Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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I spent the entire next week stuck inside my own head, as if I hadn't already spent the last eighteen years there.
I'm used to being painfully buried in my thoughts. So far so that each figment felt like my own personal prison at one point, a holding cell full of the worst things I could possibly think—true and false—about myself and others. My thoughts have kept me as their captive, bound to them and torturing me into submission. And at my lowest point I found myself in a place where I would have done anything to free myself. Every possible escape route led to the same place, though, and it only promised temporary consolation. The thoughts never really disappearing for good.
But then The Incident happened, forcing me to deal with the demons in a more permanent way. I became no longer able to compartmentalize and pretend that I wasn't, in fact, drowning.
This week however, I found myself compartmentalizing yet again. Uncontrollable emotions have controlled me, but this time for a totally different reason. A shiny new case has been built inside my brain over the past few weeks, just big enough for two green eyes and a pair of dusty old cowboy boots.
I've spent days pushing away any thought of him, trying to recreate that version of Taylor in my head that originally took up space. The version where he was nothing more than a carbon copy of my brother and father, just a football playing asshole with no regard for other human life.
It feels like just days ago he was still someone who couldn't possibly care to know the ins and outs of me. I was someone to be overlooked in a crowded room, unnoticed and unwanted. But Taylor has proven that I'm not invisible to him. He sees me with rose colored lenses. He makes it seem like I'm not so bad to be around.
It's a feeling that has turned mutual.
As it turns out, I may be the one with blush colored vision, seeing Taylor now as something more than a cowboy with questionable morals and rapidly decreasing brain cells. A new version of him has taken shape in my head.
I didn't understand it at first, why the thoughts continued to spring to the front of my mind. An epiphany in the form of my leather bound journal poking out from beneath a stack of miscellaneous things on my desk. It was a small glimpse of relief, a long sigh after an unbelievably exhausting day. Thoughts of Taylor have demanded to be dealt with.
I found myself, for the first time in years, overcome with the need to write it down. To commit it to my memory. I wished I had taken a picture of him, of us, or at the very least the light brown of the milkshake we shared. Anything to commemorate the moment I realized I didn't hate him. Or the fact that I didn't mind it. It was the moment I realized I'm not as alone here as I feel sometimes.
When I arrive for our next session, this new found outlook fresh in my brain, I'm not sure what to expect. Part of me thinks he will come in and fuck with me in typical Taylor fashion. Continuing the plot to find any and every way to get out of doing his job.
