Match Maker | T. Swift x OC

Chapter Eight

Hope the spelling mistakes don't bother you too much

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September, 2016

Mallory was plunged into a nightmare once more. Which was weird because she had fallen asleep with Taylor cuddled into her side. Maybe Taylor had left the bed seconds before Mallory was thrown into the memory.

Either way, she hated what she was reliving. Seventeen year old Mallory was sobbing into her knees as her friend frowned at her. Lea's eyes showered her in love, but they were still condescending. She loathed her.

"Why did you do that?" Mallory cried out, looking up, "I have a girlfriend, Lea. You know that!"

Lea blinked before scoffing, "Natalie?" She asked, wiping her lip. It had been admittedly stained pink by Mallory's light lipstick. "How do you know she's not out doing the same thing with that guy?"

Mallory shook her head rapidly, "No. No, no. She loves me. She wouldn't- I wouldn't- Why did you kiss me?"

"Why didn't you push me away?" Lea shot back. Mallory stammered for an answered, "Because you don't know if you love her or me."

Her head shook again. The one thing that she knew was that she loved Natalie. She was her best friend, the reason she was alive.

Lea grabbed Mallory's face in her hands once more, pulling her into another kiss. Mallory didn't fight against it, nor did she welcome it. She just sat there and took it.

"Mal?" The brunette shivered awake and looked at Taylor, "I think you're sick, you were shivering and sweating when I woke up so I got you water and some tylenols."

Mallory looked at the pills and water skeptically, mumbling out a small, "Thanks."

Taylor placed the two pills and bottled water on the bedside table, running her hands through Mallory's hair, it was about 5.5 inches long now, it had grown a lot. She hummed, "I'm going to get a shower."

Mallory nodded weakly and Taylor smiled, getting up. Once the door shut, Mallory pushed herself up and looked at the table. A glass left from the night before would have to do. She began crushing the pills before taking her finger and pushing them into one line. Glancing at the en-suite door, she leaned forward, inhaling the powder.

The brunette threw her head back onto the pillow, wiping her nose with her wrist. Of course she was sick, it was just her luck. It didn't take long for her to hear a familiar song being sung through the walls- The Frozen Man by James Taylor. She sighed, using her arm to wipe off the pill residue from the bedside table.

Forcing herself up, Mallory trudged to the kitchen. She made her the kitchen, immediately cursing at the lack of her favourite kitchen appliance, "Bloody Americans. Fucking Prats. Who doesn't have a kettle?" She murmured, searching through the cupboards before breaking down, "fucking hell. And now I'm crying over tea, great."

She wasn't sure how long she was wallowing in her pity on the kitchen floor before Taylor came in and saw her looking blankly at the tiled floor. The echo of Taylor's steps caught her attention, but she didn't look up. "I'm not sick," She whispered.

"What?" Taylor frowned in confusion, sitting next to her.

"I'm having an episode. Or I'm relapsing. One or the other, I don't care for the names." Mallory shrugged, dragging her fingers along the lines.

"Oh. When- When was the last time you spoke to Dr. Burns?"

Mallory choked on her words, "I think, July?"