100 Steps: White
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[7] playing the part - christmas
Spencer stares down at his phone until the message sent fades and his screensaver pops back up. With a sigh, he tosses it onto the bed and finally takes a look around the old room. There really hadn't been time earlier; he'd just dropped his bag off and headed back downstairs for dinner.
He'd tried at dinner. Really, he had, but they'd barely gotten four bites into the meal and Guy had expressed his 'concern' over Spencer's Intro to Econ grade and Spencer just tightened his grip on his fork and taken it. Jackie and Crys won't get back from their camp until late tomorrow and Spencer's just trying to hold on until then. His sisters are awesome, running interference like nobody's business. Spencer doesn't know how to survive the holidays without them.
So. Back to the room. He looks around and can't help but frown. He's only been at college a year or so, but it seems like every single vestige of him has been wiped clean. They've taken out his old double bed and put in what looks like a futon. Nice and sleek. There's a neat desk set up in the corner where his old beanbag chair used to be. The walls are white now.
Sterile.
It makes Spencer want to scream. He wants to punch things.
Instead, he makes himself walk over to the window. It overlooks the back yard and he rests his head against it, studying it. The grass is perfectly manicured, all the dead and bare spots from growing up long gone. With a pang, Spencer realizes that old dog house that used to sit in the back corner is gone. Another legacy of Guy Jameson. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment, remembering what it used to be like.
The glass is cool against his forehead. It's cool enough outside that each time he breathes out, it fogs the window. Pulling back, he reaches out a finger, and traces an 'A' in the condensation. It's a little crooked. Clenching his teeth, Spencer wipes his fingers over the window, obscuring the imperfect letter. Like his forehead, the glass is cool against his fingertips and he pushes harder. He's wondering how much pressure it would take to make the glass break when his phone beeps from the futon. Turning his head toward the sound, he hears the text message sound go off again. It happens a third time and his curiosity is piqued.
He slides his hand under the phone as he sits down. It's soft, but not uncomfortable so and Spencer thinks leather, of course as he unlocks the phone.
The first picture is Brendon. He's holding a napkin. The logo is one Spencer recognizes--they've got great pizza and even better coffee--and his stomach rumbles; he'd barely eaten any of his dinner. He runs a hand over his stomach, like it will help, and notices the napkin that Brendon's holding. Neatly written in block letters is the word WISHU. Spencer frowns. What the hell? Scrolling to the next message, he sees an attractive brunette with a wide smile and another napkin. This one has WERE on it and in the corner there's a small hi, i'm cassie! that makes Spencer shake his head.
The last photo is Jon. Jon with his stupid, ugly Christmas sweater--Spencer's not even going to think about how many of those Jon apparently has--with a napkin that has HERE on it.
Wish you were here.
There's a sting in the corner of his eyes and he squeezes them shut, letting the phone fall back on the cushion. It was a stupid mistake sending that response earlier to Brendon, no matter how truthful it was.
They keep trying though. Spencer does everything he can to not get too close. The celebration at finals was stupid and he's worked hard to put some distance between himself and his roommates. It doesn't pay to get too close to people. They'll eventually just run off to L.A. and become friends with douche-tastic hipsters. Spencer runs a hand over his face.
It's definitely hard though, to keep himself apart. He sees the disappointment on Brendon's face and it's like kicking a goddamn puppy. And Jon-
Jon's waiting, Spencer knows, biding his time until Spencer cracks.
So he does all he can to not be receptive and it's just so fuckin' strange because they still seem to like him. Spencer can't figure either one of them out, not really.
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his mom calling him from downstairs. He doesn't move and a minute later, his voice rings out. Spencer contemplates ignoring it, feigning sleep or something. But he doesn't really want to see that look on his mom's face either, the reproach and faint hurt around her mouth.
Spencer gets up and heads downstairs to play the consummate son. It's a role he's continuously perfecting.
[8] to be continued
[7] playing the part - christmas
Spencer stares down at his phone until the message sent fades and his screensaver pops back up. With a sigh, he tosses it onto the bed and finally takes a look around the old room. There really hadn't been time earlier; he'd just dropped his bag off and headed back downstairs for dinner.
He'd tried at dinner. Really, he had, but they'd barely gotten four bites into the meal and Guy had expressed his 'concern' over Spencer's Intro to Econ grade and Spencer just tightened his grip on his fork and taken it. Jackie and Crys won't get back from their camp until late tomorrow and Spencer's just trying to hold on until then. His sisters are awesome, running interference like nobody's business. Spencer doesn't know how to survive the holidays without them.
So. Back to the room. He looks around and can't help but frown. He's only been at college a year or so, but it seems like every single vestige of him has been wiped clean. They've taken out his old double bed and put in what looks like a futon. Nice and sleek. There's a neat desk set up in the corner where his old beanbag chair used to be. The walls are white now.
Sterile.
It makes Spencer want to scream. He wants to punch things.
Instead, he makes himself walk over to the window. It overlooks the back yard and he rests his head against it, studying it. The grass is perfectly manicured, all the dead and bare spots from growing up long gone. With a pang, Spencer realizes that old dog house that used to sit in the back corner is gone. Another legacy of Guy Jameson. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment, remembering what it used to be like.
The glass is cool against his forehead. It's cool enough outside that each time he breathes out, it fogs the window. Pulling back, he reaches out a finger, and traces an 'A' in the condensation. It's a little crooked. Clenching his teeth, Spencer wipes his fingers over the window, obscuring the imperfect letter. Like his forehead, the glass is cool against his fingertips and he pushes harder. He's wondering how much pressure it would take to make the glass break when his phone beeps from the futon. Turning his head toward the sound, he hears the text message sound go off again. It happens a third time and his curiosity is piqued.
He slides his hand under the phone as he sits down. It's soft, but not uncomfortable so and Spencer thinks leather, of course as he unlocks the phone.
The first picture is Brendon. He's holding a napkin. The logo is one Spencer recognizes--they've got great pizza and even better coffee--and his stomach rumbles; he'd barely eaten any of his dinner. He runs a hand over his stomach, like it will help, and notices the napkin that Brendon's holding. Neatly written in block letters is the word WISHU. Spencer frowns. What the hell? Scrolling to the next message, he sees an attractive brunette with a wide smile and another napkin. This one has WERE on it and in the corner there's a small hi, i'm cassie! that makes Spencer shake his head.
The last photo is Jon. Jon with his stupid, ugly Christmas sweater--Spencer's not even going to think about how many of those Jon apparently has--with a napkin that has HERE on it.
Wish you were here.
There's a sting in the corner of his eyes and he squeezes them shut, letting the phone fall back on the cushion. It was a stupid mistake sending that response earlier to Brendon, no matter how truthful it was.
They keep trying though. Spencer does everything he can to not get too close. The celebration at finals was stupid and he's worked hard to put some distance between himself and his roommates. It doesn't pay to get too close to people. They'll eventually just run off to L.A. and become friends with douche-tastic hipsters. Spencer runs a hand over his face.
It's definitely hard though, to keep himself apart. He sees the disappointment on Brendon's face and it's like kicking a goddamn puppy. And Jon-
Jon's waiting, Spencer knows, biding his time until Spencer cracks.
So he does all he can to not be receptive and it's just so fuckin' strange because they still seem to like him. Spencer can't figure either one of them out, not really.
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his mom calling him from downstairs. He doesn't move and a minute later, his voice rings out. Spencer contemplates ignoring it, feigning sleep or something. But he doesn't really want to see that look on his mom's face either, the reproach and faint hurt around her mouth.
Spencer gets up and heads downstairs to play the consummate son. It's a role he's continuously perfecting.
[8] to be continued