Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You meet her in the park.

You are there to process the fact that you’ve become an uncle today. Your sister sent you many photos of the baby, his face relaxed and sleepy, and you congratulate her and send her a smiley face. But deep down, you know you aren’t ready to look after someone.

In the middle of thinking about a good excuse for not showing up in the hospital, a huge dog jumps on you, his dirty paws making a mess of your light blue t-shirt.

You shove the dog off you and see that he wants to jump again. You brace for impact, but before anything can happen, a voice calls out, and the dog runs away from you.

When the dog owner comes closer, you see that it’s a beautiful young blonde woman dressed in a white dress.

You gape at her, mesmerized by her looks, cherry red lips, and piercing blue eyes.

She apologizes, and you say it’s okay; you have plenty of t-shirts.

She laughs, a clear and angelic sound, and your heart melts.

Your phone rings, and you have to excuse yourself, even though that’s the last thing you want to do.

She says that it’s okay and smiles at you before walking away down the tree-lined road, the dog obediently following by her side.

You look after her retrieving figure with longing in your eyes, your sister’s angry voice in your ear, and the woman’s laugh in your head.

Chapter Text

The following week passes by in a haze.

You spend the entire time hoping that you will see the woman again. You go to the place at the park where you met every day after work like a drug addict coming for another dose, and every time, you come back home disappointed and sad.

Occasionally, you feel like someone’s watching you. Still, instead of listening to your gut and doing something about it, you ignore it and turn around whenever you catch a glimpse of someone with blonde hair or red lips, desperate to see the woman again.

Your sister stops by on a quick visit on her way to your parents, so you finally meet your nephew. The baby’s name is James, and the first thing you learn about him is that he sleeps well, which makes your sister happy, so you smile and congratulate her, not knowing what else to say.

The whole visit is awkward and ends when you politely refuse to hold James, fearing you will hurt him.

On the 13^th of July, exactly one week after you met the mysterious woman, someone knocks on your door. It startles you because it’s six p.m., and you don’t expect anyone.

You put down the book you’ve been reading for the past hour and quietly go to the door.

A glance into the peephole doesn’t reveal anything. The corridor seems empty. You roll your eyes, mentally cursing the children who find this kind of stuff funny, and turn around to go back to reading.

But you stop after a couple of steps, a tiny flicker of hope rising within you.

What if the person who knocked left something there and didn’t want to be seen? Perhaps the woman from the park?

Even though you know that’s crazy, and you’re just projecting your feelings, you turn around, thinking the chance might be low but never zero.

You take a deep breath and open the door.

Your gaze is instantly drawn to the doormat, on which is a dark red present box.

You step onto the corridor, looking on both sides, but you don’t see anyone, and your neighbors’ doors are too far from your own for it to be mistakenly placed.

You shrug and go back inside the small apartment, picking up the box on the way.

You shut the door and sit on the bed, gripping the box tightly, so you don’t break it if it were fragile.

The box is simple and covered with a lighter red ribbon bow. You take the ribbon off carefully and slowly lift the closure.

Inside, on red velvet, lies a dark red, almost crimson, t-shirt with a snow-white card filled with beautifully written text in the middle.

You reach for the card with a shaking hand and read what it says:

Hi, Stranger,

I think this color will look much better on you.

And I sincerely hope we will see each other again soon.

Love,

Taylor

You read the repeatedly, barely noticing the t-shirt, not believing that this is actually happening.

You pinch yourself hard on the arm, expecting to wake up in the middle of the night with your head pressed on a book, but nothing happens.

This is really happening.

You flip the card over, looking for something more. On the other side, you find a phone number and an address.

You blink twice and smile so much that your mouth hurts.

She Taylor is inviting you to her home.

You sigh happily and quickly put on the T-shirt. It’s the most comfortable piece of fabric you’ve ever had on, and it smells like her; you could recognize that sweet scent anywhere.

You spend the rest of the night lying on the bed, smelling the t-shirt, and reading the note over and over again, already planning the visit in your head.

Not once do you think about the fact that Taylor knew where you lived.

Chapter Text

Taylor texts you to visit her on the 21^st of July at 5:00 p.m.

It's' Friday, and you argued for an hour with your boss about having time off work. But at last, he, though grumpily, let you have it.

You use your free time before that to find some information about Taylor. Using Google Maps, you can find her house by looking at the address she gave you. You are left with your mouth hanging wide open.

Her house is more of a castle with a huge yard and a beautiful garden.

You suspected she was rich (the velvet in the box was a big sign), but you had no idea how much.

You start to feel self-conscious. How are you, a 24-year-old man living in a small dingy apartment filled with books and a minimum wage job in a library, supposed even to believe that she, a 27-year-old millionaire who attends private events like a hobby, would even remotely be interested in you? You don't have anything to offer her. You don't' doubt she always has many offers from similarly rich guys, but she chose you?

You hope it's' not some prank of a wealthy, bored, super-hot lady who doesn't know what to do with her time.

Although you are sure she will stop speaking to you after dinner, you want to look as good as possible, so you rent a suit that costs your whole salary and hope you will not damage it.

You spend the next few days daydreaming about the visit and what you will say. And what if she won't open the gate for you, and you will be left to stand like an idiot?

You are interrupted by an old lady who wants to know where she can find Jane Eyre. You shake your head to focus and smile at her kindly, already walking toward the bookshelf.

The night before the visit, you have a nightmare in which you get to her house, and all your favorite celebrities are there, and they all point and laugh at you for being so naïve, and then Taylor dumps pig's blood on your head.

You wake up at eight a.m., covered in sweat. It would help if you didn't read Stephen King before sleep.

You shower, shave your face, put on some perfume, eat breakfast, and read until it's' time to go.

You carefully put the rented suit on. It feels weird on your skin. It's' the first time since your prom that you have a suit on, and you aren't sure if it brings back good or bad memories.

You put on a coat, order an Uber, and go outside. While waiting, you scroll through your phone, instantly finding Taylor's Instagram and looking to see if she has uploaded any new photos. She hasn't, so you put your phone back into your coat pocket.

The car finally arrives, and you sit inside, telling the driver the address. You see his eyes widen a little in the rearview mirror, but he doesn't say anything.

You try to calm down your nervousness throughout the drive. Your stomach aches, and you feel like throwing up. You hope that won't happen, but you don't have enough money to clean up the car.

You drive through the streets of New York City, and you see more expensive houses outside. All that money around you makes you feel small.

The car stops before you can tell the driver to turn around and go back. The gate is open, waiting for you.

There's' no going back now.

You give money to the driver, thank him for the ride, and step out of the car.

You take a deep breath and walk through the massive gate, which closes as soon as you enter.

The road to the house is straight, stretching so far that you don't see the ending, and the bushes on both sides make you feel like you're in a maze.

You go across a vast yard, and the clatter of your boots on the stone is so loud that it makes you want to rip them off and go barefoot the rest of the way.

You step through the already-opened main door on the shiny marble floor and see a beautiful double staircase.

Taylor is waiting for you at the top, dressed in a black lacy dress. She looks like a goddess.

You take the steps two at a time, hurrying to get closer to her.

She laughs at your excitedness and tells you that she'll' first give you a tour of the house so you won't' get lost next time.

Wait- next time?

You nearly trip when you hear that. So, she is serious about all this?

A huge grin appears on your face before you can stop it.

Taylor notices and smiles but doesn't say anything.

She shows you the library, which is so fantastic that you stand there for almost two minutes, observing everything; the living room, kitchen, and the many bedrooms. She introduces her cat, Olivia, who looks at you judgingly and walks away. You go to the garden and see two beautiful white horses, a deer, and the dog you already had the misfortune to meet.

He doesn't jump on you, for which you are grateful.

You ask her if she is building a zoo here, and she laughs. She just loves animals, she says, and adds that they help her feel less lonely.

Your heart breaks a little as you hear that.

You don't understand how this woman doesn't have any friends. She seems so kind. Despite that, she always stood aside from everyone else in the photos from all the private events, looking lonely. But that might have been just your imagination.

Who would not want a friend, or more than that, like this?

Olivia has to be the luckiest cat in the world if Taylor focuses all her attention on her well-being.

At last, you sit at the dinner table. It's' one of those unnecessary long ones, which makes everything and everyone look like something out of a Bram Stoker's novel, but you don't mind. It's' the first time you see it in person, and it's' not as bad as you imagined.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Olivia sneaking around and making herself comfortable on an enormous cat scratcher. She stares right at you, and you have a feeling she doesn't like you.

Many kinds of foods are on the table, from sweet to salty, meat, pasta, and even pizza.

You take something from everything, and in the meantime, you talk with Taylor.

She knows your suit is rented and tells you you didn't have to do that. She would be impressed with you even if you were in sweatpants.

You blush, and she laughs.

After dinner, you lie on the couch in the living room. Taylor is petting Olivia, and you are breathing calmly. The pants from the suit are too tight against your abdomen. It would help if you didn't eat the last piece of pizza.

You ask Taylor if she cooked the dinner. She shakes her head and tells you about her family cook, who made food even for her grandparents. Even though she's in retirement, she still cooks for her on special occasions.

You smile and watch how gentle she is with Olivia. You swear you could hear the cat's purring even if you stood outside.

 You blurt out the first question that comes to your mind: if she ever thought about having children. You're' afraid that it's' too bold, but luckily Taylor isn't' bothered by it.

She thinks about it for a while, her brows furrowed, before shrugging. She says that she never met anyone who would want that with her, but yes, she would one day want a child, preferably a daughter.

You laugh and tell her that Olivia looks like one already. She smiles, and her eyes shine with pride as she kisses the white fur on the cat's head, whispering something to her too quietly for you to hear.

Olivia purrs and Taylor jumps up from the couch. She reaches out to you with her hand, asking for a dance.

You hesitantly take her hand, telling her you can't dance. She smiles and orders you to follow her lead. She puts her hands behind your neck, and you hope your cheeks aren't' bright red.

If they are, Taylor doesn't' mention it.

Out of nowhere, soft, slow music starts playing, and it's' just you and her, slowly moving through the room.

You gaze at her beautiful blue eyes, soft red lips, and perfect skin and wonder how you got so lucky.

You are sure that if she had asked you to marry her then and there, you would have said yes without a second thought.

It's' like she got you under some sort of spell.

After about ten minutes of dancing, your feet hurt, and you must sit down.

You apologize to Taylor, but she says it's okay. She stares at you, brows furrowed in thought, before going away and leaving you on the couch.

You are surprised. Didn't she say that it's' okay? She could have gone to get some drinks. If she wanted you to go away, indeed, she would tell you?

You are interrupted by Taylor's' return. She's' smiling happily as she carries a giant canvas with a brush and palette.

She sets everything down next to you, and when she's ready, she tells you not to move and starts painting.

You are unsure if you can speak, so you don't. You watch as her hands move precisely, and you have to stop yourself from smiling when you see she has the tip of her tongue out of her mouth in concentration.

You sit like this for some time. Your muscles hurt, but you don't dare to move and ruin the painting.

When she finishes, she puts the brush away along with the palette and goes to wash her hands. You stretch your body and sigh with satisfaction when you hear your back crack.

You look at the painting, but Taylor stops you, saying you can't see it. You laugh and jokingly ask if you should look forward to being young forever and call her Basil.

Taylor laughs along with you, but she won't let you see it even then. When she returns from where she put the painting, she acts as if nothing happened and tells you you should go home now.

You blink in surprise. Have you done something wrong? Was the only reason she spoke to you a painting? Is she some sick collector?

You don't ask her any of your burning questions. Instead, you pull out your phone and order an Uber.

She walks you to the gate and waits with you for the car.

You stand in silence, and your heartbeat is all over the place.

When the car finally arrives, you turn to her to say goodbye, but before you can say anything, Taylor moves forward and places a feather-like kiss on your left cheek.

She goes back through the gate without a word.

You think about the kiss the whole ride home.

Chapter Text

To your relief, Taylor continues to speak with you after the dinner.

She texts you every day, and when she doesn’t text, she sends you pictures – mainly of Olivia, but sometimes she mixes it with the dogs, funnily dressed people she comes across in the park or beautiful sunsets. She basically sends pictures of everything except herself, which is the one thing you want to see the most. 

Since you told her about your job, she has sent you many photos of books—books with funny titles or covers or ancient ones with exciting plot synopsis. She sends pictures of every book she finds in her house and asks if you read it, and you are swelling with happiness.

Your old girlfriends always lost interest once they found out you love books and work in a library.

After some time, you developed a technique that helps you find out if the date is worth it. You send the potential girlfriend some famous quote from a couple of the most known classic literature pieces and wait for them to recognize it.

Even if they didn’t read that specific book, if they were bookworms like yourself, they would surely at least hear of it.

It worked surprisingly well, and you saved yourself many boring dates.

You’ve never seen someone like, maybe even love, this part of yourself like Taylor does. She listens to your rambling about your favorite books, lets you reorganize her library, go to the library and bookstore dates, and spend many evenings just lying beside each other and reading. She even bought you the first edition copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, your favorite piece of classic literature.

You feel like you’re in heaven.

You never found anyone who you could share this passion with. Your parents were neutral about it, and your sister had her mind occupied by finding boyfriends to listen to you ramble about books. Your classmates in both middle and high school didn’t read much, and you were constantly sitting alone in a library, reading during breaks.

You still find it strange that no one bullied you for it.

So, to find someone who not only likes it about you but also supports it and reads with you makes you feel so many positive emotions that you don’t know how to handle them.

Even your boss mentions that your mood is more upbeat than usual. You just smile at him, and he scoffs and tells you to go back to work and stop being distracted.

 But then a massive bouquet of red roses is delivered to you, and you just have to be distracted, so you excuse yourself, go collect them from the delivery man, and hide them in the staff room before your boss puts them into the trash.

A card falls on the ground when you lift them to put them into a glass of water. You pick it up, and your heartbeat quickens once you recognize Taylor’s handwriting.

Roses are red.

And so is the sunset.

Baby, I am so glad that we met.

Love,

Taylor

You smile to yourself and put the card into your pocket.

Once the bouquet is secured, you text Taylor a thank you for the flowers and return to work.

From that moment onward, you were delivered flowers daily, much to your boss's anger. The flowers were different every time, as was the card. The more bouquets, the crazier the card. You found yourself numerous times laughing out loud at them. You love “roses are red” jokes. You don’t even know if you told Taylor that or if it was just a lucky guess.

You text her even crazier ones as a response, and your stomach aches from all the laughter.

 But your little fun ends after the 14^th bouquet in a row when your boss straight up tells you that if there will be any other bouquet or even a single rose after today, you will get fired.

You kind of expected this, and you are secretly glad that you have some sort of reason to text Taylor to stop. Despite your love for the jokes, your apartment has some limits, and you feel like you live in a flower shop.

You sent one bouquet to your sister as an apology for the last visit, and she texted you a heart emoji, so you hope you are back on good terms. You haven’t told her about Taylor yet. You want to wait until things get more serious.

You text Taylor not to deliver more flowers, or you'll get fired. She sends you a picture of sad-eyed Olivia and texts you that it’s too late and that she can’t cancel tomorrow's delivery.

You groan in frustration and just hope your boss didn’t mean it that seriously.

Unfortunately for you, he did.

When you get to work the next day, all your personal belongings are packed up, and this month's salary is lying next to them on the table in the staff room.

You make one last stroll through the library, pausing at your favorite places and saying goodbye to your favorite books. You wait for the delivery and go back home, the box with your stuff owning you a few glances of pity from other passengers on the subway.

You text Taylor the news, and she replies that you should visit her and that she has a surprise for you that will certainly light up your mood.

After you drop off the stuff and flowers at your apartment, you are in an Uber on your way to Taylor, trying to think about the surprise.

What more can she give to you? She’s already done enough; you are convinced this must be it. You are in love with her anyway. You don’t need any more expensive gifts.

When you arrive at the house, you go to the living room almost without getting lost. You look around on your way there, overwhelmed by the beautiful architecture and pictures on the walls.

Taylor sits on the couch with a black guitar next to her and an expression of slight impatience, which disappears almost instantly once she sees you. You wonder if you didn’t imagine it.

You sit on the armchair opposite her.

She says that she’s sorry your boss is such a dick and that he’s probably jealous that no one sends him bouquets.

Your eyes widen when she curses, but you find out that you like it, even if it’s such a shocking contrast to her innocent manners.

You ask about the surprise.

She smiles like an angel and reaches for the guitar.

For a moment, you’re afraid that she will give it to you to play, but to your relief and huge joy, she arranges it herself, saying that she wrote a song about you.

Your feel your cheeks redden.

Before she plays the song, she asks you if you don’t think she’s crazy when she writes about you.

You assure her that you don’t think that and that you think it’s sweet. She smiles, and her entire posture relaxes.

She starts to play, and you just close your eyes and listen, the beautiful sound filling your whole body with happiness.

No one has ever written anything for you or about you.

You clap for a whole minute when she stops playing, grinning from ear to ear.

She tells you to stop clapping and that she has other surprises for you, but before she reveals them, she wants to speak with you a little, so you get to know each other better.

You tell her about your childhood, your sister and nephew, your parents, about the loneliness you felt during school when no one wanted to read with you, and you again thank her for the fact that she does want to do that.

She shrugs it off and asks for your most embarrassing moment. You tell her about the time you wanted to become a professional bowling player, and your parents bought you a bowling ball, and it all ended with you getting drunk and tossing the ball through your parents’ television.

Taylor laughs so much that she falls off the couch.

You laugh along with her. Seeing her so happy makes your mood instantly better, and your heart beats as fast as if you’ve just finished a marathon.

She tells you about her upbringing as an only child in a wealthy family, how she got everything she wanted but her parent's attention and love, and about the bullying, she experienced at Harvard.

She looks sad when she talks about it, so you tell her she doesn’t have to, and she smiles at you, puts a hand on your arm, and whispers thank you.

The only thing you can focus on is her hand on your own as if electricity traveled through your body. As soon as she stops touching you, the feeling stops.

She starts talking about London, and you can’t help the urge to make her feel better and the want to hear her laugh again, so you interrupt her and tell her about that one time you and your sister bought tickets to London, but you both mistaken the date and went to the airport the day after the plane took off.

She laughs again, and your heart is blessed.

She tells you that she can take you wherever you want, even England, and that it’s finally time for your other gifts.

As it turns out, Taylor bought you a car, and she invites you to a vacation in your chosen country to “relieve the stress”, as she puts it.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing and hearing.

Are you in some kind of a prank show, and suddenly there will be that guy from What Would You Do? asking you what you would do if a woman like this were in love with you?

Or are you just that lucky and privileged to be The One for this gorgeous and kind woman?

Is this what having a soulmate is? To have someone who understands you, who loves the parts of you everyone else hates, and who just wants to be in your presence, hear your voice, and make you happy?

If this were the last day of your life, you would die a happy man.

But the cruelty of reality hits you when you remember last week’s news about car stealing in your neighborhood.

When you tell Taylor about it, she says that you could move in with her until you find a new job or that she can buy you an apartment somewhere else.

You stare at her with your mouth wide open for a while before declining her offer, saying that you can’t take advantage of her like that.

She laughs and says that if she suggested it, you can’t be taking advantage of her. She adds that she feels lonely and sometimes is scared someone will break in and hurt her. Someone broke in once, and if she had been home, then God knows what would’ve happened.

When you hear that, something inside you moves, and you feel the urge to protect her from everything and everyone who could hurt her.

Despite that, you are still hesitant, and after some thinking, you say you’ll tell her your answer after the vacation.

She agrees and suggests you pack some things because you are leaving by her private jet tomorrow morning.

Taylor drives you to your apartment in your new car, and when you’re done packing, you go back to her house.

You spend the rest of the night talking about everything and nothing, and you try to conceal your excitement about going to England.

She plays the song she wrote for you again, smiling at you the whole time, and you feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Taylor talks about all the countries she has visited, especially Rome. She loves Rome and can’t wait to see it with you.

Finally, you sit inside Taylor's private jet after a peaceful sleep in the most comfortable bed you've ever slept in.

This is your second time flying, and you find it’s not as scary as you remember it being.

You suck on a sweet candy Taylor gave you, and you slowly calm down.

After some talking, Taylor hands you a drink she made, saying that a bit of alcohol will light up your mood and that you can sleep if you want because the flight will take around 8 hours.

When you hear that, you are surprised. You thought that a flight to England takes around 6 hours.

When you joke that her private jet is slower than average planes, she asks why you think that and adds that this is the standard flight time between New York and Rome.

When you hear her say Rome, you almost spit out your drink.

You thought you were going to London.

When she hears that she laughs and says you decided to go to Rome the day before, don’t you remember?

You quickly recall your conversation, but the only time you can remember talking about Rome was when Taylor said she loves it and can't wait to show it to you.

Was that the decision-making?

When you counter argument with her promise that they will go to the country of your choosing, she says that you didn’t suggest any country or city.

Shocked, you remind her about your London story with your sister, and she hangs her head down, her eyes glistening.

You don’t understand what happened. You hesitantly reach out and take Taylor's hand in yours. She squeezes it and closes her eyes.

After some time of silence, she says she’s sorry.

You shrug it off and ask her what happened.

She inhales deeply and talks about her parents who flew to some business meeting in London, and on their way back, their jet crashed, and they died. All this happened when Taylor turned 21, so she doesn’t have the best time thinking about England.

She says that she thought you knew that and that she told you yesterday.

You frown because she didn't say anything close to this. You would remember if she did. But then you recall when she talked about London, and you interrupted her by talking about you and your sister.

Horrified, you apologize, saying it’s okay to go to Rome. If you had known about her messy relationship with England, you would have never wanted to go there with her. You wouldn’t ever want to make her uncomfortable.

Taylor smiles gently at that and thanks you before standing up. She gently squeezes your shoulder before making another drink.

After 8 hours, you are finally in Rome, in a beautiful 5-star hotel in the city’s center. Your room looks like a small apartment, and you still can’t believe this is happening.

Over the following two days, you visit all the places you read about and always wanted to see - Pantheon, Forum Romanum, St. Peter’s Basilica, Colosseum, Castel Sant’Angelo, and Spanish Steps.

You can feel the antiquity dripping from everything, and you almost feel like an old Roman bookseller going through the city and giving offerings to Gods.

And if you were a small bookseller, Taylor was a Goddess who descended from Olympus to greet her worshippers.

You tell her that even Aphrodite wasn’t as beautiful as she, and she squeezes your hand three times in return, smiling at you warmly.

On the third day of your visit, Taylor says she has a surprise for you, but you can’t see it until the evening. You spend the whole day thinking about what it could be while simultaneously trying to make Taylor slip up and tell you, but unfortunately for you, it’s impossible. She always starts to say something but pauses and just smirks before proceeding to boop you on the nose and walk away.

The evening can’t come soon enough.

When it finally arrives, you’re anxious and excited at the same time.

Taylor tells you to wear something cute, gives you the restaurant address, and walks away.

You panic because you didn’t pack anything cute. You turn your suitcase upside down but find nothing you would like to wear to such a fancy restaurant.

But you remember that you are on vacation, and it’s summer in Rome, so you end up wearing black shorts and a dark red shirt Taylor bought you.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, you first think you look like a tennis player, but it's too late to change anything, so you roll with it and go to the restaurant.

The restaurant is empty except for a route of red rose petals leading upstairs.

You follow it, and you end up on the roof. There are two chairs, a big table filled with food, plenty of lanterns, and the most beautiful view you’ve seen during your visit here.

The sky is bloody red, the wind is light, and the Colosseum now looks more beautiful than ever with the sun being so close to setting.

Overwhelmed, you sit in the chair, still looking around, noticing small lanterns all around you are heart-shaped and enjoying the smell of roses in a vase at the center of the table.

Taylor appears out of nowhere, wearing a beautiful black and red dress. You notice that her nails are the same color as the sunset.

You watch as she comes closer and closer, and you can’t help but let a huge grin slowly appear on your face in anticipation of what’s coming.

Will you do me the honor of being your girlfriend?

You only remember a little of what happened next. You can only recall Taylor's red lips on your own and her hands in your hair.

From that point onward, Taylor constantly touches you—interlocking your fingers together, hugging you, caressing your cheeks, or playing with your hair.

You tell her the answer to the moving question, and she buries your face with little kisses.

She gives you a credit card with thousands of dollars on it and tells you that you can buy whatever you want, so you go and buy her a big red heart, and when she clings to you in return, you whisper to her that she owns your heart now, so she should be careful with it. She giggles, kisses your temple, and promises to watch it like a hawk.

After gentle nudging from Taylor, you agree to go on a few horse rides. You’ve never ridden a horse before, so you are a little nervous, but after some minor falls and bruises at the beginning, you learn to enjoy it and go on a ride once or twice a week.

On one of those rides, you stop at a beautiful birch tree to relax, and Taylor carves your names onto its trunk, saying that you’ll always be together.

You go on a lot of picnics in Central Park, enjoying the warm summer sun, and you always joke that you could just go onto her garden, and it would be the same. She always laughs and jabs at your shoulder, telling you to shut up, but her eyes shine with love.

When it’s raining outside, you play board games inside or read together, but once, you got a crazy idea of riding a bike inside. To your surprise, Taylor seems thrilled by the idea, and she has two bikes prepared in no time. There are a lot of laughs, fallen vases, and broken furniture, but Taylor doesn't seem to mind.

You even go with her to some of the private events. It’s exhilarating and tiring, and you must stop yourself from punching a paparazzi who grabbed Taylor by the arm. Aside from that, it’s fun, and Taylor looks breathtaking, as always. You don’t even complain that you have to wear a tuxedo in which you are boiling because of all the lights shining on you. Taylor looks happier than ever, and that’s all that matters to you.

The trips abroad continue, too. After Rome, you visit Paris, Milano, Berlin, Prague, Amsterdam, and many other European cities and landmarks. You are amazed by all of them and feel so lucky to get the opportunity to visit, even if the constant plane rides tire you after a while. You always see the city’s library and spend hours in it with Taylor, smiling fondly as she watches you ramble about the many books there.

You had one misunderstanding during your early trips. When returning from Paris, your suitcase gets lost. You don’t understand how it happened, and you ask Taylor about it because you remember her telling you that it’s okay and that she’ll get both suitcases on the plane when you needed to go to the toilet.

When you question her about what happened, she says she’s sorry, but she thought that you’d get the suitcase after your toilet break and swears that you told her that you’d do it because you don’t want her to hurt herself due to the suitcase being heavy. You don't remember much of what you said; you were focusing on holding your bladder, but if Taylor says that, it must be true, right?

You must have been tired and just forgot it. It wouldn’t be the first time you forgot something.

You don’t want to fight, so you tell her you’ll have to go shopping. She offered her help, and soon you would have more clothes than you ever had in your lost suitcase.

 One evening, you are lying together on a couch. You are reading The Picture of Dorian Gray she gave you, and Taylor is petting Olivia and watching Friends. Out of the blue, Taylor says that she doesn’t get what you like about Dorian Gray so much. You gasp and start a long monologue about why you think it’s one of the best books ever written. When she giggles halfway through, you get angry and tickle her. She squirms under your touch, laughing. Olivia hisses at you and walks away.

After a while, you let Taylor go. She takes a couple of deep breaths and repeats her statement from earlier.

You roll your eyes and continue reading, deciding to ignore her. About five minutes in, Taylor lays on your lap and draws words on your thigh.

You put down the book so you can focus, and after three attempts, you finally understand.

I.L.O.V.E.Y.O.U

You smile and bow your head so that you can kiss her. You whisper the same words into her ear, and for some time, you stare into each other's eyes, too lost in the moment to say anything.

Later that night, you are cuddling together in bed, and you smile blissfully.

You are head over heels in love with Taylor.

But you don’t know yet that this is just the beginning of the end.

Chapter Text

The first two months have been so perfect that you refuse to acknowledge the subtle signs of everything crumbling.

But as the leaves start falling from the trees, your relationship follows.

The first sign you notice is that Taylor withdraws from you.

When you reach out to hold her hand, she dodges, wriggles out of your hugs and cuddles, and one time, when you forgot to put the dishes into the dishwasher, she didn’t speak with you for the rest of the day, even though you apologized.

It is such a stark contrast to the cuddly and touchy side of her you saw before that you are questioning everything when you notice it. You think about what could have happened and immediately believe that it must have been something you did or didn’t do, so you do everything she asks of you, but even then, she always finds something that isn’t enough.

One morning right after you returned from another vacation, this time in Iceland, Taylor gets angry that you didn’t prepare her breakfast, but you woke up an hour after her and assumed that she had already eaten. She refuses to acknowledge your existence for the rest of the week, to the point that you have to beg for her forgiveness on your knees when you can’t stand it any longer. You expect an apology, but she just looks at you and asks what film you want to watch with her.

You are too stunned to speak, so she picks some film herself and, to your surprise, snuggles close to you and allows you to put your hand around her shoulders. You don’t say anything, afraid it would make her stop with the affection.

She acts in this confusing way more and more. If you make her angry, she stops speaking to you or, worse, yells at you or sometimes jabs at your shoulders or pulls your ear. You apologize, and she acts as sweet and caring as before.

Your head hurts from all the stress that it brings you. You catch yourself thinking about everything you say, nitpicking every word in case some of it could anger her, and avoiding specific topics.

The constant walking on eggshells tires you, but you don’t want to give up. Every couple has some misunderstandings from time to time, right? It can’t always be perfect.

Besides, she’s never hit you, so it isn’t anything serious.

You try to soothe yourself by saying this every time something happens. It works until you can’t use it anymore.

It all starts when you finally tell your sister you have a girlfriend.

You are sitting in a café, and your sister is complaining that her husband is lazy and never does anything in the apartment and doesn’t take good care of James.

That is the third topic she talked about in the hour you are in the café. First. the fact you haven’t seen each other for so long, that your parents wouldn’t like that, and that James is doing that and not doing that. The second is work. Her boss is making her work overtime, and she’s always tired.

You eat your cake and occasionally make a sound of agreement. You don’t care about all that, but you let your sister talk to fill the otherwise awkward silence that would undoubtedly happen if you should be the one to do the talking.

Your sister excuses herself and goes to the toilet. You look at the clock on the wall of the café and see that you have only an hour left before you must go back home.

Taylor had one condition for letting you go meet your sister: You had to come home in precisely two hours, not a minute later.

She already texted you three times, asking how it’s going and demanding a photo of the café. You quickly snap a picture of the table full of your food and send it to her, along with a thumb’s-up emoji.

As a response, she sends you a picture of happy-looking Olivia, and you can’t help but grin at that. It reminds you of the beginning of your relationship and Taylor’s constant texting and sending pictures of everything.

She doesn’t do it anymore because you’re living together now, and you miss it sometimes.

You take a sip from the coffee and decide to tell your sister about Taylor as soon as she returns, so you won’t have time to chicken out.

You don’t know why you are so nervous about telling her about your relationship. Maybe you don’t want to brag about how great it is when she’s so angry with her marriage?

But is your relationship still as great as before? This past month has been challenging, but you believe you will get through it together, and everything will be okay again.

Your sister gets back just as you finish your cake.

When she sits down, you tell her that you met somebody before talking about how you met and about everything Taylor did for you: the texting, library dates, horse rides, picnics, vacations, your first-ever visit to Rome, etc. You purposely leave out the past month and the fact that you live together and don’t have a job.

Your sister is smiling initially, but it’s less and less bright as you keep talking.

You don’t get it. You thought she would be happy that you’ve finally found someone after your long list of failed dates.

 You ask her about it and gaze at her with wide eyes as she tells you about her husband’s friend who also met someone like that. They met randomly (or she thought it was random at first. Later, she discovered he had followed her before that).

From that point, it played like a movie. He was perfect, and he liked everything she did. He made her feel special and loved. He made her quit her job (she thought it was an accident, but later found out that it was planned) and move in with him. He gave her money and expensive gifts. He literally made her dreams come true.

One day, it all stopped out of nowhere, and he started to act possessive, aggressive, and extremely jealous. He abused her to the point that she tried to kill herself two weeks ago.

The story is horrific. But you don’t get why Taylor should be the same. She is rich, of course, she’d go on a vacation with you and buy you gifts. And she genuinely cares about books. Her bookshelves were clearly cared for before she met you, the books were clean, and none of the books was torn or damaged in any way, and she knows many classic authors and can even quote her favorite ones.

But you can see the similarities, and you get that your sister is only trying to protect you because she cares about you and doesn’t want you to get hurt.

 And she doesn’t know Taylor as well as you; you know she would never do that. 

You tell your sister that you appreciate her concern but that Taylor is nothing like that. You suggest that she meet Taylor sometime, see for herself, and then judge her behavior.

She doesn’t believe you and asks if Taylor doesn’t act differently than before.

You get defensive at that. You don’t want to admit that your relationship is not perfect, especially not after that story. After so many years of being made fun of because of your failed relationships, especially by your sister, who was happy with her husband and thought she won the lottery and that she could laugh at you for being single. So, you lie and say she’s acting the same; why would she act differently?

Yes, you are positive that she’s genuine in everything she does. No, she doesn’t get jealous for no reason and isn’t making you uncomfortable. No, she isn’t possessive or aggressive. No, she doesn’t hit you. No, she doesn’t withdraw attention.

The questions go on and on to the point that you get so angry that you cut her off by saying that just because her marriage is in ruins doesn’t mean that the same applies to everyone else’s relationships.

You regret saying it as soon as the last word passes your lips.

Your sister has tears in her eyes, and her lips are pressed into a thin line.

You apologize, but she slams the money on the table, puts on her jacket, and leaves the café, leaving her cake and tea behind.

You quickly pay for the food and drinks and run after her.

When you catch up with her, she is almost on the other side of the street. You demand that you drive her home since it’s freezing and windy, and you don’t want her to get a cold.

She grumpily agrees to that and marches forward.

During the walk to the car, she asks you to stop and beckons you to the side of the street.

You follow her, dumbfounded, and she lights up a cigarette.

When you express your concerns about her smoking during breastfeeding, she glares at you and shrugs, saying she uses baby formulas.

You ask her how long she smokes, and you relax a little when she says it’s about three weeks since she started. That’s not so long, and maybe it would still be possible for her to stop. She smokes because she has so much stress with James and her husband and has to vent it out.

You’re not happy with it, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t want another argument.

The heavy smell of the cigarette fills your nose, and you have to turn your head to the side and take a breath of fresh air, well, as fresh as air could get on a busy street in New York, to get rid of it.

It doesn’t help.

The smell lingers on your coat even after the cigarette is long gone. You will have to wash it out when you get home.

The drive to your sister’s apartment is silent. Her arms are folded, her jaw clenched, and she’s looking out the window, obviously trying to ignore you.

You turn on the radio and let it play on some random station. You don’t care about what will play as long as it will fill the silence.

This situation bears too much resemblance to Taylor’s punishments, making your stomach churn and your whole body stiffen.

You finally arrive at your sister’s apartment building. She takes her things and bids you goodbye before walking away.

Even though she said just one word, it made you tear up. That means that she wasn’t ignoring you as Taylor does. She was just angry with you, in a sister way.

She wasn’t punishing you for your comment about her marriage.

When you realize that, you let out a deep breath, your shoulders sag, and the tension in your body, which was prominent the whole ride, disappears.

You wipe your eyes and slowly drive home. You left the café half hour early, so you have time.

When you arrive home, Taylor waits for you at the door and, to your surprise, hugs you as soon as she sees you. She clings to you as if she didn’t see you for ages, not just two hours.

You happily return the hug, basking in the attention she gives you. It’s so long since she last hugged you this tightly.

After a while, her grip around you tightens, and you freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear her sniffing. She must be smelling the cigarette smoke from the coat.

Taylor pulls away from you, her eyes narrowing as she asks if you smoked.

You quickly say that it was your sister and tell her everything she told you. You leave out the story about her husband’s friend, though.

You finish by saying that you had an argument and feel horrible for saying that comment about your sister’s marriage but that you had no choice because she was trying to make you leave this relationship.

Taylor’s eyes soften, and she says she must be jealous because your relationship is so perfect and hers isn’t, and she’s trying to separate you so you’d feel as miserable as her.

You nod and once again apologize.

Taylor says that it’s okay and you wash the coat together.

Your sister texts you the following day that she’s sorry for how she acted. She was just scared something might happen to you and asks if it would be possible to meet someday with Taylor and that you were right; she doesn’t know her, she can’t make any judgments, and she wants to start with a clean sheet.  

You apologize for your comment about her marriage and agree with the proposal for a meeting.

But that proves to be harder to do than expected.

Taylor agrees; she even seems excited about it. You are glad, and you agree with your sister about a date for the meeting. But when you tell Taylor, she gets sad and says she prepared you a surprise vacation that day and can’t cancel it.

She sounds so hurt and genuinely disappointed that she has to ruin the meeting that you tell her you’ll reschedule it for another day.

But that day was also a day Taylor had something to do. And the day after, too.

This continues for three weeks until you finally synch with Taylor and agree to meet in a restaurant Taylor suggests.

You know the place; you went there a few times with Taylor on a date. They have great food even though you think they are overpriced.

The day the meeting is supposed to happen, your stomach aches from anxiety. You don’t know why you are so nervous. It’s just a day with your sister and your girlfriend. What can go wrong?

The worst scenario you can come up with is that your sister starts yelling at Taylor that she’s abusing you as soon as she sees her, and they will fight, and you will be banned from the restaurant forever.

But you are pretty sure that won’t happen.

You put on one of the suits you had on one of the many private events you attended, along with perfume, and see if Taylor’s ready.

To your surprise, you find her sitting on a couch dressed in domestic clothes. She’s petting Olivia and scrolling through her phone like nothing’s happening.

You remind her of the meeting. Taylor smiles awkwardly before looking down at her lap. She pats the couch next to her and sends Olivia away.

You sit down and wait for some explanation.

To your surprise, she tells you that your sister texted her that she’s canceling the meeting because she still didn’t forgive you for your comment about her marriage and that she would rather spend time with James than with you and your horrible girlfriend.

You don’t know what to say to that. Taylor looks so sad, and her eyes are glassy, probably because of the last sentence. You ask if you can hug her, and when she gives her consent, you bury your head into the crook of her neck and cry.

Why would your sister do that?

She put effort into having a day off to see you. She was the one that came up with the idea in the first place.

Was it just a con to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt her?

The thought makes you only cry harder.

Taylor is rubbing circles on your back with her right hand, whispering into your ear that everything will be okay and that she’s sorry it ended up like this.

The only thing you don’t understand is that your sister texted Taylor, not you. Where did she even get Taylor’s number?

You ask Taylor if you can see the message. You could negotiate a solution.

The hand rubbing your back disappears, and Taylor pulls away from you.

  You wipe your face from the tears and gaze at her. Your heart pounds in your chest. Her eyes are hard and unmoving as she stares you down.

You gulp and move a few inches away from her.

She accuses you of calling her a liar, and why would she lie to you about that? Do you think she made it up? Do you think she’s some psychopath? Do you want access to her phone? Are you saying she’s cheating on you and wants to read her messages?

She’s jumping from one topic to another so quickly that you don’t know what you are supposed to say. Of course, you don’t think any of these things. Are you acting in some way that could indicate that? You hope not.

You open your mouth to deny her claims, but before you can say anything, her hand makes contact with your cheek, and your head turns to the side.

Your cheek hurts when you put a hand on it. You are so shocked that you can’t even process what happened for a while.

Taylor stands up and leaves the room without a word.

You watch her retrieving figure and hope this will not trigger another prolonged silence.

Because this is all your fault, isn’t it? You said that awful comment about your sister’s marriage, which caused your argument, and it was the reason your sister now canceled the meeting and said that Taylor is horrible.

She was already angry because of that, and you just pushed her more by saying you didn’t believe her. Her lashing out is painful but understandable.

Everything you do always turns out badly.

You curl up into a ball and cry yourself to sleep.

However, you wake up about an hour later to Taylor planting kisses along your jawline.

 When she notices you are awake, she climbs on top of you and kisses the corner of your mouth. You feel her smile, and her gaze is full of regret and love.

She whispers to your ear how sorry she is, that she was just caught in the heat of the moment and that she hopes you can forgive her.

You are surprised by that. She never apologized after the silence.

You forgive her and propose that you should talk about what happened, but she continues to kiss your neck, and her hands wander around your body.

You don’t like this.

It feels wrong to agree to this when it’s happening only because she feels guilty about something, and this is how she wants to repay you.

You gently pull her head off your face and squeeze her cheeks affectionately, saying that you are pretty tired and don’t want the suit to have more wrinkles than it already does.

Taylor shrugs and unbuttons your shirt, kissing your chest and stomach.

When you see that she’s not going to give up, you make yourself more comfortable on the couch and let yourself enjoy it, even though it feels like you’re taking advantage of the situation.

After her apology, things are relatively calm.

Sometimes, you still do something that angers her, and she doesn’t speak with you, but it never lasts more than two days.

When she has her “touchy” days, as you call the days she’s affectionate and cuddly, you try to soak in the attention as much as you can because you know that, eventually, it will stop again.

One time, when you are lying on the couch and watching a movie, Taylor bumps your side, accidentally tickling you. She doesn’t notice, but you do.

So, you decide to repay her.

You attack her sides and stomach with your fingers, but to your surprise, Taylor looks at you questioningly and asks what you are doing with a smile in her voice.

You stop the tickling and stare at her. You remember your tickle fight before; she’s definitely ticklish. So why isn’t she reacting to it now?

When you ask her, she shrugs and says she’s not ticklish.

Confident, you reminded her about your tickle fight when she wrote I love you on your thigh. She looks at you with concern before saying that she was the one who was tackling you and that you remember it wrong.

That makes the smile disappear from your face.

You remember that you were tickling her, not vice versa. But how could you remember the same thing differently? That isn’t possible.

Upon seeing your frown, Taylor pats your shoulder with a smile, saying it’s alright to forget some things sometimes. Remember how you forgot your suitcase in Paris?

You laugh when you recall that and tell yourself you have a terrible memory.

Because how can you remember tickling Taylor when she’s obviously not ticklish?

You tickle her again to make sure. No reaction, not even a flinch.

You shrug and focus on the movie again, cuddling closer to her.

But the good days are always inevitably followed by bad days.

One evening, you are once again re-reading The Picture of Dorian Gray when Taylor asks you a question about something.

You are in your favorite part of the book, so you want to finish the paragraph you are currently reading, but before you have the chance, Taylor snatches the book from your grasp.

You look up at her, annoyance evident on your face, and ask what is so important that you can’t finish your reading.

That was the wrong thing to say.

Taylor glares at you before proceeding to rip the book apart.

Your eyes instantly water, and your heart aches as you watch the fragile papers fall on the ground.

She tosses the book at you. It hits you in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

Taylor paces around the room, trampling on the fallen pages, before yelling at you; you cared about that book more than you ever cared about her, and you weren’t giving her enough attention. Why is it so sad when you’ve read it a million times? It’s just a book, get over it, and stop being so sensitive all the time.  

You sit on the couch, cradling the broken book close to your chest. You stay silent.

You know that if you said something, it would only make things worse.

You always make things worse, no matter what you do.

Chapter Text

People who care for you, start to ask questions.

Is that a bruise?

I fell from a horse, you laugh and show them pictures of you and Taylor riding white horses in the yard you took three months ago, back when everything was still perfect. They make aws and ohs about the animals, forgetting why you are showing them the pictures. 

Why are you so tense?

I am just tired, you say and tell them about all the plane flights in her private jet at night, successfully moving the conversation elsewhere (How many countries did you visit? How much does a private jet cost?).

Why aren’t you working anymore?

Taylor wants me to have time for the vacations, you say, rolling your eyes like it’s perfectly normal. You don’t mention that vacation now means you have to wake up at 3 am or any other time she wants you to wake up, pack the clothes Taylor orders, drive her to the airport, help her with her things to the jet, and drive back home alone.

She doesn’t want you on vacation anymore. You get it - she wants to have some me-time. And what kind of boyfriend would you be if you hadn’t helped her pack and driven her to the airport?

Besides, you’ve been on plenty of vacations - you’ve been to Rome so many times that it will last for the rest of your life.

What more could you ask for?

You are just sad that you’ve never got to go to England, the one country you’ve wanted to visit all your life. But you get it, Taylor has terrible memories associated with it, and you still can’t believe that you’ve interrupted her when she tried to tell you.

You must promise her that you will stay in the house and not go elsewhere because what if something happened to Olivia? And who would look after all the animals?

You want to make her happy, so instead of saying that she could just hire someone, you take care of the many animals she has, taking note of how the dog doesn’t jump on you anymore, and he’s behaving so well that you doubt that he would jump on anyone, ever. Maybe Taylor has been training him?

To your surprise, you create a bond with Olivia, to the point that she even lets you pet her.

When Taylor comes back from France one time and sees Olivia purring on your lap, she narrows her eyes, walks over to you, picks the cat up, and carries her away. Even though she tried to appear calm, her rigid posture and thin pressed lips speak otherwise.

You just sit on the couch and try to calm your breathing by quietly counting to ten.

You are on number 7 when Taylor comes back.

She marches straight to you, her eyes flashing with anger. You try to pull away from her, but the couch limits your options.

She grabs your wrist and tightens her grip to the point of hurting.

You freeze and stare at her, breathing noticeably faster than before. You don’t dare to say anything. Your vision blurs, so you quickly blink to get rid of the tears, but despite your efforts, you feel wetness on your cheeks.

Taylor scoffs, saying it doesn’t hurt that much and that you should stop being such a drama queen.

She twists your wrist so hard that you can’t help but cry out in pain, before bending. closer to you, her face almost touching yours.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you feel more tears spring from your eyes.

Your lip trembles and you can hardly get out your pleas that it hurts and that you are sorry, but she ignores you. She just studies your face like she wants to remember your expression of hurt to the tiniest detail.

Her blue eyes are as cold as ice, and her tone is sickly sweet as she warns you that if you ever touch Olivia again, you will have a reason to cry for real.

She asks if you understand, tightening her grip even more. You hiss and whisper that you do understand.

Taylor lets go of your hand almost instantly, entire demeanor changing. She relaxes her body, twists her lips into a smile, and she sits down next to you. Your body stiffens, and you bow your head.

You are quietly trying to calm down your breathing and not break down sobbing. Your hands are shaking so badly that you must put them under your thighs. The movement causes the pain from the wrist to shoot through your entire arm. You almost let out a sob, but you catch it just in time. Instead, you let out a whine. You stop caring about the tears falling from your eyes, even though you know that this is not something you should cry about.

As Taylor said, you are such a drama queen and a crybaby. You cry about everything—a book, a light slap, ear pulling, your sister.

Why do you have to be so sensitive all the time? You’re just a sobbing mess that can’t ever do anything right. You are glad Taylor is so kind and takes care of you, even though you make her do these horrible things to you.

It could have occurred to you that she wouldn’t like other people touching Olivia; she’s basically her daughter. Why didn’t you ask for her permission? If you’d done that, none of this would have happened.

Taylor was right when she called you a stupid, crying loser. You’re pathetic and don’t deserve her in the slightest.

Taylor ignores your evident discomfort and tells you about everything she saw in France. As if you’ve never been there, and your weeklong vacation in Paris three months ago and your kiss on the top of the Eiffel Tower never happened.

You just nod to everything she says, holding your hand close to your chest and trying not to flinch every time she moves her hands too close to your body.

From that point forward, whenever you are in one room with Olivia, she hisses at you and walks away. You wonder if you didn’t imagine all the purring and the cuddles.

One time, Olivia scratches you on the cheek. Taylor pets her head and says she’s a good girl. Her blue eyes lock with yours, daring you to say something.

 You look away from her cold gaze and stay quiet.

Chapter Text

Your phone is blasting with messages and phone calls, and there isn’t a day that goes by without your sister trying to reach you, and you’re beginning to get annoyed.

You appreciate her concern, but as you texted her over ten times already, you are fine, and no, Taylor isn’t the reason you can’t visit.

She texts you again that Taylor is just trying to isolate and use you and that you should leave her; the sooner, the better.

You get angry, saying that she should try to solve her divorce first rather than your relationship. You ignore her, muting your notifications and phone calls.

You and Taylor are on a picnic, the first one in three months.

Taylor has been unusually kind and in a good mood for the past two weeks, and you don’t want to ruin it with something as stupid as being on your phone.

She is affectionate with you, and she laughs when you say a joke, lets you cuddle her, and she has an interest in reading with you again and doesn’t make fun of you for it anymore. She doesn’t push you or yell at you for small things, doesn’t shut off, and buys you gifts, you went to have a horse ride, and she said that you will attend and can even pick the next vacation.

It’s like the past months never happened.

You don’t remember the last time you were so in love.

You are enjoying the exceptionally warm fall day, lying on a blue blanket with Taylor’s head in your lap. Her body is too long for the blanket, so her ankles are on the grass.

When you notice it, you laugh, and she asks you what’s so funny.

You tense for a moment before noticing that her lips are upward and her tone playful.

You relax and tell her, and she laughs as well, saying she’ll need to buy a bigger blanket then. She reaches out to you, asking for your phone so you can find a cute and huge blanket together.

You hesitate. What if Taylor sees the messages from your sister saying she’s abusive and crazy?

But Taylor is still looking at you; her smile is less and less bright by a minute, and she certainly noticed your hesitation. Your heartbeat quickens.

You reach into your pocket and take out the phone, quickly opening it and checking if there aren’t any incriminating messages.

And as you read the newest one, your heart stops as soon as your gaze falls upon the word police.

Your hand shakes as you type that everything’s okay. She can’t call the police, and you will visit her soon.

You press send and release a breath of relief.

But all the relief disappears when you look down and see Taylor’s face. Her gaze is cold as ice, and it has that manic glint that doesn’t ever mean anything good, and her smile is nowhere to be seen.

She stands up without a word, takes her stuff from the ground, and runs to the car.

You scramble up and hastily tidy up all things back into the bag. At last, you grab the blanket and run after Taylor.

You catch up to her just as she’s starting the engine.

Your hands let go of the things they carried, and you bang on the door, falling on your knees and begging her to let you inside.

She just stares at you with tears in her eyes, her face full of rage. You don’t know how long it takes, but suddenly you hear the car door open, and the stuff from the ground is inside, and her hand is gripping your arm too tightly, and you are sitting in the passenger seat, and the wheels screech as she drives home.

The drive is silent and full of tension. You can practically feel the waves of fury radiating from her.

You tell her you were texting with your sister, but she tells you to shut up. Out of nowhere, she pulls your ear.

You whimper, and tears spring to your eyes.

She scoffs and tells you not to be so sensitive all the time.

When you get home, she goes straight inside, and you quickly follow her.

You are in the living room; she stands before you with shaking shoulders and hands on her face, and you feel horrible.

Why didn’t you do something quicker? Why didn’t you block your sister’s number? Now Taylor is upset, and it’s all your fault.

You want to know what you can do to make her feel better, prove your love to her, and prevent her from shutting off from you again. You move a few steps closer to her, apologizing in a quiet voice and once again saying it was just your sister.  

You even outstretch your hand, giving her the phone to check the messages.

She snatches the phone from you and goes straight through the open French door to the fountain in the garden. She stands there motionless before tossing your phone into the water.

It sinks with a splash, and your shoulders sag.

You want to be angry with her, but honestly...

You deserve it.

You should’ve been honest with her about your sister, and you should’ve discussed it together. If you had done that in the first place, none of this would’ve happened.

Taylor is back in the room, and her gaze is boring into yours. She yells at you; how could you do this to her after everything she has done for you? She was so caring and good, and for what? You don’t appreciate it enough, so why should she even try to be nice to you? What more do you want from her?

A sharp jab to your shoulders accompanies every word. Even though you want nothing more than to comfort her, your voice is stuck in your throat.

She tells you that you are lucky she’s so patient with you. You open your mouth to agree, but she slaps you before you get a chance to speak. It’s not as hard as the ones before, but it stings nonetheless, and a loud whimper escapes you against your will.

Taylor eyes you with so much disdain that you cower before her and bow your head.

She paces around the room, asking about your sister; why is she so interested in your relationship? Why do you let her tell you what to do with your life? Why don’t you stand up for yourself sometimes? Are you too much of a wimp to do anything?

When you don’t answer her, she tosses a vase at you. You duck, and the vase falls to the ground. You flinch when the shards hit your boot.

Suddenly, Taylor is in front of you, grabbing your face in her hands, her nails digging into your sore skin to the point of drawing blood, and she’s frantically repeating two sentences over and over again.

You can’t leave me. I can’t live without you.

You finally find your voice and quickly say that you won’t ever leave her. She digs her nails even deeper and tells you to promise her.

You do promise her.

You feel hot tears on your cheeks, and you mumble apologies. Taylor doesn’t like it when you cry over nothing.

She silences you with a deep kiss, gently caresses your bloody cheek, and whispers that everything’s okay.

You know you don’t deserve her gentleness.

When you try to tell her, she again kisses you. She hugs you tightly and makes small circles on your back with her right hand.

I’m here, baby. I’ll always be here.

When you hear her whisper those words in your ear, you sob even harder, and soon you find yourself on your knees. You are hugging her legs and hysterically repeating that you love her, only her, no one else, and you beg her for forgiveness to the point that your voice becomes hoarse.

Taylor says she forgives you and gently scratches your hair before kissing your temple. She puts her hands on your cheeks and looks deeply into your eyes. Her gaze is so gentle it makes you want to cry even more. All the fury is gone, and after a small moment, she asks, her voice full of concern.

Who else could love you anyway?

Chapter Text

You wake up, and a new phone is waiting for you at your nightstand, along with a note from Taylor saying she’s sorry.

You are quite surprised that it’s already set up. Taylor must have done it before she gave it to you. You smile. She’s so kind.

You text your sister that someone stole your phone yesterday, so you couldn’t read her texts. The lie is so automatic that you pause for a moment when you press send.  

How come lying became so easy for you?

You remember how hard it was to think of why you couldn’t go to the hospital to see your newborn nephew. Now, lying is as easy as breathing.

She reads it but doesn’t respond.

You text her again, asking if you can visit her today, and head downstairs to make breakfast, wondering how the hell you will persuade Taylor to let you go.

The kitchen is empty. You sigh and start making a fruit salad for Taylor and yourself.

You resist the urge to make a peanut butter sandwich. Taylor doesn’t like you eating it, and she has mentioned multiple times that you gained weight and should eat healthier.

As you cut strawberries, you hear steps getting closer and closer to the kitchen. You take a deep breath in and out, and when you look down, you see that your hand wielding the knife is trembling. You slow the cutting tempo so that you won’t hurt yourself, and after you are done, you put the strawberries into the bowl with some blueberries.

You peel the skin off a banana and start cutting it when the sound of the chair dragging across the floor startles you, and you cut your finger. You hiss in pain and let go of the knife. The metal hitting the marble kitchen unit is loud and clear, and you freeze, waiting for the yelling to start, but nothing happens.

Despite that, your heart continues to pound, and you begin to feel the sweat building in your armpits and forehead. Your breathing is quick and shallow, and you have to count to ten to calm down. After two minutes of just standing in place, you see that the blood from the cut is falling onto the marble. You quickly wipe it off with your hand and notice that the trembling is worse than before.

You move to the sink and put the injured finger under water spray. You flinch when the water makes contact with the cut, but you hold on until the blood is gone before placing a bandage over it and continuing to cut the bananas.

The silence is making you anxious.

Is she shutting from you again? Is she still feeling mad about yesterday? No, the note said she was sorry. She wouldn’t give you a new phone if she were still angry.

Or would she?

What if she wanted breakfast ready when she came here? Why didn’t you wake up earlier to make it in time? Why are you always doing something wrong?

Taylor was right. How could anybody else love you when you can’t even prepare a simple breakfast in time? You are so lucky she’s putting up with you. You don’t deserve her in the slightest.

The thoughts are swirling in your head, and your vision is blurry. Quickly, you wipe off the tears with the sleeve of your cardigan and hope that Taylor didn’t notice.

You put the last part of the banana into the bowl and mix it with the rest before splitting the salad into two smaller bowls and adding a fork.

Turning around, you see Taylor sitting in a chair and scrolling through her phone. You carefully and slowly put the first salad bowl on the table before her, so it won’t make a thud and distract her.

She doesn’t raise her head or make any sign that she noticed you.

You stop the sigh forming in your throat from escaping, sit next to her, and eat with as little noise as possible.

The fruit is sweet and tasty. Maybe it won’t be so hard to eat healthier.

Sometimes during eating, it clicks.

If Taylor is shutting down from you again, how can you persuade her to let you visit your sister? You don’t know how long it will take before she starts to acknowledge your presence. What if it won’t be today?

Even though your sister hasn’t responded, you are sure she will agree to the visit. And you’ll have to crush her hope again? Doesn’t she have enough problems with her divorce? And you are just creating more by saying something and not doing it.

Why can’t you be the brother she deserves? A brother who would support her and visit her often, not a brother who spent all his life buried in books. Taylor was right. You are an incompetent loser, and you can’t even maintain a good relationship with your own family. And you are letting down James. Will he even still recognize that you’re his uncle? You doubt it.

No wonder she canceled the dinner where you were supposed to introduce her to Taylor. She must’ve thought you didn’t deserve her attention after that disgusting comment. Even though, since then, she has been persistent in texting you to visit, so it can’t be so severe. But what if it’s only because she wants her son to remember he has an uncle?

How miserable of a person you must be when your nephew doesn’t recognize and remember you?

You-

Taylor’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. You raise your head and meet her intense gaze, your heart rate picking up again. You can’t believe it; this must be the fastest she ever ended the silence.

She asks if you are listening to her.

You furrow your brows in confusion. You could swear that Taylor was silent the whole time. Or did you get so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear her? You don’t think that’s possible, but apparently, you did just that.

You quickly apologize and focus on her, maintaining direct eye contact even though it’s impossible. You have to look away after a moment, but you still don’t do anything that could indicate you are distracted, forgetting the food before you. You’ve learned the hard way what she does when she thinks you aren’t paying her enough attention, and you wouldn’t want to clean up the mess afterward with so much glass around.

 She talks about her next vacation in Amsterdam, which will take place in three weeks. You don’t bother wasting your breath by asking if you can go too.

She’s in a good mood. You’re glad; it’s so lovely to see her smile. You remember that her smile and laugh made you fall in love with her.

You smile gently at that thought, eat another part of your breakfast, and listen to her ramblings about the things she’s planning to do and the new clothes she will bring back.

You blurt out the question when she has to stop talking to inhale, so you don’t interrupt her.

Your entire body stiffens, and your hand wielding the fork shakes when she glares at you, her eyebrows raised.

She asks why you want to visit your sister and reminds you how sad you were when she canceled your meeting. Why would you want to see her after that?

When you don’t say anything, she adds that she doesn’t want you to get hurt again and that it was hard to see you so sad.

You assure her that it will be alright and that you have to go, asking for her permission at the end.

To your surprise, she just nods and says okay, but adds that she won’t comfort you after you come back crying.

You argue that you simply must go, not willing to reveal that your sister will call the police if you don’t, but you stop when Taylor stands up and goes behind you.

Not seeing her makes you anxious, and your heart beats faster.

She puts her hands on your shoulders, pushing your back against the back of the chair, clawing her nails into your shoulders. Even though it’s through the cardigan, it hurts.

You flinch.

Her hair tickles the tip of your right ear, and you are surrounded by the sweet scent of her vanilla shampoo as she bends down.

Her breath is hot on your skin as she whispers, her tone firm and uncompromising.

You are mine.

It isn’t a question, but you answer her anyway.

I am yours.

She kisses your neck, and you can feel her making a hickey. You internally shudder because you hate hickeys. It’s gross and unhygienic.

After she’s done with your neck, her grip on your shoulders disappears, and she walks in front of you, kissing you passionately. You kiss her back.

She grabs the back of your neck and squeezes.

You get uncomfortable but don’t dare to stop the kiss.

Her hand finds yours, and she interlocks your fingers together before letting go of your neck and pulling away from you. She ends the kiss, her eyes never leaving yours.

Her pupils are dilated, her lips are parted apart, and the red lipstick is smudged.

You stare into each other’s eyes. You can see that Taylor wants more than kisses, but you must go to visit your sister.

You smile gently and assure her that you’ll be home soon.

Her lips narrow, and her eyes harden, the grip on your hand tightening.

You gulp and open your mouth to say something, but she places an index finger on your mouth, silencing you.

She lifts your joined hands to her lips and kisses each of your knuckles, her eyes locked with yours.

Even though you enjoy her attention, it feels weird. She never acted this... how to call it... possessive?

You get that she might feel a bit insecure after yesterday; she thought you were cheating on her. You’d also want to be more vocal about being in a relationship, but in public, not at home, where there is no one to impress or intimidate.

Or is there?

Is it possible Taylor’s jealous of your sister? It’s absurd, but you can’t think of anyone else.

Yesterday, she stayed mad even after she found out you had texted just with your sister. Does she feel threatened by her? Like she could steal you from her or something?

And now she’s marking her territory and ensuring you know it.

The comparison makes you cringe, but it’s true.

Before you can think about it more deeply, Taylor releases your hand and leaves the kitchen.

For a while, you sit in the chair, thinking about what just happened, but the loud noise of your notification brings you back to reality.

You pull out the phone and smile when you read the message.

When you arrive at your sister’s apartment, your stomach is churning with anxiety. What if she won’t open?

You remind yourself that she agreed with the visit and has to open. Or did she agree? Isn’t it just your wishful thinking tricking you? You have done that a lot these past months, forgetting or remembering things wrong. Thank God you have Taylor, who always tells you how everything happened. You consider going to see a doctor about it.

You quickly pull out your new phone and check your sister's last message.

I can’t wait to see you.

There was a heart emoji next to it. That must mean something.

You sigh and knock three times with your knuckles.

The door bursts open, and before you can say anything, your sister clings to you desperately, like you could disappear if she let you go.

She’s mumbling rapidly in your ear. The only words you can make out are finally, she, let, and here.

As you finally connect the words into a sentence, you get uncomfortable and gently wriggle out of her embrace.

She ushers you inside. You notice that the apartment is spotless, considering there’s a baby. You realize that something, or rather someone important, is missing from the apartment. You ask where James is.

Your sister responds that he’s with his father at the playground because she wanted peace when talking with you.

You wonder what she wants to talk about and if it will be the same things she texted you about all the time before, about Taylor abusing and using you and isolating you and that you should leave her. You don’t want to talk about that.

But no. The first thing she makes you do is weigh yourself, saying that you are just skin and bones. You disagree with this statement, but don’t complain and follow her orders.

It turns out you are almost underweight.

You want to say that Taylor said you gained weight and are fat, but as soon as her name passes your lips, your sister raises a finger to silence you.

You can’t help but flinch.

Your sister notices and puts her finger down. Her eyes narrow, and her lips are pressed together in a thin line.

She looks so much like Taylor at that moment that you have to take a deep breath and remind yourself that she’s your sister and she’s never going to hurt you, even if she were mad.

She asks if you think you gained weight, not what Taylor thinks. You blink and sit in silence for a while. It’s been so long since anyone cared about your opinion.

You take a minute to think about the answer. You’ve always been skinny and tall, but you don’t believe you’ve ever been underweight or too fat.

But maybe that’s precisely what happened. You’ve been underweighted without your knowledge, and Taylor noticed, and when you gained some extra weight, she noticed and told you because she was happy for you.

Even though you don’t remember her smiling when saying that.

But why would she call you fat, then? It must have looked that way to her, you suppose. Everyone would look fatter if they’d gained weight and stopped being underweight.

When you say all that to your sister, she doesn’t respond. She looks at you silently, her eyes full of pain. And are those tears?

You don’t want her to cry because of you.

You ask what’s happening.

She shakes her head and reaches for the laptop lying on the table before you next to a small duck toy before turning it on and giving it to you.

You take the laptop from her with suddenly shaky hands and look at the screen. It's open on some page you don't recognize. You look at the article's name and suck in a breath.

10 Signs of Emotionally Abusive Relationship

And there’s more. There are about a dozen open pages, and all talk about the same thing.

You try to ignore it, but the words jump you from the pages, and you can’t look away.

Emotional abuse. Gaslighting. Silent Treatment. Yelling. Frequent Outbursts. Jealousy. Blaming. Denying. Separating from family and friends and trivializing concerns. Sudden mood swings.

You panic because this can’t be happening to you. Just no. Taylor would never do any of this. Even though you can recall numerous instances where you could use the words from the page to describe the situations.

Like yesterday – the yelling, the jealousy, the outburst, how quickly her demeanor changed, who else could love you anyway, the slap-

NO! You are the reason she was doing all this; you weren’t honest with her and made her angry. You are the problem, not her. You can’t believe you would ever think that. She would be so mad if she found out.

Why is your sister even showing you this? You barely talk; how can she know what’s happening in your relationship? Is she spying on you? No, she’s not because these things are not happening in your relationship.

Your heartbeat quickens, and you count to ten to calm your breathing. Your right leg starts to bounce, and you are too aware of the itchy material of the bandage on your finger.

You try to come up with some logical explanation, but you can’t think of anything.

You look at your sister. Her eyes are wide with worry, and her right hand is hovering over you like she wants to touch you but isn’t sure if she can.

An idea appears in your mind. This must be how your sister is telling you this is or rather was happening to her. Is that the reason she’s divorcing her husband? Was he abusive? Why didn’t she say anything? Was the story about her friend she told you in the café a warning that something’s wrong, and you just interpreted it all wrong?

Why didn't you notice anything? Your only concern was books; Taylor was right. You care more about books than you do about people. It's just another proof that you are a terrible brother.

You put the laptop back on the table and quickly scan your sister for injuries. When you don't find any, your shoulders relax, and your leg's bouncing slows down, as does your breathing.

You apologize for not noticing earlier and thank her for telling you.

Her brows furrow and she opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She reaches out her hand and gently puts it on your shoulder, whispering that it's about you. Taylor is doing this to you; she's sure of it. She sounds so desperate; you want to hug her and tell her everything's okay so she won't start crying.

So, you do it. You hug her tightly and rub her back in a calming motion, the same one Taylor does to you when you are distraught, and murmur in her ear that everything’s okay; Taylor doesn’t do anything to you.

She pulls away from you and reaches for her phone. She searches for something and pushes the screen right before your eyes, asking you to explain what this means. Her voice is raspy, and you can see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

You blink a few times and focus on the screen. It’s a screenshot of a conversation between your sister and Taylor. You want to ask why it’s so important when you notice the date.

It’s the day you were supposed to meet up at that restaurant. The day your heart has been crushed into pieces.

Hi, this is Taylor, your brother’s girlfriend.

Unfortunately, the meeting’s over.

What? Why?

Where did you get my number?

He said that he didn’t want to go and

that you really hurt him with your disgusting

comments about our relationship.

I was shocked, too. He seemed so excited.

I only told him the truth

Why didn’t he tell me himself?

Why are you telling me this?

Because he asked me to do it.

I don’t believe you

There was a pause for two weeks.

The last message is from yesterday.

I will get my brother back you bitch

I’d like to see you try.

The conversation ends there; your sister blocked Taylor’s number.

You are trying to comprehend what you just read. Taylor texted your sister to say that you canceled the meeting.

But you didn’t. Or did you? Is it possible that you remember it wrong? Did you give Taylor some sign that you don’t want the meeting to take place? Is it your fault?

Your head hurts, so you put the phone down next to the notebook, which is still open on the pages about domestic violence.

This must have some logical explanation.

Why would she lie to you by saying that it was your sister?

You glance back at the notebook, and your gaze lingers on the words isolating from family and friends before jumping to gaslighting.

When you don’t say anything, your sister starts explaining that she was trying to reach and talk to you, but you didn’t pick up the phone or read her texts. She wanted to tell you what really happened because she knew you wouldn’t do that.

She asks what Taylor told you that day.

You stare blankly ahead and, in a monotone voice that doesn’t even sound like your own, tell her what happened that day from your point of view, but you leave out the part when Taylor woke you up with kisses.

Your sister cries openly now. She doesn’t even try to wipe the tears off her face.

You are close to crying, too, but you want to be strong for her, so you hold the tears in.

She tells you about a plan she made, how you could leave Taylor without worrying she will find you again.

When you hear that, you stand up abruptly and ask what she’s talking about; you can’t do that.

Your sister looks at you, her eyes wide and full of love. She asks you, horrified, if you will return to her after everything you’ve seen here.

You nod, saying that you obviously have to hear Taylor's side of the story, too, and that you can't leave her without saying anything.

Your sister stands up and grabs your arm, frantically repeating that you can’t return because Taylor won’t let you out again.

You resist the urge to flinch. Your eyes harden, and you tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about and that you will take care of it yourself.

You break out of her grip, grab your jacket, and, ignoring your sister’s cries, slam the door in her face.

On your way back, you let the tears fall, unable to stop them anymore. You are constantly wiping your face so you can see the road, and you have to turn on the radio, so your sobs wouldn’t be so loud.

When you get home, you hear Taylor playing the guitar in the living room, but you remember her words about comfort from earlier and decide to go to your room instead.

You can ask her about the messages some other day (You find yourself repeating this sentence every day afterward because you are too afraid of the consequences).

Taylor doesn’t mention the visit or ask what you talked about. She doesn’t even make fun of you for crying, which she must know because you didn’t go to her after you returned.

And thankfully, she stops acting possessively, so your neck is free of hickeys.

Even though you’d rather forget everything about the visit, you think about what you’ve read in the articles, mostly at night. This turns out to be a bad idea because you have nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night, sweating. In those moments, you are glad you and Taylor don’t sleep in the same room anymore.

After two weeks of thinking about it and constantly changing your mind, you finally sit down and find the articles so you can read through them slowly and focus.

Taylor is on vacation in Amsterdam for four days, so you don’t have to worry she’d find anything or surprise you by showing up unexpectedly. But even then, you search for it in incognito mode, just in case.

You spend two days searching and reading various articles and studies about emotional abuse to the point that at the end, you have a feeling of déjá vu from reading the same things over and over again.

 After you are done, you go thoroughly through your internet history to see if there isn’t anything compromising. When you don’t find anything, you relax.

All the information is swirling through your mind; it’s hard.

You can’t believe Taylor would do something like this. She just wouldn’t. She’s kind and generous, lets you live with her, bought you a car, and went on many vacations with you.

But you must admit that she acted differently after you got together.

Maybe she had anger problems before, but she didn’t want to tell you because she thought you wouldn’t like her if she did? Which is stupid; you would love her no matter what.

You spend the following two days just thinking about it all, making pros and cons, and trying to mute the memory of your sister's desperate voice, begging you not to go back.

When Taylor finally returns, her hands full of bags with new clothes, you are waiting for her at the airport.

She smiles when she sees you, her eyes soft and glistening.

On the way home, you listen to her ramblings about Amsterdam, all the things she saw, and the people she met. While talking, she puts her hand on your thigh and leaves it there for the entirety of the ride.

You smile at her enthusiasm. At that moment, you are so happy that everything you've read about the past few days gets locked in the far corner of your brain.

When you get home, she grabs your hand and leads you to her bedroom. You have to let off the bags of her clothes you were carrying and hope that the clothes won’t fall out on the ground and get dirty.

You fall onto the bed. Taylor is on top of you, her hands are on your neck, and she is kissing you like she hasn’t seen you for ages.

She giggles in the middle of a kiss. It takes you by surprise. You didn’t hear her laugh for so long.

You stare at her amazing face, red lips, ocean blue eyes, soft blonde hair, and radiant smile as she gazes at you, eyes full of love.

If this is the Satan your sister warned you about, you will gladly join her in Hell.

I want a baby.

You blink a few times and hope that you just misunderstood her.

A baby? Where did that come from?

It’s been two weeks since Taylor returned from Amsterdam, and she was acting like a new person. Well, not new, but more like she acted before you got together. She’s giving you gifts, going with you on horse rides, and she wants to cuddle all the time.

You don’t complain, it’s nice, and you aren’t so tense anymore. You don’t even flinch when she moves to cup your face.

Maybe she found someone in Amsterdam who helped her with her temper? She didn’t mention anything like that, but it looked like it.

She must feel a lot better, and you are happy for her.

But to be thinking about children?

You didn’t even think about having any. You are still young; you want to explore the world and do so much more before raising a whole human being.

And you don’t think you want to be stuck in the house with Taylor full of hormones and with her mood changing every few minutes. The last time that happened, you didn’t end well.

You remember asking her if she ever wanted kids when you visited her for the first time. She said she had never found anyone who would want that with her. Does she think you want that?

And you also remember that she said she wants a girl.

What if it will be a boy? Would she treat him differently? Would she harm him? Children are loud and need attention. Taylor doesn’t like loud things, and what if you will have your attention on the baby and Taylor will get jealous? What if the baby ends up like your book if you care about them more than about her? What if it all ends with you cradling their lifeless body to your chest?

Taylor repeats the sentence when you aren’t saying anything. This time it sounds more like a command, and your heartbeat quickens.

Instead of downright saying no, you list all the things that could scare her off. 

It costs a lot of money to raise a child. In case you didn’t notice, I have money.

You will get fat. Do you like me only because of my body?

Children require a lot of patience and attention. I can be patient. 

It’s for life. When you get bored, you can’t tell yourself you don’t want to do it anymore. They can’t take care of themselves without your help. That sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? 

After that comment, you stop talking and avoid her gaze. She laughs and pats your shoulder playfully, saying that it was just a joke and that you won’t change her mind about it, so you can stop trying.

When you still don’t say anything, she smirks and says that she hopes it won’t end up like you and your nephew.

You glare at her and storm off to your bedroom.

You won’t listen to this.

But it’s true, isn’t it? You don’t want a baby because you don’t want to disappoint them like you did James.

You sob, and Taylor is there, and you cling to her. She’s making circles on your back and apologizing in a hushed tone. You can hear her crying, too, which only makes you sob harder.

Eventually, you calm down and just lay on the bed with your head in Taylor’s lap. She’s playing with your hair and singing in a low voice. You fall asleep almost instantly.

The following days are full of listening to Taylor asking which name sounds better, which clothes are cuter, and which color the baby room should have. Yellow? Purple? Red? Blue? Green? Pink? Grey?

You are tired.

Not only because of the constant questions but because you can’t sleep at night.

Every night it’s the same dream – you are playing with your child, a son, he’s smiling and happy. Taylor walks in the room and stabs your son in the chest with a knife. You scream, and she puts her bloody hand on your cheek, saying that his blood is on your hands because you weren’t paying attention to her.

At that moment, you always wake up sweating and more tired than before, the bloody chest of the child still before your eyes.

You try to talk to Taylor again about the child, but she shuts you off and asks which crib is better.

You can’t take it anymore.

You know that Taylor won’t change her mind about the child, and all the what-ifs will make you go crazy.

So, after a week of thinking, you decide to leave.

It’s hard, especially when you see how excited Taylor is. She’s smiling more than you’ve ever seen her smile, and it kills you to destroy it all.

But you don’t see any other option.

You decide to leave when she sets off on another vacation in two days.

As you drive back from the airport, you stop at the bank and withdraw money from the card Taylor gave you so you can rent an apartment for a while and get your life together. You plan to leave the card, your car, and everything else she ever gave you back home at her house.

You text your sister that you are ending it, once and for all, and you write a letter to Taylor, explaining everything and hoping that she forgives you.

With everything prepared in your bedroom—your wallet full of money and personal stuff, the letter written and sealed, and the keys from the car waiting on your bed—you bring out a suitcase and start packing.

You decide not to pack any expensive suit or anything Taylor gave you as a present. That means you have to leave behind the red T-shirt she gave you as her first gift. It’s hard, but you don’t want to have anything that could remind you of her.

While packing, you hear a faint thud of the door closing from downstairs, and you freeze.

Is someone breaking in? But how could they go through the front door?

You listen for some signs of moving but don’t hear anything.

Deciding to investigate, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and grab a golf club leaning on the wall beside the bed. The golf club was a gift from Taylor, and it even has your name on it. A remnant of the time when you wanted to learn how to play golf, and Taylor thought this would increase your motivation.

You quietly open the door and sneak through the corridor, the golf club raised and ready to hit. Occasionally, you stop and listen for the intruder, but you never hear anything. They must be a professional.

What if they have a gun?

The thought makes your heart race faster, and your hands start sweating. The golf club doesn’t look like that good of a weapon anymore, but it’s the only thing you have, so you tighten your grip and continue.

When you reach the stairs, you try to peek down but see nothing. Slowly, you take one step at a time, your muscles tensing. You reach the ground floor and go through the kitchen and the living room, but you can’t see anyone, only Olivia lying on her scratcher. You are surprised she’s so calm.

You decide to go to the front door. Maybe the intruder had already left.

You stop at a corner that leads to the door and take a deep breath before running around the corner, the golf club raised and heart pounding.

You stop dead in your tracks and lower your weapon immediately when you see Taylor standing before you, her arms folded across her chest and her gaze full of rage.

She knows.

But how can she know? And how can she be here? You saw her get on that plane; you saw the plane taking off. You waited at the airport to make sure.

She must have known you were going to leave her, but that’s not possible; even your own sister didn’t know until today.

Your shoulders sag, and you let go of the golf club. It hits the marble floor with a thud.

You ask her how she found out and stare at her helplessly. She laughs coldly and reveals that she has known since her trip to Amsterdam.

You are too shocked to speak, so she explains it, getting closer to you with every word. She’s speaking slowly, like she’s talking to a small child.

It’s the phone.

While setting it up, she installed an app that allowed her to see everything you do and do whatever she wanted with your phone, even if she wasn’t in the room.

Taylor read all the messages you’ve texted with your sister and heard everything you discussed while visiting her. She knew you were looking up the pages about domestic violence and looking for apartments to stay in.

She’s in front of your face. Her gaze is boring into your eyes and so full of hatred that you take a couple of steps back. She smirks and bends down. She picks up the golf club but doesn’t do anything with it; she’s just holding it in her right hand.

You feel tears forming in your eyes and let them fall, not caring what she thinks.

You can’t believe it. Your sister told you the truth, and you’ve acted horribly to her.

You’ve been so stupid.

With your eyes trained on the golf club, you ask if the sudden desire to have a baby was just a lie to ensure you will stay with her.

She smiles and starts listing children’s names in a fake cheery voice and asks you over and over again - What name do you like? What name do you like? What name do you like?

You tell her to shut up, but she continues.

You try to put your hand on her mouth to silence her, but a sharp slap stops you.

The fake cheeriness is gone, and her eyes are cold as ice as she stares at you. You look at her, your hand on your cheek, and your heartbeat quickens. You feel your right hand shaking and must suppress the urge to hide from her.

Old habits die hard.

Taylor turns around and walks out the open door. You stay in the same spot, watching her go to your car.

She looks at you and laughs like a maniac as she repeatedly hits the car hood and windows with the golf club.

You run after her.

She destroys one of the front lights and stretches to do the same to the other one.

You grab the golf club to stop her, but he whirls around and spits in your face. You let go of the golf club and wipe your face.

You hear a swishing sound, and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

You wake up and go straight to the bathroom.

Your head hurts as if an ax has cut through it, and you have to stay still for a couple of moments because you feel like passing out again.

When the feeling of dizziness lessens, you slowly walk to the bathroom. Every step feels like a drumming band is inside your head and plays every time you move.

You wash your face. The cold water makes the headache a little more bearable.

You look at your reflection, and you barely suppress a flinch. There’s dried blood on your left temple, your cheeks are red and itchy, and your lip is torn.

All the memories come flashing back, and you have to put your hands on your head and feel tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Taylor waiting for you at the door, her furious eyes, Taylor destroying the car she gave you, and then... nothing.

You feel building saliva in your mouth, and you quickly bend to the toilet. You start to vomit. It stinks, and you gag, but eventually, it stops, and you can stand back up.

You wash your face and hands and go back to the bedroom, afraid that your clothes and other personal things will be long gone.

When you look around the room properly, you see that everything you prepared is gone – the suitcase, the letter, your wallet. You hope your phone is somewhere downstairs and not gone too.

You find your clothes back inside the closet and let out a sigh of relief. You reach out for your jeans and a T-shirt and put them on, but something feels off. You look down and see that the T-shirt has two holes around the nipples.

You furrow your brows, go to the closet again, and look through your other clothes. It's all the same; every t-shirt, shirt, sweater, jacket, and suit has holes.

Did Taylor do this?

You sit on the bed, your head in your hands. Sitting down, you notice the perfectly intact red t-shirt Taylor gave you hanging on the closet doors.

You ignore it and take one of the damaged T-shirts instead. You will no longer let her decide everything for you.

After some time of just taking everything in, you stand up and go to take Aspirin for the headache.

You go slowly and listen for any sounds from downstairs, but you don’t hear anything. The situation reminds you of yesterday, and you hope you won’t become unconscious again.

Taylor isn’t in the kitchen, nor is she in the living room, so you sit down on the couch and take the Aspirin, happy you have peace, even if it’s temporary.

When the headache retreats, you look for your phone. You check the kitchen and the living room; you even look beneath the couch. You go to the front door, but you don’t see it anywhere.

You decide to look outside, but when you try to open the door, it doesn't work. You try again. Nothing.

Is it locked?

You quickly move to the side door. Locked.

The French door that leads to the garden. Locked.

Even the door to the balcony is locked.

You sit back on the couch and try to stay calm, but it’s hard. Taylor locked you inside the house; she presumably has your phone and wallet with your papers and money. You can’t do anything to get away from her. You can’t do anything without her.

Is she even in the house?

You go to her room. It’s clean, and everything is in its place. You try to look for your phone there, but you don’t find anything.

 You consider trying to get inside her notebook and get help, but you quickly change your mind. You don’t know the password, and you can’t be sure that it doesn’t have the same tracking app she used for your phone.

Your stomach rumbles, so you get some breakfast. You make yourself a peanut butter sandwich and get such a good feeling from disobeying the orders. You feel anxiety creeping in, but the pleasant feeling is more prominent.

So, you decide that after breakfast, you are going to do everything you wanted to do before, but Taylor forbade it.

The first thing you do is pet Olivia. Well, it's more like trying to pet Olivia. The cat runs away from you, and when you finally catch her, she hisses and scratches you on your face. You laugh and rub her belly. After many more scratches and running around, she eventually calms down and lets you pet her. She purrs, and your anxiety from earlier lessens.

After that, you finally see the painting Taylor made of you the first time you were here. It takes a lot of searching, but eventually, you find a door you’ve never seen before, and to your surprise, it opens without any problem.

The hallway is narrow, and the walls are full of paintings. The portraits are of men of various ages, eyes, and hair colors. You see one with short blonde hair and blue eyes, one with dark curly hair and green eyes, and one with short brown hair and blue eyes.

The thing that startles you is that every portrait is damaged. One has an ax in his nose, and the other has red paint on his face and suit.

You stop once you recognize your face.

It’s hard because your portrait looks like it’s been stabbed by a knife multiple times, and your eyes are scratched out.

You wonder if she did it yesterday or when she found out you wanted to leave her. Or is every stab referring to a time you made her angry?

The thought makes chills come down your spine.

Your painting is the last one in a row on the right side of the hallway. You wonder if it’s chronological. You look at a portrait of the man that hangs next to yours. He has his head torn apart by what looks like nails.

The wall on the other side of your portrait is empty. You wonder how much time is left before she finds a new toy to play with and makes a new portrait.

And it turns out that you weren’t so far off when you thought Taylor was some sick collector. She is, but she collects not only pictures but also men.

You leave the hallway behind, close the door, and decide never to enter that part of the house again.

You lay on your bed, thinking about what could happen after Taylor returns from wherever she is. She is probably on vacation, the one she should have been on yesterday. If that’s true, you have at least a week of peace and can think about a plan.

You don’t think Taylor will let you go away willingly.

You could use her own game against her.

Act like a perfect boyfriend, listen to everything she says, apologize to her, and be her puppet again for a time. You could run away when she stops being so careful and stops suspecting you. This time, you know you can't look for anything on your phone or discuss the plan with anyone.

Satisfied with your plan, you close your eyes and try to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Taylor doesn’t return for a whole week.

It’s not unusual, but considering the recent events, it feels like another silence before a storm.

When she finally returns, you are just eating your breakfast. Thankfully, you prepared a fruit salad that morning.

You eye her as she moves toward you, suddenly way too aware of the knife you left on the counter.

She could grab it and stab you in the chest. Or in the eye. Or the hand. Or-

You gulp and suppress the memories of the child's bloodied body from your nightmares.

She stops a few steps from the table, frowning as she looks at you properly. Her jaw clenches, and you see a flash of anger in her gaze. But she blinks a couple of times, and it's gone.

 Taylor smiles, even though it doesn't reach her eyes, and kisses you before sitting in the chair next to you.

You remember your plan and quickly ask where she was and how the trip was, like the concerned boyfriend she believed you to be.

She starts to ramble about London, of all places, and you have to stop yourself from yelling at her.

London? England? The one place she didn’t want to visit with you because her parents died there? How convenient that it doesn’t bother her anymore.

You glare at her, jaw clenched and arms folded across your chest.

Taylor ignores your bad mood, and when she finally stops talking about England, she smiles and leans closer to you, whispering that she has a surprise for you.

You’ve got enough of her surprises, but you have to stick to your plan, so you smile and express your excitement the best you can.

You ask what the surprise is, secretly praying it isn’t a positive pregnancy test.

But she puts her index finger on her mouth and says that you will see it in the evening. She caresses your cheek and goes away.

You exhale when she exits the kitchen. Acting the same as when you believed her lies is more complicated than it sounds.

Another surprise you aren’t supposed to know about until the evening. With how things went last time, you hope she isn’t going to propose to you.

Even though you are glad she’s acting like this, you fear when it will all break, and she’ll snap.

You know that sooner or later, it will happen, and it will hurt.

You find yourself wishing that Taylor would drop the act and just get it over with because this constant waiting for the other shoe to drop is so much worse.

Taylor doesn’t give you your wallet or phone back, so you read in your room, hoping Taylor won’t come in.

You find out you are pretty tired - you can hardly focus on the words on the page.

It must be from the work you’ve done throughout the week. With two days doing absolutely nothing, you got so bored that you spent the rest of the week cleaning the house. You’ve rearranged Taylor’s library and yours, dusted every room, mopped the floors, and changed Olivia’s litter box. You basically did everything you could to have some sense of normalcy.

You put aside the book to get some sleep, but as the evening gets closer, your anxiety grows and keeps you awake.

You know Taylor is unpredictable. What if she got mad during the day and waited for the evening to vent her frustration on you? Why else would she be so quiet and didn’t come to your room once during the entire day? She’s planning something, you are sure of it.

 The evening finally arrives.

You get up and slowly walk down the stairs to the living room, but Taylor isn’t there.

You frown and make your way over to the kitchen.

Taylor is sitting at the head of the ridiculously long table, dressed in black, and she smiles warmly at you when she spots you standing in the doorway.

She beckons you to sit and says the surprise is waiting for you at the table.

You sit in the chair, glancing at the piece of an apple pie in front of you. You don't know what you expected the surprise to look like, but dinner was not it.

Is this her plan? Convince you she's okay? Well, it was evident in the morning when she arrived but having it confirmed like that makes you calmer.

You are both playing the same game.

The thought makes you chuckle. You think you are a better player now when she doesn’t have to try so hard because you’ve seen how much she had to control herself not to strike you when she noticed you aren’t wearing the red t-shirt she prepared for you.

Taylor is looking at you, seemingly unbothered by whether you will eat, but you have a feeling that if you decline, she will take the pie away and won’t give you any more food for the rest of the day.

You can see it in her eyes; she’s waiting for you to make a mistake so that she can punish you. She now has quite a few cracks in her mask of a stable girlfriend, and this is one of them. You feel proud of yourself that you noticed it.

You slowly pick up the pie and take a bite. It's sweet and delicious. You didn't expect it, to be honest. You expected that it would taste like something horrible and nasty so that you would spit it out, and she'd have a reason to take away your dinner.

Taylor chuckles when you swallow, and it sends chills down your spine.

Your heart rate picks up, and you ask her what’s so funny, trying to sound collected.

She says it’s nothing and picks up Olivia, who comes for some cuddles, before glaring at you and asking what made you change your mind about leaving her.

You open your mouth to answer, but your throat is dry from the pie, so you have to drink first.

Taylor waits patiently, a small smile still present on her face.

You try not to focus on it, but it’s hard.

You answer her that you had time to think about everything that happened when you were, you know, locked in here without a chance of getting out.  

Taylor just nods, like it was perfectly normal, and says she’s glad you’ve been able to look through the lies your sister has been feeding you.

Your eyes harden when she mentions your sister.

You’re sure she’s been texting her, pretending to be you, because your sister hasn’t called the police yet, which is a thing she’d do if you wouldn’t be responding to her all week.

You are also astonished at how swiftly she blamed you and your sister for what happened last week.

You want to tell her to shut up about your sister, not caring that you will stop following your plan after only a day, but you get into a coughing fit. You don’t know what’s happening. You drink the rest of your water, but it doesn’t do anything.

You gag.

You stand up quickly, your chair hits the ground, and Taylor eyes you warily when you move closer to her.

After about four steps, you sink to your knees, the coughing gets worse, your throat is closing, the air can’t get to your lungs, and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You’re lying on the cold, hard ground, desperately trying to get some air into your lungs. The realization hits you, and at the same time, tears spring from your eyes – you are going to die.

You look at Taylor, but she’s just sitting in her chair, petting Olivia, her smile getting wider by a minute.

The last thing you feel is the ghost of Taylor’s lips on your own and her voice in your ear, tone sweet as honey.

All you had to do was stay.