doing what they did before. Face it, we’re just not that special," I remember those same, exact words Spencer had said to me when we were younger, and death didn’t seem so tragic. I had told Spencer that if he died first, I wouldn’t go back to doing what I was doing the day before. I promised him that his death would be special. And it was.
His death killed Jon. His death is killing me. What more could he want? I can’t even think of doing what I was doing before, anymore. Everything is frozen as I wait for something. Closure? What closure? There will never be closure, as long as I’m alive and Spencer isn’t. I will always feel as if something is missing.
Maybe what I’m looking for is in the letter Spencer gave me, the last time I saw him before he died. At that time, I had thought it random for Spencer to just show up in the middle of the day and give me a letter. Now, I’m sure that Spencer knew he was about to die, and something very special is in that letter. That’s why I haven’t even touched it since he gave it to me. I’m waiting for the perfect moment. I know that I’m not the only one who received a letter, Brendon and Jon got one too. I think of them as goodbye letters. To everyone he loved before he left them. I can’t even look at my letter without shaking from the need to cry.
When the day of Jon’s obituary came around, I reluctantly got dressed and left to see what would become of the few possessions that Jon left. When I got there, I was surprised to be early. I was never early. To anything. It was an unspoken rule to be fashionably late all the time, and whereas once upon a time, I had stuck to that rule like paper to glue, now I laughed at the stupidity of it. It didn’t matter if I was early, late, or just right, this wasn’t about me. My job was to simply sit still, behave and not cause a scene, which were all really one and the same.
When everyone was here, I had been waiting for around fifteen minutes, lost in space. The "court" had initiated and I was to pay attention in case someone mentioned something important. Sadly, all I was hearing was, "Blah,blah,blah,blah,something,blah," until I heard the person in charge of reading the will say my name. I looked up in alarm to realize that he was holding a piece of paper. I walked up to him and read the right part of the document, thankfully.
Apparently, Jon had made it clear in the will that had been made official a few days before he died that he wanted me to take all the letters that Spencer had given us, and burn them over rose incense and scatter the ashes over both him and Spencer’s grave. He also requested that I make sure to bury him next to Spencer, something that I had already thought of. The arrangements for that had been made, and currently the grave was being dug.
In two days’ time, Jon would have his wish fulfilled; he would be next to Spencer. Now, the letters. What an interesting decision Jon had made. I think that somehow that would be the closure, the "thing" that I had been waiting for all this time. So I took Jon’s letter that had been in closed in the document, and looked around the room, staring at everyone’s faces for some sign that I could leave. It came in the form of a burly looking man, opening the door for me. I stepped through it, determined to carry out Jon’s wishes. First though, I had to make a call and buy some rose incense.
I knew perfectly why Jon had insisted on rose incense. It was yet another memory that I shouldn’t have had, and thankfully had left before I got a really awkward picture engraved in my brain.
It was Jon and Spencer’s first anniversary. Jon had bought a lot of candles and lit them everywhere. Then he bought dozens upon dozens of bright, blood-red roses. The petals were everywhere, and still everywhere even weeks after. Jon, always a goofy romantic, had started singing my favorite things from the sound of music. Spencer had cracked up and smiled his special smile at Jon, while Jon was busy showering kisses over Spencer. That was the happiest I had ever seen Spencer, and I was delighted that Jon could make Spencer so happy. I was hidden by the door, watching them and I felt weird. I left after I overheard Jon tell Spencer that he had bought the roses because they reminded him of Spencer. I smiled at that because roses had always been Spencer’s favorite flower.
It’s no wonder why roses were Spencer’s signature fragrance. Everywhere he went, he smelled of sweet, fresh roses. It was a wonderful, Spencer-Smith scent, and I’ve never smelled anything like it since. Even Spencer and Jon’s apartment smelled of roses, which is why, following the days after Spencer’s death, I refused to go in their apartment. I felt sorry for Jon who had taken to sleeping in there because "it smells like him, Ryan," I nodded, because really, I understood.
It turns out that I had left at a very good time, when I was safely in my apartment; I heard loud moans and thumps. Let’s just say, my ears are still scarred from that. But, it’s still a memory I treasure.
Jon’s burial. Different from Jon’s funeral. The atmosphere was a lot more solemn. I guess that by now they had figured that Jon had died to be with Spencer. The crowd’s quiet attitude spokes volumes in the sense that they understood. Everyone had been a critic during Spencer’s funeral, but that had been a totally different crowd. I stood helplessly and watched as my two friends were reunited in their afterlife. Mentally, I prayed to whatever god would listen to let them be happy in death. To let them be together. Then I let some tears fall down my cheeks, because let’s face it. Once the tears start they won’t stop for awhile. Then I gathered my shattered composure and left the burial. I would be back soon enough anyway.
I gathered all three plain, pale, off-white letters into a bag along with a lighter, some matches and the infamous rose incense. Then I took Brendon along for the ride. Surprisingly, the scenery in front of Spencer and Jon’s grave had changed drastically. Most of the leaves had fallen off, and the grass was no longer bright green. It was now a muted hunter’s green, and was almost invisible under so many leaves. This didn’t stop me from swatting all the pesky leaves away from Spencer’s grave, and Brendon doing the same for Jon’s.
When the leaves we’re cleared, we made a small campfire with all the leaves and watched the flames grow higher and higher. Before we burned the letters, we made a big show of opening them and reading them before throwing them into the fire. The first letter, my letter read:
Ryan,
I’m sorry for everything. You have no clue how much I wish I could take everything back and just be normal, but I can’t. I’m too fucked up. I’m in too deep. I can’t control anything anymore. I’m sorry. You’ve been the best friend I could ever wish for, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a better friend to you. I know I’ve said I’m sorry one too many times, but it’s true. I really am sorry. I know that I my dying will cause you a lot of pain, but I’m in a better place now. There’s no more pain, no more heartache. I can finally rest in peace. I hope that you can let it be. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead, and that’s it. That’s all there is too it. Just, don’t lose Brendon. He loves you. You love him. Don’t let what happened to Jon and me happen to you and him. Please.
From, your best and worst friend, Spencer
The second letter, Jon’s letter was no easier to read for me, it read:
Jon,
I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m saying it so many times now to make up for the time that probably has come when I won’t be here to say it. I need you so much, I love you. I’m sorry you couldn’t fix me. I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t try nearly as hard as I should have. I love you. I’m sorry I fought with you. I love you. You’ll always be my wonder wall, and I’ll always be your guardian angel. I’m sorry, Jon. I love you. I love you so much that it breaks my heart to know that I’ll be leaving you soon. I’m sorry. I love you.
Signed, your hot mess, forever and always, Spencer
P.s. I love you.
P.s.s I’m sorry.
I was crying by the time that I got to the third and final letter, Brendon’s letter.
Brendon,
You’ve been such a good friend to me, even though we haven’t known each other long. I’m very glad that you’ve found Ryan. I’ve seen the way you look at him, you love him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He loves you. Don’t let him go. I mean it, don’t make me haunt you. Please. He’s my best-friend and I don’t care if I have to strangle you in your sleep. You hurt him, you’re dead. Even if I’m dead. One last thing, I really hope that both of you go on a vacation once this is over, and you both go back to doing what you were doing before. I know I’m not special enough for you not to go back to doing what you were doing, I’m just not. Partly, because that’s me, and partly because the world doesn’t work that way. Just remember, vacation. I trust you Brendon.
I look forward to not having to come after you, signed Spencer James Smith.
When I was done reading all three letters, tears were rolling down my face. Spencer was dead, but that didn’t mean I had to die too. He died so that we could live, in a sense. Me and Brendon. This had been the closure that I was looking for. The numbness had faded, and now was replaced by the startling sensation that made me want to cry and punch someone, but it wasn’t the sickening numbness I had felt ever since Spencer had died. This new emotion made me want to tear my insides out and at the same time, made me want to jump for joy. I was so overwhelmed that I almost forgot about the fire. Almost.
Brendon was smiling at me, and held out his hand. Together, we set fire to the letters and watched them burn. We were figuratively setting our friends on fire, but that was the point wasn’t it? To regain closure. To not need to be sad because Spencer died. He died, but like he said, he didn’t want us to stop doing what we were doing before, although he was dead wrong about him not being special enough. He wanted us to be happy. I decided then and there that I and Brendon would take a vacation as soon as we could.
We were going to be happy, if it was the last thing we did. We weren’t going to let Spencer’s death be for nothing. So, we blew out the fire, decisions made, and the wind did the job of scattering the ashes for us. The wind had actually risen and was now swirling the ashes around Jon and Spencer’s graves. Everything around us smelled faintly of Spencer. It smelled like home to me, and that’s why it was so hard to leave it and just walk away, but I thought of Spencer and decided that that would have been what he would have wanted me to do. So I listened to Spencer, and fingers still intertwined with Brendon’s, we made our way out of the cemetery and left everything behind.
FIN~
Author: mitchiemarie
Rating: R, can't take chances, and it's very depressing
Pairing: Joncer, Ryden
POV: Ryan's, first
Summary: The long standalone about Spencer's life after he died from anorexia and bulimia. Character death ensues.
Disclaimer: I don't own this. Spencer and Jon are alive, and I don't own any song/book lyrics/words that have managed to sneak in there. Also, cut belongs to the song seasons in the sun, which is also, not mine.
Beta: The wonderful, longerthanwedo for beta-ing this so fast! :D
Author Notes: Character death, eating disorders. Not a happy fic. This is the longest thing I've ever written, at about 6,500 words. This was my goal of the month, for joncerjumpstart . Without further ado,
"Now, we will go into a half hour cover-story of the dangers of eating disorders, and how models have started this "religion" that worships ‘Ana’ and ‘Mia’." The annoying voice of the news reporter irked me to no end; I threw a shoe at it and ended up breaking it. I laughed menacingly at the broken screen. That "half-hour cover story" which was really a 10-minute briefing (with about 20, 1-minute commercials about Botox, breast implants, liposuction, weight loss and food) about something the news station had deemed good enough for 3:00 p.m. I knew it didn’t mean anything to them, especially not as much as it meant to me. It was about my best friend, my first love, practically my brother, Spencer Smith. I had known him since we were little kids dreaming of walking down the runway; except now I had Brendon, a fashion magazine editor boyfriend, a promising career and no best friend. And Spencer, well, Spencer used to have Jon, a photographer fiancé… But now, well, now Spencer is dead. Gone to the wonderfully deadly Misses, "Ana" and "Mia". I know, I keep mentioning them and you’re probably wondering, "Who are they?" Well, "Ana" is short for anorexia, and it should be obvious that "Mia" is short for bulimia. Two deadly eating disorders. My own best friend, fallen prey to them and after about half a year of hiding it enough for us not to notice it, it got to the point where he looked like cold death. A few weeks later, he "collapsed". His whole body just shut down, and he died. That was about two weeks ago. I was devastated then, and still am.
I’m pretty sure all this started when we both moved out of our houses and decided to move to New York and work in the modeling business. Spencer was so innocent, I was scared that they would break him, and I knew that all was not glamour and glitz in the business. But modeling was Spencer’s dream and mine too. It had been since we were little and I couldn’t stand in his way. Turns out I had good reason to be worried. Spencer wasn’t very confident; he hadn’t been since a kid in fourth grade decided to make fun of him. The kid thought it was funny, his mocking comments about Spencer being a fairy, a faggot, a fat-ass. Any name that was insulting and involved bad words, you name it; chances are he called Spencer that. Poor Spencer refused to eat for days until his older brother went and beat the crap out of that kid. But that incident changed Spencer.
Anyway, when we first auditioned for photo shoot for a hipster-styled magazine, it turns out that I was accepted at the first glance, they said I was "perfect" (Insert eye-roll here) while poor Spencer got rejected because "his baby face is a little too big for what we’re looking for," or "he’d make a very nice plus-size model." Every one of those comments burned, stung, killed a miniscule piece of his soul; you get the idea. The point is he tried doing something about it. What do you think that was? That’s right. He tried losing the weight and he did. He looked normal, healthy, yet they still said he was fat. So he lost more weight and they accepted him. He looked emaciated, like a walking skeleton, and they praised him for it. In his mind, he probably thought that if he lost even more weight, he would get more praise, and he did. Just not from us.
Jon started worrying about him. He always made sure to get Spencer to eat at least half of his food, but Spence, being Spencer probably threw it up afterward. He could barely walk and his hair kept falling out by the handfuls a few months later. He couldn’t keep anything down. His system was screwed up. He wore big shirts to try and hide how skinny he was. Then he and Jon started having fights about Spencer’s weight almost every night. I, living next door to them would have to hear all of this. Sometimes, Brendon would come home late, only to find me curled up on the couch crying my eyes out. Thankfully, Brendon being Brendon would just cuddle with me, and let me cry. Those were the times I loved Brendon the most, for just being there. But I digress. Really, this story isn’t about me. It’s about Spencer and his life. Give me a second to dig through all my memories of him to find some good ones. Where to continue, where to continue...
Oh, here’s a good one. It’s my memory of when Jon met Spencer. I was there, naturally and so was Brendon. He was covering our photo-shoot and Jon was the photographer. I believe it was a case of love at first sight. When Spencer looked into Jon’s eyes, he was gone. Lost. He left with Jon awhile later and I was left to talk to Brendon. I later found out that Jon had asked Spencer out as soon as he could. Spencer was ecstatic, I was happy for him; I hadn’t seen him this excited in forever. After their date, Spencer came home squealing like a schoolgirl. He was gushing. Apparently, Jon was perfect according to Spencer. I knew Spencer was in love, but I was afraid Jon would screw-up. I had no reason to be worried though, Jon could fix everything that I couldn’t.
He knew a lot about the pressures of modeling. He had been a professional photographer for awhile. He was used to models going to the bathroom to purge themselves of recent food, or to faint in the middle of a shoot. He was used to the jutting veins and the visible ribs. He was accustomed to all this, but that didn’t mean he approved of it. He loved Spencer enough that every time he would see Spencer go to the bathroom after a meal, he would cringe and hold back tears. I remember this one time when I was with them at a restaurant, it was just before dessert arrived and Spencer had gotten up to go puke. Jon went after him and when they came back, Spencer’s eyes were red-rimmed but they didn’t look unfocused, and his hands weren’t shaking like they usually did after he puked. I noticed that the thick taupe-colored rubber-band that Spencer usually wore on his wrist to keep him from indulging in food, and associate it with pain instead, was gone. Jon wore a concerned expression on his face, and was helping Spencer stand. When I looked at him questioningly he just gave me a tiny triumphant nod before helping Spencer sit down. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what had happened, but I wasn’t completely sure. I glanced at Spencer but he just looked down, picking a hangnail from his thumb. That gesture, something he used to do when he was in trouble, proved my guess correct. Jon had intercepted Spencer and had gotten him not to puke.
I was very proud of Jon for being able to do something that I hadn’t failed at. It gave me a spark of hope; maybe Spencer could finally overcome his disease and go back to a healthy weight.
Even though Spencer was slowly deteriorating, he was actually gaining fame as a model. Every few days I would go with him to a photo shoot. I would just stand back in the shadows while the photographer would smile falsely, telling Spencer to pose this way and that way. He would obediently oblige, turning whichever way. Then, the photographer would smirk and say, "That’s it baby, now give me envy! Give me malice. Give me tired. Give me superior." I would roll my eyes; it was always the same lines. Give me this, give me that. Give me a loaded shotgun to silence those sleazy slime-balls. Sadly, Spencer would shine with triumph every time they gave him some pseudo-praise. He was too far gone, I couldn’t help him. Jon couldn’t help him.
Give me regret. Give me sorrow.
Jon tried and failed. I learned this from him calling me one day, I was waiting for Brendon to come back from the doctor’s office, and I got the urgent call. Jon was freaking out. Apparently, Spencer hadn’t been feeling well that day, and went to bed early. Jon had gone to the bathroom to see if there were any pain relievers in there, and he noticed that the toilet seat was up. That in itself wasn’t very out of the ordinary, what was strange was what was inside. What was inside, you ask? A bit of bright red blood. It had mixed in with the clear water, causing it to diminish a bit, but it was still very noticeable. Jon freaked and called me as soon as he could. That was the start of the fights. He was so worried, even Spencer could tell. But there was nothing that could’ve been done. Spencer was too far gone. He was just bleeding on the ballroom for, just for attention. It was ridiculous, but there was nothing we could. It was suicide in the worst way. Pulling the trigger in entirely the wrong way. A photo-op gone wrong.
Spencer’s funeral. One of the memories that I can’t forget. It’s burned into my brain, searing flesh. It hurts so much, but I keep visiting it. It hurts you but you still love it. It wasn’t supposed to be like how it was. Spencer would have wanted something small, not superficial, like it ended up. There was fake-rain and nosy cameras. I guess that the paparazzi follow you everywhere, even when you’re dead. Everyone’s mascara was running in dramatic streaks, clearly planned to end up like that. It made me want to rip anything apart. I hated it. Spencer was dead, and the only thing people cared about was press coverage? What the hell?! Aside from that, all I can say is it shouldn’t have happened.
Spencer was too young to die. Sadly, I can’t change the past. I can’t change the present. I can only try to change the future, which never works out well. After my tearful eulogy, I scanned my eyes over all the attendees. Most notably, Spencer’s sister was crying her eyes out in some corner. Some dark-haired guy was probably making sure she didn’t have some sort of aneurysm or something. Jon was sulking next to Spencer’s coffin. He was probably apologizing for anything that he hadn’t already. Brendon was next to me, quiet for once. He had been Spencer’s friend too. I’m sure he missed him terribly also. I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything. Denial.
Two important people were missing. The two people who had the most to do with Spencer’s destruction. His parents. Of course they weren’t there. They had never cared about Spencer. Those horrible excuses for parents. They should’ve just signed the dotted-line on Spencer’s death certificate. For all they cared, Spencer could have been dead years ago, to them he was gone. They were an extremely broken family.
It all started when Spencer was about 5 years old. His mom was a former model; his dad was a wealthy business owner. They expected Spencer to be perfect, and were always insulting him when he was not. Then, after weeks of fighting, Spencer’s mom left. No personal item was forgotten. Not even a picture of her. It was like she never even existed. It tore Spencer apart. Even though his mom had been a huge bitch to him, he’d loved her. When she left it really messed him up. I told him, "at least you have your dad," but I knew he didn’t really. His mom had truly been the better parent, at least until she left. His dad was never there, or if he was simply didn’t care what his son was doing. It enraged me that they were so self-centered that they didn’t realize what their lack of attention was doing to Spencer.
It got worse though. It was Spencer’s high school graduation. I, being about two years older than him, had already graduated and was living in an apartment while I went to college for awhile. Truthfully, I was scared to become a model. I had heard of all the terrible things they had to go through. Spencer had wanted me to stay behind until he graduated so that we could both go to New York together. I happily obliged and took some basic courses (incase modeling didn’t work out.) and ended up with my basic degree in Journalism, but I digress. The point is, after Spencer’s graduation, his dad was home from one of his weekly business trips and had decided to come to Spencer’s graduation party.
Spencer was so happy to finally be able to go and live his dream. (We were leaving the next day.) He decided to tell his dad that he was gay; he’d been debating that for awhile. Well, it didn’t go well at all. His dad flipped out and disowned him on the spot. When Spencer finally returned home, his dad had all his stuff outside. I found out because Spencer called me, crying, to go and pick him up. I was furious. I wanted to yell at Spencer’s dad. But when I saw how hurt Spencer looked, I left the bastard alone, and made Spencer number one on the importance scale.
He didn’t let anyone know how much what his father did hurt him. He put on an extra-cheery fake smile and continued whatever he was doing. We left soon for New York. From that point on, I’m pretty sure that Spencer hasn’t even heard once from his father. I wish I could go back in time and spare Spencer from that pain, even if I didn’t particularly like Spencer’s dad, I knew how much his approval meant to Spencer.
Flash-forward to Jon and Spencer’s fight. I, living next to them, was terrified of what would happen, but I think you know that already.
Jon sounded furious, angrier than I’d ever heard him and that’s saying something. He also sounded extremely hurt and scared, and I pitied him. I knew how stubborn Spencer could be, I also knew that he loved attention and wouldn’t stop this madness, not for me, not or Jon, not even for the president of the United States or worse, not even for himself. I was in the audience during this particular fight, their infamous final battle. It was the worst fight that they had ever had. I heard fierce yelling and smashing objects crashing against surfaces. I wince and grimaced and just curled up on the couch. I knew I couldn’t interfere in their relationship. It wasn’t my place to meddle anyway. At one point, I heard the door slam closed and a heavy silence settled over Spencer’s apartment. I felt like a scared child listening to his parents fighting and knowing that he can’t do anything about it. That feeling was so scarring that I can still remember it, to this day. I pressed my ears against the wall, afraid that Spencer was dead. It was so quiet, and the quiet was so eerie. My heartbeat slowed down when I head faint sounds of sobbing. My heart, it broke, when I heard the all-too-familiar sounds of Spencer’s choking sounds, and the loud, monstrous sound of him flushing the toilet right after.
I took this as my cue to rush over next door, and comfort Spencer. That was my part. That was in my job description. Best friend, comfort, couch, punching bag, shoulder to cry on. Now that I think about it, I probably should have tried harder. Between me and Jon, we could have done something. Between the lines of fear and blame, we didn’t know what to do. We didn’t have a fucking survival guide appropriately titled, "How to save a life" although I wish we would have had one at the time. Now, I don’t know where we went wrong. Everything is blurred, I lost a friend somewhere along in this tragic timeline. Now, I can only write this biographical work of fiction. I can only retell a story that wasn’t meant to end yet. Now, I can only hide behind words, and quotes. Words of words. Quotes of quotes. Phrases used in the same context as they will forever be. Nothing makes sense. I wish I knew then what I knew now. I wish I had known how to save Spencer’s life.
When I knocked on Spencer’s apartment door after their fight. Spencer looked terrible. His eyes were red, he looked tired. Resigned. Broken. The familiar taupe rubber-band was back, yet again, placed firmly around his wrist, cutting off circulation and marking the skin under it with an angry red mark that was still there and would probably never go away. I don’t know what I expected but it sure wasn’t what I saw. I think that day was the first time Spencer ever saw me cry. I broke down, whispering things that probably seemed incoherent and like gibberish to Spencer. His eyes widened in surprise and he held me that day. He hugged me tight and I cried. It felt strange, our roles were flipped.
Usually I was the one holding Spencer, but that day had been too much for me. I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I cried. After I was done crying, I felt selfish. So, I asked Spencer what happened with Jon. He simply said, "He got tired of putting up with my bullshit and left. He broke up with me." I was in shock. Jon wouldn’t do that, right? He’d promised Spencer he would never leave. Spencer must have read my thoughts and smiled sadly.
"That’s what I thought too," he whispered. I texted Brendon that I would spend the night with Spencer. Brendon, being Brendon, understood and left me to comfort my best friend.
About, not-even three weeks after Spencer’s funeral, Jon’s body was found drowned in Spencer’s apartment. (Jon had been living there after Spencer died just so he could remember Spencer.) I was incredulous when I heard that Jon had killed himself. Another funeral for a friend. I glared at Brendon and told him, "You better not die soon. I’m not sure how many more funerals I can take." He just nodded solemnly. Jon had been his best friend, like Spencer and me. This had been hard on both of us. The scene next door was crazy; police tape, chalk line and all that jazz. I felt cold. Everyone I loved was dying. I couldn’t deal with it. I broke down in Brendon’s arms. This was the second time I’ve done so, but Brendon silently wrapped his arms around me while I buried my face in his chest. The worst part was that now Jon would be with Spencer, and I would still be here.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brendon and wanted to be with him, but Spencer was like my brother. Practically blood. I couldn’t believe he was dead. I didn’t want to go on living without having him close, to laugh at un-funny jokes with, to cry with, to hug, to hold when Jon was being an asshole. I’ve lost all of that now.
The day Jon’s body is found, I go to visit Spencer’s grave. The graveyard feels eerie for some reason, although that could be because the sky is overcast and the wind is picking up. The weather’s changing, and I don’t want it to. I don’t want anything to change, because it feels like time is ticking too fast and if anything changes and time goes by, it’ll leave Spencer behind forever.
While, the weather’s changing, the grave and its surroundings are staying the same. The flowers that I placed on top of Spencer’s tombstone are still there. The flowers still look as fresh and flowery as the day I bought them. The only indication that time has passed is the tree behind the grave. The leaves are now dressed in golds, reds, browns, and oranges; whereas they were still bright green the last time I visited. Its amazing how little time has passed since the last time I was there, about two weeks ago, and how much has changed, but everything feels the same. It doesn’t hurt any less. A testament to how time will not heal any wounds. I know it feels like I’m contradicting myself. I know I don’t make any sense. I’m not supposed to. I’m an "unreliable" narrator. You can take my words at face value, or not. It doesn’t make a difference to me, but I'm just getting side-tracked from the actual story. Spencer.
Anyway, when I visited Spence’s grave, I brought some fresh blood-red roses to place on top of his grave. The wind was getting chilly, the sun was setting. It felt way too lonely out there, but it was perfect since, loneliness was my only friend now that Spencer and Jon were gone. Sure, I had Brendon but Brendon was always doing his job, he worked late and came home around 11:30 p.m. making sure everything was in perfect order. I had no one else to talk to now.
It had gotten so bad that I up and quit all my modeling jobs yesterday. I felt like I was being squeezed alive. I couldn’t, can’t, don’t want to take it. I want to die. So I’ve come here to vent my feelings, and try to hope that if Spencer’s listening, he’ll give me a sign. I sit down next to the roses and just stare at my surroundings for awhile. It doesn’t feel creepy, being there alone. It feels relaxing. That’s where I spend my day, talking to Spencer, asking him for a sign that he’s there. Sadly, I don’t receive a sign. When I leave, I feel slightly guilty for not praying for him, but when I remember that he wasn’t very religious, I end up saying a few words to him. I tell him, that I miss him; I tell him that I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help him. I’m sure it might be my imagination, but when I turn to leave I hear a soft, "I miss you too," from the breeze. In any case, I just shake away the feeling that he’s here and continue towards the cemetery gates.
One particular memory that I’m not supposed to have seen was when we were little. This was just before Spencer’s parents started fighting. I had come to visit Spencer one day, and instead found him in his room, trying on his mother’s clothes. If I had not known about Spencer’s dream of modeling, I would have laughed and made fun of him for ages afterwards. But since I knew how important it was to Spencer, I just hid behind the door, watched and stayed quiet. Spencer moved with so much grace for his age. He was practically floating on a cloud, and he looked so happy. On his face was the rare Spencer-Smith-smile. So radiant, yet so rare that I, myself had only seen it a handful of times. It was then that I decided to try out modeling for myself. I wanted to look like that on a stage.
I was partly jealous of Spencer’s shiny, silky hair while I had dull, brittle hair that I kept chewing on. I was also partly amazed at how confident Spencer looked up there. At the time, I thought that confidence came from modeling. Sadly, I know better now. Confidence didn’t come from anywhere near that forsaken stage.
A few days later, I was dressed for Jon’s funeral. What a huge difference between the funerals. Jon’s parents, for one, were both there crying their eyes out. As was Jon’s sister and his best friend Christine. She looked utterly horrible, and I mean that in the best way possible. She looked like she was lost, heartbroken and miserable. Not like she was pretending to be mourning, which was what most of the guests at Spencer’s funeral looked like. I patted her back, when she came to hug me. (She knew the real reason why Jon had died, unlike everyone else.) "I’m sorry," she whispered. I just shook my head and hugged her back. At the funeral, I learned that Jon’s will and obituary would be read sometime later that week.
After everyone had gone home, "probably to keep on doing what they were doing, because that’s usually what happens when someone dies, Ryan. Everyone just goes back to doing what they did before. Face it, we’re just not that special," I remember those same, exact words Spencer had said to me when we were younger, and death didn’t seem so tragic. I had told Spencer that if he died first, I wouldn’t go back to doing what I was doing the day before. I promised him that his death would be special. And it was.
His death killed Jon. His death is killing me. What more could he want? I can’t even think of doing what I was doing before, anymore. Everything is frozen as I wait for something. Closure? What closure? There will never be closure, as long as I’m alive and Spencer isn’t. I will always feel as if something is missing.
Maybe what I’m looking for is in the letter Spencer gave me, the last time I saw him before he died. At that time, I had thought it random for Spencer to just show up in the middle of the day and give me a letter. Now, I’m sure that Spencer knew he was about to die, and something very special is in that letter. That’s why I haven’t even touched it since he gave it to me. I’m waiting for the perfect moment. I know that I’m not the only one who received a letter, Brendon and Jon got one too. I think of them as goodbye letters. To everyone he loved before he left them. I can’t even look at my letter without shaking from the need to cry.
When the day of Jon’s obituary came around, I reluctantly got dressed and left to see what would become of the few possessions that Jon left. When I got there, I was surprised to be early. I was never early. To anything. It was an unspoken rule to be fashionably late all the time, and whereas once upon a time, I had stuck to that rule like paper to glue, now I laughed at the stupidity of it. It didn’t matter if I was early, late, or just right, this wasn’t about me. My job was to simply sit still, behave and not cause a scene, which were all really one and the same.
When everyone was here, I had been waiting for around fifteen minutes, lost in space. The "court" had initiated and I was to pay attention in case someone mentioned something important. Sadly, all I was hearing was, "Blah,blah,blah,blah,something,blah," until I heard the person in charge of reading the will say my name. I looked up in alarm to realize that he was holding a piece of paper. I walked up to him and read the right part of the document, thankfully.
Apparently, Jon had made it clear in the will that had been made official a few days before he died that he wanted me to take all the letters that Spencer had given us, and burn them over rose incense and scatter the ashes over both him and Spencer’s grave. He also requested that I make sure to bury him next to Spencer, something that I had already thought of. The arrangements for that had been made, and currently the grave was being dug.
In two days’ time, Jon would have his wish fulfilled; he would be next to Spencer. Now, the letters. What an interesting decision Jon had made. I think that somehow that would be the closure, the "thing" that I had been waiting for all this time. So I took Jon’s letter that had been in closed in the document, and looked around the room, staring at everyone’s faces for some sign that I could leave. It came in the form of a burly looking man, opening the door for me. I stepped through it, determined to carry out Jon’s wishes. First though, I had to make a call and buy some rose incense.
I knew perfectly why Jon had insisted on rose incense. It was yet another memory that I shouldn’t have had, and thankfully had left before I got a really awkward picture engraved in my brain.
It was Jon and Spencer’s first anniversary. Jon had bought a lot of candles and lit them everywhere. Then he bought dozens upon dozens of bright, blood-red roses. The petals were everywhere, and still everywhere even weeks after. Jon, always a goofy romantic, had started singing my favorite things from the sound of music. Spencer had cracked up and smiled his special smile at Jon, while Jon was busy showering kisses over Spencer. That was the happiest I had ever seen Spencer, and I was delighted that Jon could make Spencer so happy. I was hidden by the door, watching them and I felt weird. I left after I overheard Jon tell Spencer that he had bought the roses because they reminded him of Spencer. I smiled at that because roses had always been Spencer’s favorite flower.
It’s no wonder why roses were Spencer’s signature fragrance. Everywhere he went, he smelled of sweet, fresh roses. It was a wonderful, Spencer-Smith scent, and I’ve never smelled anything like it since. Even Spencer and Jon’s apartment smelled of roses, which is why, following the days after Spencer’s death, I refused to go in their apartment. I felt sorry for Jon who had taken to sleeping in there because "it smells like him, Ryan," I nodded, because really, I understood.
It turns out that I had left at a very good time, when I was safely in my apartment; I heard loud moans and thumps. Let’s just say, my ears are still scarred from that. But, it’s still a memory I treasure.
Jon’s burial. Different from Jon’s funeral. The atmosphere was a lot more solemn. I guess that by now they had figured that Jon had died to be with Spencer. The crowd’s quiet attitude spokes volumes in the sense that they understood. Everyone had been a critic during Spencer’s funeral, but that had been a totally different crowd. I stood helplessly and watched as my two friends were reunited in their afterlife. Mentally, I prayed to whatever god would listen to let them be happy in death. To let them be together. Then I let some tears fall down my cheeks, because let’s face it. Once the tears start they won’t stop for awhile. Then I gathered my shattered composure and left the burial. I would be back soon enough anyway.
I gathered all three plain, pale, off-white letters into a bag along with a lighter, some matches and the infamous rose incense. Then I took Brendon along for the ride. Surprisingly, the scenery in front of Spencer and Jon’s grave had changed drastically. Most of the leaves had fallen off, and the grass was no longer bright green. It was now a muted hunter’s green, and was almost invisible under so many leaves. This didn’t stop me from swatting all the pesky leaves away from Spencer’s grave, and Brendon doing the same for Jon’s.
When the leaves we’re cleared, we made a small campfire with all the leaves and watched the flames grow higher and higher. Before we burned the letters, we made a big show of opening them and reading them before throwing them into the fire. The first letter, my letter read:
Ryan,
I’m sorry for everything. You have no clue how much I wish I could take everything back and just be normal, but I can’t. I’m too fucked up. I’m in too deep. I can’t control anything anymore. I’m sorry. You’ve been the best friend I could ever wish for, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a better friend to you. I know I’ve said I’m sorry one too many times, but it’s true. I really am sorry. I know that I my dying will cause you a lot of pain, but I’m in a better place now. There’s no more pain, no more heartache. I can finally rest in peace. I hope that you can let it be. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead, and that’s it. That’s all there is too it. Just, don’t lose Brendon. He loves you. You love him. Don’t let what happened to Jon and me happen to you and him. Please.
From, your best and worst friend, Spencer
The second letter, Jon’s letter was no easier to read for me, it read:
Jon,
I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m saying it so many times now to make up for the time that probably has come when I won’t be here to say it. I need you so much, I love you. I’m sorry you couldn’t fix me. I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t try nearly as hard as I should have. I love you. I’m sorry I fought with you. I love you. You’ll always be my wonder wall, and I’ll always be your guardian angel. I’m sorry, Jon. I love you. I love you so much that it breaks my heart to know that I’ll be leaving you soon. I’m sorry. I love you.
Signed, your hot mess, forever and always, Spencer
P.s. I love you.
P.s.s I’m sorry.
I was crying by the time that I got to the third and final letter, Brendon’s letter.
Brendon,
You’ve been such a good friend to me, even though we haven’t known each other long. I’m very glad that you’ve found Ryan. I’ve seen the way you look at him, you love him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He loves you. Don’t let him go. I mean it, don’t make me haunt you. Please. He’s my best-friend and I don’t care if I have to strangle you in your sleep. You hurt him, you’re dead. Even if I’m dead. One last thing, I really hope that both of you go on a vacation once this is over, and you both go back to doing what you were doing before. I know I’m not special enough for you not to go back to doing what you were doing, I’m just not. Partly, because that’s me, and partly because the world doesn’t work that way. Just remember, vacation. I trust you Brendon.
I look forward to not having to come after you, signed Spencer James Smith.
When I was done reading all three letters, tears were rolling down my face. Spencer was dead, but that didn’t mean I had to die too. He died so that we could live, in a sense. Me and Brendon. This had been the closure that I was looking for. The numbness had faded, and now was replaced by the startling sensation that made me want to cry and punch someone, but it wasn’t the sickening numbness I had felt ever since Spencer had died. This new emotion made me want to tear my insides out and at the same time, made me want to jump for joy. I was so overwhelmed that I almost forgot about the fire. Almost.
Brendon was smiling at me, and held out his hand. Together, we set fire to the letters and watched them burn. We were figuratively setting our friends on fire, but that was the point wasn’t it? To regain closure. To not need to be sad because Spencer died. He died, but like he said, he didn’t want us to stop doing what we were doing before, although he was dead wrong about him not being special enough. He wanted us to be happy. I decided then and there that I and Brendon would take a vacation as soon as we could.
We were going to be happy, if it was the last thing we did. We weren’t going to let Spencer’s death be for nothing. So, we blew out the fire, decisions made, and the wind did the job of scattering the ashes for us. The wind had actually risen and was now swirling the ashes around Jon and Spencer’s graves. Everything around us smelled faintly of Spencer. It smelled like home to me, and that’s why it was so hard to leave it and just walk away, but I thought of Spencer and decided that that would have been what he would have wanted me to do. So I listened to Spencer, and fingers still intertwined with Brendon’s, we made our way out of the cemetery and left everything behind.
FIN~
