chapter eleven — overreacting
"When people see good, they expect good. And I don't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations." — Damon Salvatore

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EDITED: December 14th, 2020
Tessa's POV

AFTER A SHORT WALK, PROBABLY around five minutes or so, Spencer and I had made it into a very modern looking coffee cafe. It was spectacularly beautiful, and I was envious of the fact I had yet to discover an adorable and small cafe just like this, however back at home. I mentally added it to my to-do list when I would arrive back home, mostly because these little corner cafes are one of my favorite places to be.

We took an available table near a wide stretched out window, which was a perfect spot since you could easily spot the sun rising up through the yellow and orange speckled sky — slowly creeping above the buildings to finally spread some light of the day.

"So..." Spencer awkwardly spoke up through the silence, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He had fished out a tiny little plastic menu from the corner of the table, and started to scan the many deserts and coffee options. "What time did you wake up this morning?"

"Way before you," I joked, letting a smile cross my pink lips while mimicking the same action as he did previously, picking up another menu. "I got up around four am, I think."

"Why so early?"

I nervously swallowed some spit in the back of my throat as my mind floated back to being abruptly yanked out of a light sleep. I quickly shook away the thoughts, and started to scan the small cafe to see if any waitress would come around and save me from having to continue this conversation.

"Couldn't, well, uh, I couldn't sleep," I spoke quickly, flashing a quite fake sympathetic smile as I dropped my eyes back down to the menu. I figured if I could pretend I was reading something or thinking about what I wanted to ordered, perhaps Spencer would drop the subject.

"Why?"

"You sure have a lot of questions," I nervously laughed, blinking a few times as I felt my patience running a bit thin — and I desperately wanted a waitress to stop by so I could get some warm liquid to calm my nerves.

"You don't seem to have the answers," Spencer countered quickly, and I almost suspiciously narrowed my emerald eyes over at him. "Is it your nightmares?"

      I inhaled a swift, sharp breath, and I could quite literally feel my heartbeat increase tenfold — it thumping rapidly while rising in the back of my throat. My eyes darted carefully to Spencer, almost to search his expression to see if he was being serious or not.

      "Is it?"

      "Spencer, h-how did you—?" I spluttered, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat while while I tripped over all my words. I felt panic rising in the pit of my stomach, and even against all feelings, I felt some sort of emotion swelling in the back of my eyes.

      "I asked Garcia to search you so I could find out—"

      "—You asked Garcia to what?" I interrupted, my mouth hanging ajar as I tried to comprehend what he was actually saying. Did this mean he read my file? He knew everything that made me different and weird, and the many different scars that littered me — both mentally and physically.

      "I was curious about you, and I thought if I knew your history I'd know—" Spencer started, but he was once again interrupted by a growing angrier by the second Tessa. "I'm sorry, Theresa, about your parents, and—"

      "You were curious?" I questioned, and I could already feel my eyes started to gloss over. "What the hell do you know? Everything?"

      "I know about that, um, that night when you were eleven," Spencer explained slowly, and I could quite literally feel my heart drop in my stomach. "How your parents were murdered that Halloween night but you were at a friends house. That...you—"

      "—That I was the one who found them slaughtered as if they were pigs," I finished, and all that swarming emotions suddenly started to drift off, leaving me with an unexpressed face. "That I had to go live with my grandparents, that I had years and years of therapy, that I was never the same since."

      Spencer was hushed to absolute silence, his already awkward self curling up into a bigger ball. And I just sat there, glancing out the window as people with warm smiles and busy businessmen and young and mischievous teenagers walked by.

      "You know, I wanted to get to know you too, Spencer," I spoke up through the tension, and there were now very visible tears forming in my eyes. "But I didn't go ahead and ask Garcia to research you. I didn't ask for a background check, and your therapists notes, I was just going to wait until you were ready."

      "Tessa, I think you're overreacting, just a bit," Spencer explained, and right there, that was my breaking point. "I was just trying to look out for you."

      "I'm overreacting?" I growled, suddenly standing up from the table while slamming my palms on the metal of it. "I cannot believe you! You actually think that this is alright? It's not some fucking invasion of privacy?"

      Spencer only peeled open his dry pink lips, before placing them back together. There was some regret crossing his face — but I couldn't tell if it was from him genuinely regretting researching her like some science project, or if he just regretted bringing it up at all.

      I don't wait any longer for a response, only lifting myself up from my seat, swinging my purse onto my shoulder swiftly, and I start peeling for the door.

      "Wait, Tessa, please don't...Let me explain!" Spencer yelled out behind me, and I could hear his feet shuffle a bit, and I assumed he was only getting up from his seat as well.

      I already knew him good enough — he probably had his infamous brown puppy dog eyes out, a little torn sympathetic frown, and shaky breath falling from his lips. He could probably guilt me into listening to his side, but currently, I had to get somewhere.

      I could feel the way my chest was constricting like a snake around my heart, and it would probably only be a matter of minutes before I had the beginnings of a panic attack if I didn't do something to calm me.

     So, I rapidly ran next door, which happened to be an old and creaky looking gas station. I cringed up my nose in distaste, feeling the complete urge to just run back across the street and hope to get back to the hotel room in time. But then I was reminded of the fact that I had to share a room with Spencer, and dear God, him see me having a panic attack would probably only make me ten times worse.

      I quickly saw a wooden sign hanging beside the building with bathrooms scribbled into it, so I huffed towards it as fast as I could so Spencer wouldn't be able to spot me.

     Locking the door behind me the mere second I stepped in, I swiftly hung my purse onto the silver handle. I ran both my hands through my fawn strands of hair as anxiety was picking at my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut and started to count to ten in my mind, but I only made it to four before I dramatically clutched my chest.

      I couldn't breath.

      "C'mon, Theresa, stop," I demanded myself, but I couldn't get my breathing under control. A tear or two escaped my eyes, and I forcibly gripped the white and quite dirty looking sink with both my palms, squeezing as hard as I could. "Stop it, you're okay."

      And I stood there in that misshaped and dingy bathroom for over twenty minutes before I was able to finally calm myself down.

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a/n 12/14/20: GOD this was so awfully written from four years ago i wanted to bloody pitch myself off a bridge