damage || [continuation of heather]

dreaded reunion -liv-

:::: A/N :::: italics are flashbacks from what happened in the first book (it's a while back so i thought it would be good to mention- whoopsie daisy) 

I could have prevented this. 

I could have, or rather should have known what was to follow back then. 

How was I so blind? 

  "What my problem is? You contacted my father?! Why would you do this to me?", I shouted, enraged, "and why wouldn't you ask me about this first? I thought-,.. You shattered us being happy together, Spencer. Honestly, I thought you loved me."  

I would've never guessed that I would be proven to be right to this extent. That that moment I have to think of changed so much is unbelievable. That this one person was even more malicious and evil than what I reminded myself of in my darkest nightmares was beyond me. 

Spencer came closer to me, not letting go of my wrist. "Let me explain.", he demanded and I flinched. He dismissed it but I tried to get out of his firm grip.

"I couldn't tell you because I feared that I would lose you again, Heather. I wanted to see where your father was and if he still held contact to his old friends, including Rowland, so that I could protect you. I called him to make sure you were safe. In order to keep my promise."

I don't blame Spencer. I blame myself. I should have been able to predict this somehow, I knew my father. 

But yet I am gobsmacked, I couldn't believe it but it made sense. 

He would try and do anything to prevent me from being happy. 

"Are you out of your mind?", I asked, not being able to hold the tears back anymore, still trying to wriggle my hand out.

I shake my head, somehow able to unwind myself from this weird trance and apologise before storming out of the door, bumping right into Steve. 

"Heather!", he exclaims, "come on, I'll take you home."

During the car ride, I am fuming. I have never before been so angry at myself. 

I can't help but think that if I didn't get involved with Spencer, he would have a better life to lead- he wouldn't have had to suffer this much. 

I can't help but feel like I have made a big mess, or rather that I am a huge mess. 

Steve accompanies me inside and Spencer meets us in the corridor. 

"What happened?", he asks, the concern lacing his voice making me even sadder. 

"Heather, speak to me, love.",  he demands, leaning in, so that my head meets his chest. My cheek meets the fabric of his shirt that clad his skin. His hands go to my hair to caress it,  moving down to draw patterns on my clothed back, which would help to calm me down in any other situation. 

"I'm going to get her a glass of water.", Steve says worriedly, not knowing what else to do.

 I feel Spencer nodding his head before creating a bit of distance between us so that he could look at me. He cups one of my small hands in both of his and guides me to the living room, where he orders me to sit down on the sofa. 

As soon as we sit down, he brings up a hand to wipe the hot tears under my eyes that I didn't even realise had been falling. Steve puts the glass of water on the table before us and says that he'll give us some privacy, leaving the room. 

"Heather?"

I reach for the glass and empty its content, the warm tab water somehow helping me clean my head a tad bit. 

"Everything's going to be alright.", Spencers whispers into my ear and this sends me over the edge. 

"How would you know? Nothing is fine, okay or alright! Stop this right now! Things are way worse than horrible, Spencer!"

He winces at my tone and frowns, "Please tell me what has you in this state, Heath."

I get up, walking towards one of the cheffoniers. I pull open one of the drawers, and some of the contents fall out of it due to the force I used when opening it. I search for one of the photos I took with me when we went through things on the attic in the old house, pushing around other papers that had been neatly stacked and turn around when I found it to show it to Spencer. 

My hands are shaking so he can't manage to make it out perfectly, but he realises what I am trying to tell.

"It was him!", I spit, sitting down again, and my hand hovers over the fire of a candle as I debate wether I should burn this picture. 

I decide against it, tearing it in half instead, so that he and I are no longer imprisoned in this pose, his arms are still around my small frame but if it weren't for that it might as well be two photographs. We no longer stand in that old garden together, my mum is no longer behind the camera, the man on that photograph is also long dead to me.

I reach for Spencer's hand after putting the two pieces on the table beside the glass.

The two of us stare at the empty television screen before he breaks the silence, 

"I'll let the team know."

He stands up to grab his phone and my anger is gone, the flames that threatened to eat me from my inside out are gone, Spencer's strength and warmth has left me, they are replaced by something that resembles a dark wind, I feel empty, tired, cold and not fit for battle.