Jaylor / Taylor Swift One shots

Sleepless Nights

Taylor can't sleep.

This isn't a new development or anything; most of the time when she gets into bed, she doesn't expect to actually get anything out of it. Like, you know. Sleep and rest. But it seems like it's gotten worse, between all her shows, travel and the mind numbing stress. She'd kind of thought that all the activity would send her sprawling into bed at night, too tired to even shower or wash her face, which would result in a random pimple the next day, but the thought of easily acquired sleep was nice, and above all else, relieving.

But... well. Taylor spoke too soon.

She can hear Selena sleeping in the bed next to hers, breathing even and deep, and she feels a flash of furious jealousy wash over her. she's so fucking tired , she can feel how slow and heavy her body feels even as she's laying here, motionless, and there's the beginning of a headache pounding behind her eyes. But it's like every time she closes his eyes, thinking she's finally on the verge of getting some actual rest, she's suddenly awake again. she wants to throw the pillow on the floor and tear the sheets off the bed in frustration, but she doesn't have the energy. Plus, as envious as she might be, she doesn't want to wake Selena.

There were nights she fell asleep only after being awake for longer than she could recall. It was the kind of sleep deprivation that is painful. She'd wouldn't sleep for long and then awake as if I was breathing for the first time, as if her body was deprived of oxygen.

There's a certain level of tiredness that equates to insanity; for Taylor it's when she'd like to temporarily dislocate her spirit from her body, as if she could ask God to take her out for just a short while, let her soul go wherever souls go to gain peace.

She knows she shouldn't, but Taylor turns over to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 2:47. It's almost three o'clock in the morning, and she hasn't slept at all. Not even a little bit.

That thought is the last straw. Maddeningly, tears begin to sting her eyes. They'll have to be up at seven to leave at seven thirty, so she'll maybe get four-ish hours of sleep, but that's only if she falls asleep within the next few minutes, which definitely won't be happening. And she can't even try to sleep in the bus, either, because she always gets too carsick to do anything except listen to music and look out the window and try to control her breathing. Fuck . She brings a hand up to tug at her hair in an effort to calm herself down. She can feel her heart pounding in her rib cage, and the feeling makes her feel like she's going to have a panic attack, she takes a single deep breath. It being all she can conjure at the moment. She felt like she was on fire and might spontaneously combust at any moment, like someone had set a slow and steady match beneath her center, deep in the pit of her stomach.

God, she's so tired of this. She knew she shouldn't have checked the time, because now any chance of sleep she had is gone in the wake of her anxiety. You're so fucking stupid.

The booming was furious and incessant. It was her heart, which seemed to swell into a mallet and swing against her rib cage, a drum full of dirt that might burst at any moment.

Taylor sits up, scrubbing at her eyes indignantly. She's not going to cry. She's twenty six, for all sake, and she bets if any of her travel mates were having the same problem, they wouldn't cry. No, she knows they wouldn't. She's just a loser.

With fumbling hands and blind eyes she grabs her mini wine bottle off the nightstand and slips out of bed. There's no way in she's going to get any sleep tonight. She's tired of staring at the ceiling and drowning in her own thoughts, something that has never ended well for her. She somehow manages to find her shoes and slinks through the door as quietly as she can, slowly pulling it shut behind her so it won't slam.