Jaylor / Taylor Swift One shots

Broken Hearts

Joe is still asleep when she wakes the next morning. His blonde hair is splayed across the pillow, and his face shows no sign of stress. He looks like he slept like a baby.

While he sleeps, she thinks; she plans . She knows what he did and now she has to decide what she's going to do about it.

She quietly crawls out of bed and heads to their shared closet. Slowly, with shaking hands and a fire burning in her heart, she begins to empty out his belongings. She carefully folds his shirts and trousers, then gathers his ties, cufflinks, and his collection of expensive watches. She puts the items in a box she found under the bed, and begins to collect his shoes and jackets. After packing those away as well, she moves on to his more personal items—journals, photographs, his favorite blanket. One that they know the warmth of very well as they lay cuddled in it many nights enjoying eachothers presence.

But no. Not this time, now she only feels its betrayal.

Making her way through their shared mansion, she grabs anything that reminds her of him. She takes hold of a lyric book he gifted her a few months prior, running her hands across the cover. A few stray tears drop onto the leather bound book and she shakes herself from her moment of weakness. He doesn't deserve her tears.

She collects his favorite coffee cups and a magnet on the fridge from their trip to the Lakes. She takes down the paintings he hung on the walls and the theater tickets sitting on the coffee table. She gathers his belongings for another hour before she has five boxes filled with the memories of their five years together.

He finds her sitting on the couch a few hours later, staring blankly at a book in her lap. He moves through the kitchen, and she hears him open a cabinet door.

"Have you seen my mug? The white one with the butterfly on it?"

She's still staring at her book, refusing to look at him. "Yes, it's in one of the boxes by the door."

She can feel him looking at her now. Can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of her head.

"Why is it in a box?"

He's walking into the living room, and her heart is pounding in her chest. She can see him in her peripheral, and she knows he's looking at the boxes.

"Taylor? Why is all of my stuff in boxes?"

She closes her book now, setting it on the coffee table and turning to look at him for the first time. "Where were you last night?"

She can see when he pieces it together. His whole body stiffens and his face drains of all color.

"I- I went to Patrick's house." He stutters through his sentence, and she can see his fingers are beginning to shake.

"Is that all?" She's angry now—has been all morning—but she composes herself. She needs to hear him say it.

His eyes are locked on the boxes on the floor, she can see him take shallow breaths.

"At least look at me if you plan to lie." Her voice is hard, monotone.

His head snaps up, his gaze is on her now. She can see the faint tears forming in his eyes, and it kills her not to rush to him and take him in her arms.

"I'm so sorry." It's soft, a whisper so quiet she has to strain her ears to hear him; but she hears him nonetheless.

"Get out." Her voice is strong now, stronger than she feels.

"Taylor please,—"

His voice is shaking but she cuts him off before he can say anything else. "Get out!"