hhhhhh-

Iisjshshshsj

  

     “When I finally opened my mouth to speak, what came out of my mouth was...odd..to say the least," Spencer said clearly, folding his hands in his lap. "Do you feel comfortable saying it here?" The woman in front of him asked, tilting her head and clicking her pen. Her name tag said Roselen, but Spencer soon learned that she preferred Rose. "Sure," Spencer said, an annoyed edge to his voice. Rose was too peppy, too much of an optimist for Spencer. Always preferring to see the best in things. Spencer supposed the only thing he liked about her was that she asked if he was comfortable with everything. "I asked where Milo was, despite me hating him, I wanted him to be there, with me." Spencer stared at the hardwood floor, picking at his fingers. "Hate's a strong word, Spence, and are you really sure it's right for what you're describing?" Rose offered a crimson-lipped smile. Spencer didn't return it. "No," Spencer mumbled quietly, interlocking his fingers and squeezing hard. Rose was annoying him, prying and prying at him until he cracked.

"What was that?"

     Rose asked, leaning forward. Her caramel hair fell, the candle below almost igniting it.

     "No, it's not. I don't completely hate him, but he's not exactly the easiest person to get along with, y’know?" Spencer snapped, crossing his arms and leaning back into the faux leather couch. "So you like him?" Rose propped her chin on her hands, leaning in like a thirteen-year-old girl listening to gossip. "No, could I put my mask back on?" Spencer reached for the fabric but was quickly swatted away. "No! Not until we're done, we only have.." Rose checked her watch, smiling happily after. "Thirty minutes left! That's not so bad, is it?" Rose grinned, tilting her head. "Easy for you to say," Spencer muttered, moving a few locks of auburn out of his eyes. "What was that?" Rose beamed. "Nothing, why don't you just ask your questions, rip an answer out of me, and let me put my damn mask on." Spencer sat up, leaning forward and glancing at the bowl of snacks. He tapped his foot, wanting a bag but not exactly wanting to ask. (Me too Spence, me too.) Rose, however, noticed. "I'd prefer if you didn't use that language and tone around me." Spencer scoffed. She plucked a bag from the bowl, offering it. "I know you don't really like me, Spence, but they assigned me to you." Spencer took it, pocketing the little cellophane bag. "Could I request someone else?" He leaned back, his arms hanging over the back of the couch. "I'll ask.  All I want to do is help you, Spencer." Rose gave a caring look, and this time Spencer actually accepted it. "I get that, but you're not really, I don't...I can't...really talk to you, like I talk to Pandora and Cain." Spencer admitted, folding his arms across his chest. "Because you don't trust me?" Rose asked, leaning back. "You bet it." Spencer flashed a grin, letting out an annoyed huff afterward. He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Y'know, I never really learned how to read analog clocks." He stated, looking back at a painting on the wall. It was behind Rose. It held nothing of interest, only splotches of bright colors. But it held Spencer's interest, he found himself staring at it each time even though there was no particular subject. His gaze shifted to the window. It took up an entire wall, and it was to Spencer's right. Several pots were held outside, some of the colorful flowers and some of deep, shiny leaves. Spencer had helped Rose pot quite a few of them when he was much younger. "Oh really?" Rose spoke, breaking Spencer's observations. "Yeah, it uh, always seemed too complicated when I was little," Spencer kept his eyes on the window, counting the thousands of raindrops mindlessly.

"Tell me about Milo."

     Spencer thought. Milo wasn't the nicest guy to Spencer, but somehow he admired Milo, even to the point of having s massive crush on the guy. "What's to tell?" Spencer kept his voice calm, his head tilted slightly. "Why did you want him there?" Rose tilted her head as well, a tad bit more than Spencer. The mentioned man stayed silent, chewing on the side of his mouth in mindless distraction. "I don't know, really," Spencer breathed, looking up at Rose. "Really?" Rose pryed. "Does someone have a little infatuation with Milo?" Rose giggled childishly, again leaning forward like a nine-year-old listening to her parents talk about presents. "No, it-it's--why? What does it have to do with my condition?" Spencer snapped, crossing his arms. "Well, you're certainly defensive about the subject." Rose sat back, smiling widely. "And? That doesn't mean I'm-I'm not-" Spencer took a deep breath. He was stumbling over his words, not making much sense. "I don't like Milo. But I don't hate him, that doesn't mean I wanna lay in his bed nude." Spencer huffed, saying nothing more. "I've known you for a while now, Spence. When you were little you used to talk about Milo a lot, always preferring to talk about him rather than your parents, you sounded so fond of him. What happened to that little boy, Spence?" Rose folded her hands, looking directly at Spencer. "He grew up. And so did Milo." Spencer reached for the mask. A soft, dull-patterned piece of cloth. "Not yet, Spencer," Rose said, this time not pushing his hand away. "We have five minutes left." "I know, but I want you to wait until our time's up fully this time." Rose let him pick the mask up. "Why can't I put it on?" Spencer's voice was laced with panic, though he had no idea why. "Because you need to get used to having it off," Rose said, a caring look in her eyes that all but matched her words. "But-I-" Spencer held the mask, sliding it on. "Spencer." "You're not my mom." He rose and took a few steps away, keeping his eyes on Rose. "Three minutes," Rose said, crossing her arms. “I know.” Spencer crossed his arms as well, however, his stance was more defensive, with his arms hugging his sides like an angsty fourteen-year-old. “Sit back down, Spencer.” Rose stood up as well, her porcelain figure suddenly intimidating the twenty-year-old. “I’ll talk about Milo, just-” Spencer sat down, bouncing his leg. “Alright.” Rose sat as well, crossing her legs. “Ask away,” Spencer gestured with his hands, swallowing thickly. “What is Milo to you?” Rose put a hand on her chin, her voice what Spencer figured was supposed to be calming, but it didn’t really work on Spencer. “Nothing.” “Spence we both know that’s not true.” He sighed.