Stolen Memories [Tayvis Fanfiction]

GUILTY

Five Weeks Later
December 13th; 2018
Taylor Swift's Point of View
As I step into the dimly lit club, my birthday barely registers in my mind, overshadowed by a relentless wave of anxiety that seems to engulf my every thought. Normally, I'd opt for something classier to mark the occasion, but tonight, in an attempt to escape my troubles, I find myself in a trashy club, where the pulsating music and flashing lights serve as a temporary distraction.

Amidst the chaos of the club, Joe and I, usually inseparable, find ourselves drifting apart. He tries to engage me in conversation, but I deflect his attempts, retreating into the crowd until he gives up. It's a pattern I've fallen into recently, avoiding him and burying my own feelings beneath a facade of indifference.

Summoning a sliver of courage, I approach Joe, a half-empty cosmo in hand, and fabricate an excuse to step away, handing him my drink. It's a fleeting moment of normalcy in a sea of chaos. As I hurry towards the bathroom, the cacophony of the club only intensifies, graffiti adorning the walls like a testament to its grungy atmosphere. It's a far cry from the upscale venues I'd usually frequent.

Inside the bathroom, the scene is equally dismal, the stench of disinfectant barely masking the underlying filth. With a sense of dread gnawing at my insides, I lift the toilet seat, my body convulsing with nausea. The sickness that has plagued me for days erupts once more, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within.

As I empty the contents of my stomach, the reality of my situation hits me like a freight train. It's been weeks since my period was due, and the signs are impossible to ignore: tender breasts, persistent vomiting, and the gnawing fear that I might be pregnant. Yet, even in the midst of this realization, I cling to the solace of intoxication, a temporary reprieve from the overwhelming uncertainty that looms over me.

You might be wondering why I'm drinking when I'm suspecting I could be pregnant. Well, to put it bluntly, I'm not in the mood for your unsolicited opinions. The thought of being pregnant by some man I can't t even remember is terrifying and drowning those fears in alcohol seems like the only way to cope in this moment. So, to those questioning my decisions, I have one thing to say: I don't care.

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11 Days later

The cool porcelain toilet offers little relief as I retch for what feels like the hundredth time today. Joe is holding my hair back while I cough and gag. The vomit burns my esophagus and I try to breathe.

I wipe my mouth weakly, the exhaustion of weeks of relentless vomiting weighing heavily on me. "I can't keep doing this," I mutter, sinking to the floor in defeat.

Joe's touch is gentle as he checks for signs of fever, his concern etched into the furrow of his brow. "You feel normal, Taylor," he reassures me.

"I don't know. Maybe it's food poisoning. That Thai definitely didn't sit right with either of us a few days ago." I try and find reason in the book, but Joe's somber expression tells me otherwise.

"I went to the chemist this morning. You don't have to take them, but you have the option." His words hang heavy in the air as he returns with a box of pregnancy tests. "I think I know how you feel about this," he murmurs, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "but just know it'll be okay."

"I'm not pregnant." I weakly protest, desperately clinging to the thin veil of denial, I feel a torrent of emotions crashing over me. The mere thought of being pregnant sends waves of panic and fear coursing through my veins. I try to convince myself that it's impossible, that there must be some other explanation for the symptoms I'm experiencing. But deep down, I know the truth. The timeline adds up, and the signs are undeniable, but there's one lingering problem. Joe and I hadn't had sex in this timeline because we were fighting so much. He wouldn't be the father.