'My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust

Trying to find a part of me you didn't take up

Gave you too much but it wasn't enough

But I'll be all right, it's just a thousand cuts'

*SPENCER'S POV*

Here we were. The second to last part of the plan.

The article about the Thorntons' illegal traffic was ready, sitting in my bag under the passenger seat. My hands were tight around the steering wheel as I drove in the direction of Subrose, my knuckles as white as the horizon through the windshield, and I had left Dorothy behind with... her boyfriend? Was she already calling him like that?

It didn't matter when she'd made her choice, and it wasn't me.

Dorothy and her boyfriend, that was what it looked like in the rearview mirror, and even if their silhouettes quickly disappeared in the blur, the glimpse was enough to show how perfectly they fitted as a couple.

I should have seen it before. I had actually, the first night we'd arrived at the cabin, when she'd been sick and crying, and she'd crashed into Blade's chest.

She hadn't been aware of it herself. It had been instinctive, like everything with Dorothy, but her instincts always came from her heart, and in her most vulnerable state, she'd chosen his arms to hold her. It was saying more than a thousand words.

Yet it didn't mean that hearing her pronouncing those words out loud hadn't shattered my heart into a thousand pieces. It didn't mean I hadn't hoped to be wrong.

I'd hoped with all my already-cracked heart that she would have run back to my arms, that it had been only a temporary rush, while we were Dorothy and Spencer forever. I'd told myself that since I'd first heard the rumors about her 'hanging out with a murderer' and I'd followed her when she'd sneaked out in the middle of the night to see him. I had been too confident in our love, too hopeless, too blind.

Now, here I was, months later, my eyes wide open and dry after shedding too many tears.

I still loved her with every painful breath I took, and I couldn't even hate him because if someone could love her almost as much as I did, it was Blade.

This murderer turned out to be really caring, and if I wouldn't have trusted him for many things, I trusted him with Dorothy's and the baby's lives.

He'd proved it that first night at the cabin too, when he'd holden her like his life had depended on it, and he'd been too focused on soothing her to even taunt me. Though I'd preferred when he'd tried to kill me with his knife.

No stab, no snide remark could cut as deep as watching her relax a little bit more in his embrace, and I'd ended up with too many wounds, on which I'd put hope like acid, too many glances I'd turned a blind eye on, too many half-inches she'd always leaned closer to him.

It wasn't that Dorothy hadn't been careful to treat Blade and me equally. I would never reproach her that.

She'd been lost, confused, and overwhelmed, and yet, she'd always tried to make things right for everybody and keep the atmosphere friendly – which, with Blade and me, wasn't easy – on top of handling the guilt, the fears, and the pregnancy hormones.

However, while she really saw me as a friend, she looked at Blade with a spark in her eyes.

'It's just that... there's not that spark.'

That spark she and I would never have. That spark seared me with jealousy, and I hadn't even seen them act as boyfriend and girlfriend yet.

I guessed she had announced him her choice too, from the spark in their eyes – always that spark – but except for that, they'd stayed at a more-than-respectful distance from each other all day, surely jumping away from each other the second they'd heard me walk down the stairs this morning.

I appreciated it, although even five feet apart, they were gravitating towards each other, almost as if they were out in space. It was what she'd always dreamed of after all, and I truly wanted her to be happy, of course. Yet the world was lonely without my pirate princess, and sitting in a car for 11 hours with them, I'd been suffocating with loneliness.

I'd never been as eager for Blade to steal another car and to find myself behind the wheel. Though I wasn't breathing more now.

I had no idea how I was even driving, as it wasn't only my lungs that were stiff but my whole body. At least until I had to fight the spasms commanding my muscles to turn around and rush back to Dorothy when too soon, the headlights illuminated a familiar sign.

'Subrose, the town welcomes you for a lovely stay.'

I didn't even remember the last time I'd seen that sign.

Everything had been a blur thicker than the fog around since the moment the phone had rung, and I'd picked up to the solemn voice of my dad. That tone... I'd only heard it once in my life before, and after he'd pronounced the words 'Dorothy is about to get arrested', I hadn't caught anything else. Had he told me to stay where I was or to go warn her?

I'd already been running to her anyway, and the rest had happened in flashes: the shakes of my hands as I climbed up her window, the green terror in her eyes, followed by too much blue, too many bangs and roars outside and inside, and Dorothy's soft voice and hand guiding me through the chaos.

When I'd finally come back to my senses, we'd already left my car by some gas station.

However, tonight, I was alone, with only a hint of her cherry perfume and the remaining warmth of her hug, and even if my heart was trying to escape my ribcage and turn back to her, I had to move on, move on past the Subrose sign, the founders' statues, the stadium, and all the places imprinted with memories that took me back to only one person, move on along the main streets, move on towards the center.

Succeeding in my mission, that was my only focus.

For the other meaning of 'moving on', as sweet as Dorothy was with her hope and wishes for my future, I didn't believe my 'beautiful words' would take me this far, and even less there could be someone for me on this earth. But all that mattered was that hopefully, the article could help, for Dorothy, for the baby, for my dad, and for all the people the Thorntons had wronged.

It was for them that I blinked the tears away and forced some oxygen down my lungs, trying to clear my head as I stopped the car and made sure the surroundings were clear because once I got out of the car, it would only be me. Me and their fate on my tense shoulders, hanging by the leather strap of my bag, and although it was just papers in there, I could feel the weight with every step I took.

The distance between the parking lot and the red bricks building had never appeared so endless, and I was starting to wonder if they had added meters in the last months, if I was in the right place.

But everything was in its right place, for a foggy November night at the least.

The closed signs were displayed on every storefront, and no one was in sight – thankfully. However, the bushes bordering the parking lot were still as closely trimmed, and I glanced behind to make sure no one was hiding there, not even the 'gardening elves that were cutting the branches every night' like Dorothy had wanted me to believe years ago. The neon of the hardware store was still as bright, illuminating the whole alley leading to the newspaper with a familiar emerald glow, and the three wooden steps leading to the white door were as uneven as I remembered, the last one still hiding a spare key.

I only caught three things differing on the way I'd taken every Wednesday and Saturday for two years. First, Billy's car wasn't in the parking lot. Then, new posters were adorning the streets, the three familiar faces making my determined gait falter for an instant, though Blade and Daisy had already warned me about those. So I was prepared, and I didn't stay frozen at the sum of money indicated under our names, which took me to the final and most important change: me.

When I'd announced my resignation from the trainee job, eight months ago, I would have never believed I would be back that way: illegally.

But did that Spencer still exist?

The wanted sign by the street lamp and the black of my clothes blending into the shadows hinted at the contrary.

The 'great Spencer' was just a ghost now, someone who'd run away from the town, and even though I was back, there were parts of me that didn't return: my heart, all my principles about following the 'right' way as I slid the key into the hole and turned it to the left, and surely my innocence too as, with one last glance over my shoulder, I broke in easily.

I was almost surprised at how easy it was, and not even the shakes of my hands slowed me down. I was stepping into the dark room and pulling out my flashlight before I could even breathe, and my next intake of air was wrapped with the typical ink and paper scent as I carefully moved, taking in my surroundings.

I had to make sure I was really alone, and maybe, just maybe, the beam from the flashlight lingered a little bit more than necessary on some unmoving items: the to-do board by the front desk, the typewriters here and there, the squeaking chair on the left side.

One glance would have been enough to conclude there was no one in the long room with no hidden corners and only five desks for the smaller columns of the newspaper and the trainee assistant on the far left.

I'd spent so much time here, and behind every door bordering the room actually, as I'd been welcomed in every office, and if my ribcage had been too tight to feel a twinge to the heart through the familiar streets of Subrose, here, every broken piece of it shriveled a little more.

I'd missed this place, the clicks of pens and typewriters, the rush of deadlines and last-minute news, the bustle of creativity, the power in the air, all those words coming together... From the smallest comics to the headlines, each part of the newspaper was equally important, and it was all together that it could work. That was one of Billy's mantras, and that was why he'd let me discover each column, sharing the secrets of his most prized possession.

He'd trusted me to the point that he'd even shown me where he was leaving a spare key, and entering illegally, I was doing more than breaking in and breaking the law; I was shattering his trust because it surely hadn't been what he'd meant by 'in case of emergency'.

Still, it was an emergency, a life-or-death matter, and I was reminded how much with the stop of my heart when a thud echoed from my left.

Life was right in front, four steps away, in Billy's office, with the hope to put the article on his desk and fulfill this mission to then go back to Dorothy and her round belly, the hope for this baby to have a beautiful and safe life.

While death... it would be chasing us everywhere, just like Kenneth Thornton, if the article wasn't published, and mostly, it was right next to me as the door to my left opened before I could take another step or curse myself for getting distracted.

In that instant, all the guilt weighing on my chest, all my considerations about right and wrong, and even all the heartache were swept away by a rush of adrenaline, and all that remained were my primal instincts taking over my body.

People said that life-or-death situations revealed who we truly were. If so, I was about to find out when the person walking through the door gasped.

I couldn't hide. I couldn't explain myself as the figure was too slim to be Billy, and at that late hour, I doubted whoever was here would be friendly. Who could it even be?

I didn't have time to think, only catching sight of a cap and a large jacket with the faint flow coming from the ajar door, and then, my muscles propelled me forward as I used the momentary shock of the intruder to tackle him like I would have done on a football field, cornering him against the walls.

With the experience I'd acquired in the last few months chasing hens, my movements were swift, and my hands quickly grabbed his wrists to finally immobilize him firmly like... a real outlaw. That was what I was now.

If Blade and Dorothy had seen me! They surely wouldn't believe me when I would tell them, when I would join them, when the mission would be accomplished because I would succeed. My heart was pounding so fast that I could already picture myself in a few hours, the adrenaline buzzing in my veins fueling my assurance.

Not even the possibility that he wasn't alone here or that he could scream for help could bring me down, and I was already pushing harder against him, grabbing the two thin wrists in one hand, while the other lifted to his parted lips. After, what would a real outlaw have done?

The answer got lost in the two wide eyes that opened to me, the surge of adrenaline sucked in their tenebrous color. What shade was it? Brown terror or dark powerlessness?

Despite the dimness, I recognized a mix of both lost in the depths of a haunted look, the haunted look of someone who'd already been in that position, and the reflection I glimpsed there made my grip waver as I took in the intruder's features, feminine and familiar features.

It was a girl, which explained the two bumps pressing against my chest and the long strands now peeking out from her cap.

As for the familiarity of her features, it may have only been once, yet I would never forget it. My shaky hand had already hovered above this arched nose and full lips, five months ago, to check if she was still breathing.

She was the girl, whom Douglas had tried to rape, Angel, and if any hint of pride in my body hadn't already vanished at the fact that I'd attacked a girl, it would have been annihilated with this realization.

I was okay with being an outlaw. But finding myself in the same position as that monster, never.

While I hadn't thought about anything else than surviving, I couldn't even imagine what had crossed her mind at the sudden attack, what was still crossing her mind behind those wide eyes, and just the possibility made me lean an inch away so that I wasn't touching her inappropriately.

She looked so terrified, so helpless, and so– strong, as she used the little space between us to lift her leg and knee me in the crotch, and I could take in how far from defenseless she was with the pain shooting through my entire midsection.

I could also notice how bad I was at acting on impulse when my reflexes made me stumble back with a grunt, leaving her enough room to reach to her side, and before I could even straighten up, a broomstick advanced towards my stomach.

I sidestepped in extremis.

"Wait, I don't want to hurt–" You. But she definitely wanted to hurt me as the stick aimed at my head at full force, from which I felt half of it strike my shoulder when I moved away.

She had surely learned to defend herself in the last few months, and now, I was receiving all the rage she hadn't been able to throw at Douglas. Well, the furniture was receiving it, as I avoided the strikes one after the other.

Yet she didn't let up. Each blow was intent and powerful, coming from her guts like the frustrated groans escaping her, and each time I dodged it, the broomstick came towards me faster, not leaving me time to retaliate. Not that I would have.

But it was the problem. We could have continued for a while with papers waltzing around and the thuds of the wooden stick setting the tempo of our movements, if I hadn't noticed where she was slowly leading us: towards the entrance.

The sight of the door and the phone there was an electroshock for me.

A few more steps, and she would be able to run or call the police, and the plan would be over because of my kindness again. I couldn't let that happen.

Thus, when the broomstick came my way again, I didn't jump away this time. I took things in hand, in this case, the wooden stick, as I stopped her easily, and while the zings of electricity were still spreading in my muscles, I tugged hard enough to pull it off her grip and throw her off balance. Though not enough to make her fall, and she jumped more when I called her name,

"Angel, please."

It had to be said that with how loud my heart was beating, the 'soft call' sounded more like a breathless grunt, but at least, it pulled her attention.

I could glimpse the question crossing her eyes. It was even the last thing I saw as I tried to step closer: the confusion in her doe-caught-in-headlights eyes before they narrowed for a too-brief second, exactly like someone ready to shoot, and she did shoot, some spray of cleaning product straight in my eyes.

"Fuck!"

It definitely wasn't my week. However, it wasn't the worst.

I could take the searing of tears behind my eyes, even the shove at my chest, but the final straw was when in between, she managed to snatch my bag. I had no idea how. I only felt the weight slipping off my shoulder and the hope escaping me with it, and as it was impossible to catch up with her in the blur, I regretted not having listened to Dorothy and Blade and taken that gun.

I wouldn't have shot Angel, of course. Yet I could have stopped her, and it would have been a better argument than the words flowing out of my lips, as fast as the tears out of my eyes with the burn of detergent, frustration, and despair.

"Wait! I promise I didn't steal anything. I'm here to leave something for Billy, please."

For an instant, I almost believed I was talking to myself as I didn't hear her footsteps and ragged breaths anymore, and she'd had enough time to run away.

But then, her voice echoed from behind me. "Let's see then."

On cue, she switched the light on, scorching my eyes a little bit more, and the sound of fumbling and papers guided my gaze by the door as I quickly explained,

"It's just an article I want him to publish. I'm not a robber."

No, I was a wanted outlaw, and in the bright lighting, she recognized me instantly.

"Wait, you're–"

"I know what it looks like..." Or at least, I guessed, as, even rubbing my palms over my eyes, I couldn't see more than her blurry silhouette pointing at one of the newspapers on the floor, where my wanted picture was probably displayed, and I must have looked even more threatening than in that 'criminal' photo with my bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair.

How to even prove the contrary when I'd attacked her? With my words, that was all I had.

"I know the police say I'm dangerous. But you know what happened that night. I'm just trying to help Dorothy because we both know she's innocent, and the Thorntons are the bad ones."

At this point, I wasn't even pausing for a breath, my voice tighter and tighter as she leaned over the front desk, and although the burn and the blur in my eyes were slowly dissipating, I couldn't see much from ten feet away and even less approach her. She would trigger her cleaning weapon before I would ever be able to avoid the chairs on the way.

So I just fired out my arguments, if we could even call them that way.

"It's an article that can prove it to the world, expose the Thorntons' crooked ways, and it could stop them and save a lot of innocent lives. All I had to do was put it on Billy's desk, and I just fucked everything."

And now, I was cursing too! That was what happened after spending too many months with Blade. Not that it was changing much in my hopeless monologue, which she wasn't listening to anymore, as her mind and her frown appeared set on something behind the front desk, probably the phone.

When her left hand reached there, I had no more breath and argument, only a pitiful plead. "Please, if not for me, for Dorothy, for all the people the Thorntons wronged..."

"Okay, for them." She straightened, walking up to me, and it was so sudden that I started when she lifted her hand with... a white fabric in it. "And this, for your eyes."

My gaze flickered between the tissue and the bigger rectangles of white paper in her other hand, processing the fact that there was no other weapon in her grasp. The spray was left on the desk.

There was no more detergent in my eyes either, even though my dumbfounded blinks made it look like it as I checked if it wasn't a hallucination created by the chemical product, and as I didn't move more, she brought the tissue to my eyes herself, making me jump out of my daze.

I wasn't sure what was the most surprising: the softness of her movements after all her attacks or...

"Did I convince you... with my words?" I pulled her hand away so my wide gaze could search for any sign of dishonesty on her face, but even if she averted her eyes down, her voice sounded genuine.

"Well, from the moment I recognized you as Dorothy's friend, I was convinced because I owe her so much. But your speech was really convincing too." She shrugged, her lips breaking into a smile, the first smile I glimpsed, and the playful sparkle in her dark brown eyes did suit her better than terror.

"Let's put this article in Billy's office so you don't 'fuck' everything."

She had really listened indeed, and I surely should have been horrified, instead of smiling too as I followed her to the back of the room.

"About that, I'm sorry for cursing and... attacking you."

"Oh, don't worry. I've heard way worse, and I'm the one that should be sorry for attacking your eyes and... all." Her gaze trailed from my eyes to my shoulder and all the parts she'd aimed at before quickly coming back to my face.

"It's okay. I'm fine now," I reassured her as she kept throwing glances at me, well, at my eyes, mostly. "And I deserved it for scaring you like that, even if for my defense, you scared me too because I didn't expect to see anyone, and I thought you were a boy, maybe even a robber at first."

"Oh yes, I don't usually come this late, but my little brother was sick, and I waited for my parents to get home before leaving. As for the men clothes..." She stopped for a second in front of Billy's office door, looking down her body as if she'd just remembered she was wearing large pants and a suede jacket swallowing her whole silhouette.

Though I quickly realized the real reason attracting her gaze down as she added, "Since the incident, my dad thinks it's safer for me to wear men clothes when I go out at night alone."

This single sentence was saying it all, and there were so many aberrations in it, in this situation.

'The incident', it was one way to call Douglas's attempt to rape her, and then, his death. However, a little 'incident' wouldn't have left her shivering months later, and even if she turned away to open the door and avoid my eyes, I could see the memories were still haunting her, casting shadows all over her figure as her shoulders shriveled, making her look so much smaller and fragile than the young woman who had pointed a broomstick at me.

As for 'safer to wear men clothes', no matter how you put it, it always meant that it wasn't safe to be a girl. It should have never been that way.

"Well, I attacked you because of the men clothes." I tried to offset the heaviness of her words as I followed her inside the office, and at least, it pulled her a smile, even though one corner of her lips too soon fell down.

"Well, there are not a lot of men like you."

Was it a compliment or just a horrible statement about our society? I wasn't sure, but it did feel like both as she dived her gaze into mine from the other side of Billy's desk and put my article on top of the 'priority' file, where Billy would look first tomorrow morning.

Then, he would surely publish it the next day, and just like that, my mission was accomplished. The mission I had overthought and prepared for days and even weeks, she'd done it so smoothly and angelically – if I might have said – that I needed a few seconds to process it, and even more to utter,

"Thank you, um, I should go before someone notices my stolen car."

Still, more seconds passed before she nodded, and they added up to at least one minute before I walked out of the office, my steps still as slow and heavy as on my way in, although I wasn't carrying the papers anymore.

The article wasn't in my hands anymore, and technically, nor in Angel's, unless she changed her mind and took it out. It was surely the reason why my gaze lingered for one last glance behind as she didn't follow me into the main room. Yet even if it was the case, staying longer wouldn't change anything.

She would be here for no less than two hours to finish cleaning – one hour if I didn't count the mess we'd made, since I rearranged the fallen chairs and picked up the papers on my way to the exit – and she had the keys of the place. So now, I could do nothing but trust her, a stranger I'd just met five minutes ago, which half had been spent trying to avoid her blows.

Of course, it wasn't the first time I was seeing her, if we considered seeing her passed out under Douglas's dead body as a first encounter, and I knew she had never denounced Dorothy. But was it enough to trust her fully for a life-or-death matter? Could you judge someone's truthfulness on a few words or an innocent look?

As I put the spare key back under the last step and found myself face to face with the wanted posters on the other side of the street, I wasn't so sure, and my gait and my heart were already faltering when the door behind burst open, stopping both completely.

"Romeo! What light through yonder Subrose breaks? It is the East, and the cops are the–" Angel's call was interrupted by her own gasp once she took in my figure still at the bottom of the three steps, and I didn't know who between us had the most astounded face, but her bulging eyes quickly relaxed with a breath, contrary to mine. "You're still here? Good."

I was, currently even stuck at my spot, trying to understand why it was a good thing and mostly, why she'd just shouted a Shakespeare's line with Subrose as the window and the cops as Juliet rising on the East?

"I promise I'm not crazy." She offered me a bashful smile as my eyebrows furrowed.

Though once more, it was only her words and her looks around the empty street before she took a step down closer and continued in a whisper,

"I just wanted to tell you that the cops start their patrol on the East side around this hour, and by now, they should be at the stadium. You should take the opposite way to avoid them."

"Oh..."

Juliet rising through the window like the sun at the East, and the cops through Subrose.

She wasn't crazy indeed. But smart, she was, and I couldn't help my chuckle when she added,

"You know, it's longer, but the distance is nothing when one has a motive."

If I'd had any doubt before, now, I was sure she'd read the penname I'd signed the article with, and maybe even more while I had been walking out.

Yet as her words were Jane Austen's and Shakespeare's quotes, and her look at me was twinkling with knowledge, I was also sure I could trust her.

"I thank thou, milady." I bowed my head like a gentleman of a past century before walking away like an outlaw.

I couldn't forget that the police patrol could reach here at any minute, not with the wanted pictures all around, and passing by them, my steps still felt as heavy and my heart rate as painfully uneven.

However, deep inside, a faint light of hope was arising, letting me glimpse that it wasn't the end of the story, and beyond, I could be so much more than an outlaw.

Maybe I could be Romeo Darcy.

Okay, so did you expect this from Spencer? Or should I say Romeo? 😉

And what do you think of Angel's apparition? Did you all feel what was in the air? 👀✨ I promise this chapter wasn't supposed to be this long, but the characters just took over, and it flowed naturally! 😅

I hope you liked this chapter, and that I didn't break your heart too much at the beginning? But believe me, Spencer wasn't the only one crying 🤧🤧

Don't forget to tell me all your thoughts in the comments 👀 and vote ⭐ if you're excited for next chapter! There is only 1 or 2 left before the epilogue, and I'm not ready 😭

But like Spencer said, it's not the end! 😘

I LOVE YOU MY LITTLE SHOOTING STARS!!! 💕😘🌠