flashbacks in a film reel || tayjoe

pink ribbons

The cold London air brushed Taylor's cheeks, which were already stained with a pink blush that she'd been too lazy to remove. She buried herself in her over-the-top expensive Stella Mcartney puffer jacket, a jacket draped over her legs. A hint of a smile washed over her face as she noticed small snowflakes slowly begin to drift down from the sky towards the balcony. That has to be a good omen.

She heard the door creak, and a bleary eyed Joe peaked out, "Tay?" She didn't reply, instead opting to nod her head. Joe sighed, making his way towards her, before squatting down so he was at eye level. "Please come back to sleep. We have a long day of traveling tomorrow and I want you to be rested."

Taylor shook her head, tightening her grip on the blanket, "I can't, not right now. I just need to make sure Mom's okay."

Joe put her hand in hers, squeezing gently. "They said it wouldn't be till 10 AM till we know the results of the chemo." She shook her head again. "At least sleep for her. You and I both know Andrea would be happier if when we see her tomorrow, you look rested and alright." That made her pause, before she finally relented. Joe smiled softly, helping her up from the chair. "You look freezing."

"I'm fine," Taylor mumbled, clearly not up for conversation. Joe nodded, silently walking her inside. He let her shake off her jacket as he set up the bed. He had gotten better at detecting when was the right time to talk to her about her mom, and when he should simply let her have her own space. The silence continued as they tucked themselves under the covers.

"Cuddle," Joe offered as he turned out the lights. He knew that though sometimes verbal communication could overwhelm her, physical touch was her love language. There was a silent nod from Taylors side of the bed, and Joe turned to wrap his arms around her, laying a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He just wanted this to all be over.

—

Taylor's knee was bouncing nervously under the weight of Joe's hand. They had flown into Nashville, and now sat in the waiting room of the hospital, in a more private sector so as to not be noticed. Austin sat to the left of Taylor while Scott was next to him.

"I'm scared," She admitted, facing Joe. Before Joe could respond, the doctor stepped out of the hallway, calling for their family.

"Hey," The doctor said, his facial expression blank, revealing nothing. The family awaited anxiously for any piece of news as he led them into a more private office. He sat them all down in large chairs, brown leather covering the cushions.

He took a deep breath before he spoke, and that's when Taylor felt the first wave of panic. "I'm afraid the chemo wasn't effective. The blood cells keep resisting the treatment." She felt her heart physically drop out of her chest. She barely heard as the doctor offered alternative treatments, her body falling into Joe's chest. The chemo didn't work. The chemo didn't work. The chemo didn't work. She heard a muffled panic of voices surround her, and something resembling Joe's arm wrapped around her. Suddenly she began to feel claustrophobic, surrounded by everything, all at once, and it was all too much. Breaking free from Joe's grasp, she speed-walked to the bathroom, ignoring passerbyers as she slammed the bathroom door shut.

Her breaths were rapid and short, her heart feeling as if it was about to pop out of her chest. She heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, but couldn't bother to investigate further. Her elbows rested on the bathroom sink, head in her hands. The chemo didn't work. She tried to compose herself, tried to run through the list of everything her mother would tell her if she was by her side right now. It's going to be okay. There are alternative options. One lost battle doesn't mean a lost war. It's okay. The thoughts cycled through her mind, until finally she reached a calm enough state to be able to look up from her place in the bathroom. She took a longer, deeper breath.