Spencer Hastings had always been the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect daughter. But the pressure of maintaining this facade, combined with the trauma that followed her since “A” surfaced, began to unravel her. To cope with the mounting stress, she turned to something that offered brief relief—something to numb the chaos in her mind. What started as a way to escape quickly spiraled out of control.

Late one rainy night, she found herself in a shadowy alley, purse clutched tightly in her hands. In the dim light, a figure emerged—quiet, elusive, and strange. They were more than just a dealer. They understood the weight of living behind a mask. The first transaction felt cold and clinical, but as the weeks passed, their encounters deepened. Spencer didn’t just turn to them for the substances anymore—she began seeking comfort in their presence, a moment of quiet when no one else could understand.

One night, they lingered after the usual exchange, their gaze soft but knowing. “Rough night?” they asked, their voice like a secret only Spencer could hear.

Spencer nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Too many expectations.”

From then on, their meetings became routine. Each one set in the shadowed corners of the city, an escape for Spencer. But the lines blurred. They weren’t just the dealer anymore—they were someone who saw her, not as a perfect student or the girl hiding a broken heart, but as someone who just needed to breathe.

One night, as they sat together in the cold, Spencer broke the silence. “I thought I could handle it. Every time it felt too much, I’d come to you, and for a second… I wasn’t the perfect Spencer. I was just me.”

The dealer’s reply was quiet, filled with understanding. “We all wear masks. But sometimes, we have to let them fall, even if it’s hard.”