[ ᴛᴀᴠʏᴠɪs ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs ]

its not what I meant (Pt 1) (tw)

triggers for hitting, and mentions of ED. (in a flashback i stole from my story)

also a panic attack.

...

TAYLORS POV:

Travis had come home with an aura of heaviness that weighed down the atmosphere, his movements sluggish and his demeanor withdrawn. It was evident that something was amiss as he retreated to the bedroom without a word, shutting himself off from the world.

Despite the tension lingering in the air, I persisted in my efforts to bring a sense of normalcy to our evening. With his favorite dinner prepared and the table set with care, I approached the closed door of our bedroom, my heart heavy with concern.

"Travis?" I rapped lightly on the door, my voice tentative.

A low groan emanated from the other side, signaling his reluctance to engage.

Summoning my courage, I pushed open the door, revealing Travis slouched on the bed, his expression clouded with frustration.

"What is it, Taylor?" His tone was curt, the use of my full name sending a shiver down my spine.Unnerved by his sudden shift in demeanor, I faltered for a moment before speaking.

 "Dinner's ready," I offered quietly, hoping to break through the barrier he had erected around himself.

"I don't want it. I just want to sleep." His words were sharp, cutting through the air with a bitterness that stung.

My heart sank at his rejection, the hurt evident in my eyes as I struggled to comprehend his sudden aversion.

"But it's your favorite—" I began, my voice trailing off as he interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I don't care," he snapped, his frustration palpable.

Retreating from the room, I fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. This wasn't 

like him, I reasoned, clinging desperately to the belief that this was just a temporary setback, a rough patch that we would overcome together.

Descending the stairs, I found solace on the couch, the scent of the meal I had prepared now a bitter reminder of the rift that had formed between us. As I curled up into a ball, grappling with the echoes of past pain that resurfaced in my mind.

...

It had been a somber and rain-drenched day in Los Angeles, a fitting backdrop to the storm brewing within the confines of our home. I had hoped for a simple date night with Joe, a chance to reconnect amidst the chaos of our lives. But his refusal and the intensity of his gaze hinted at something far darker lurking beneath the surface.

His eyes smoldered with a barely-contained rage, a familiar sight that sent shivers down my spine. I suspected he had turned to the bottle again, seeking solace in its numbing embrace. Despite my misgivings, I acquiesced to his demands, retreating to the kitchen to prepare his favorite meal, a feeble attempt to placate the storm brewing within him.

The air crackled with tension as I navigated the kitchen, my movements careful and measured. His impatience hung heavy in the air, his gruff voice slicing through the silence like a blade.

"Hurry up, I'm starving!" His words were laced with irritation, punctuated by the sharp sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty house as he accessed the flight of stairs.