Taylor Swift's Point of View
The flickering light from the TV casts long shadows across the living room. Travis and I sit on opposite ends of the couch, a chasm of plush cushions separating us. Even though he's close enough for me to reach out and touch, it feels like miles. The silence is suffocating, punctuated only by the hollow sounds from the movie we're both pretending to watch.
I inch closer, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Tentatively, I reach out, my hand hovering over the space between us. With a deep breath, I close the distance, seeking the familiar comfort of his embrace.
But as soon as my fingers brush against his arm, he tenses up. It's a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, but it sends a jolt through me. I ignore the prickle of unease and press on, scooting closer until my head rests on his shoulder.
He doesn't relax into me. In fact, he feels rigid, like a statue carved from ice. My stomach clenches. This isn't right. This closeness, usually a source of warmth and security, feels strained, forced.
As if sensing my discomfort, Travis awkwardly wraps his arm around me. The gesture feels hollow, a poor imitation of intimacy. We sit in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. The movie plays on in the background, a meaningless blur of color and sound.
I can't take it anymore. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. "Travis," I choke out, my voice thick with emotion. "Is something wrong?"
He glances down at me, his expression a mask of forced cheer. "What? No, everything's fine." But his eyes don't meet mine, and his voice lacks conviction.
Frustration bubbles up inside me, threatening to spill over. "Then why can't you even look at me?" I blurt out, my voice rising. The words tumble out, laced with hurt and anger. "Why can't you stand to be near me?"
"Taylor..." he starts, his voice strained. Maybe there's something he wants to say, but the words get stuck somewhere in his throat. I can't take the silence anymore. It feels like an abyss opening up between us, wider with every passing second.
Taking a deep breath, I blurt out the question that's been burning a hole in my heart. "Is there...is there another woman?" The words sound harsh even to my own ears, but I need an answer.
The air hangs heavy with his unconvincing denial. "Of course not," he mutters, but his eyes dart away, refusing to meet mine. That flicker of pain that crossed his face earlier - was it regret, or something else entirely?
A new, sickening possibility slithers into my mind. "Then why the distance, Travis?" My voice trembles, a fragile thread caught in the storm of emotions churning within me. "I love you with everything I have, but it feels like you're a million miles away."
Tears prick my eyes, blurring the slumped form of Travis across from me. "Is it work? Is that what's eating you?" My voice hangs heavy in the air, a desperate plea for any truth he's willing to offer.
He hesitates, his jaw clenching for a moment before a slow nod escapes him. "Yeah," he whispers, "work's been a nightmare. This season's been brutal, stressing me out more than I can explain."
But his carefully constructed lie crumbles under my unwavering gaze. "I've been at every game, Travis," I counter, my voice stronger now, laced with a steely resolve I didn't know I possessed. "You haven't even glanced our way all season."
He sighs, defeated. "I don't know what you want from me."
"Just love me," I finally say, the words thick with emotion. "Just be here with me, because...because I need you to." They come out heavier than I intended, laying bare the raw truth of how lost I feel without his love.
