labyrinth | daerin

FOUR: EIGHT OF CUPS

❛ Eight of Cups Reversed
Avoidance / Fear of Change ❜
Nora

・❥・

SPENDING THE DAY OVER AT TAYLOR'S relieved a lot of my stress and fatigue. I took a long, cold shower, had a brilliant spread for breakfast, binged the entire first season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and won a distressingly intense game of poker. My winnings included fifty dollars and almost half of her hard earned snacks, which we munched on until we snoozed, letting the afternoon drift into the mellow embrace of evening.

The sound of rustling wakes me up almost instantly—a con of being a light sleeper. I'd honestly consider it a pro if it applied to my nights of torment. Once I fall asleep, my body loses control, and nothing, no matter how unbearable the nightmare becomes, can wake me up except for the dreaded return of my father every morning from his escapades.

"You're not snacking on my winnings, are you?" I ask, rubbing my eyes as I adjust to the light.

Taylor replies, her words muffled by the sound of her chewing. "No. This happens to be the one and only snack I managed to put away for safekeeping," she explains, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, making me laugh.

"You look like a chipmunk," I tease.

Taylor rolls her eyes, then they immediately widen. "Oh! By the way," she points to my phone sprawled on the bed beside me, "before I forget, you got like forty texts from your mum. Something about therapy and all that..."

I didn't mind Taylor seeing my texts. She knows about therapy, or well, the lack thereof. My mother has been desperately trying to lure me into it, hoping it'll help make the nightmares go away. The idea sounds nice. But this is all me. I know, I'm definite, that even if I did therapy, it wouldn't change anything.

I sigh. "I'm not doing therapy."

Taylor sets her snacks down, concern etched on her face. "You still don't want to?"

I shake my head. There's no need to think or dwell on it. I've never been more definite. "Therapy will just cost me money. What's it supposed to do? I pay some stranger to make my nightmares go away? There's no way that works. It's a scam, Taylor."

I can see she wants to say something, and that something goes against everything I just said, but she doesn't. Instead, she just nods, her silence filled with unspoken words and unvoiced concerns.

"Besides, what difference will it make? It doesn't change the fact that..."

"We don't have to get into it," Taylor interjects gently. "It's a hard topic."

She's right. It is a hard topic. My fingers absently trace the scar on the right side of my face, a physical reminder of the trauma that therapy can't erase. Taylor knows this, respects this, and her restraint in not pushing the matter any further speaks volumes about our friendship.

"Let's just enjoy the evening," she says, her voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "How about we watch another show? Or maybe go for a walk?"

I smile at her suggestion. "A walk sounds nice."
We gather our things, the snacks and the remnants of our poker game, and head out into the evening air. The sun is setting, casting a golden hue over everything, making the world seem softer, kinder. As we walk, I feel a sense of peace settle over me, the weight of my nightmares lifting, if only for a moment.

Taylor chats about her plans for the week, and I listen, grateful for her presence and the normalcy she brings into my life. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainties, but for now, I find solace in the simplicity of this moment, the warmth of a friend's company, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, things can get better.

As we walk back to her house, the sky darkening, I feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, one day, I'll find a way to confront my nightmares. But until then, I have Taylor.

"You should stay the night," Taylor tells me as we walk through the front door. "Because it's not a suggestion. It's more of an order," she adds, making us both laugh.

"Are you sure? What about your parents?" I question, though I've been taking the drive down to their home almost every morning to seek refuge from my own house. They welcome me with open arms, aware, knowing, and yet they don't seem to ever falter or think of me in a negative light. They remind me that I'm a great girl and that I'm nothing like Adam—my father.

"My parents love you, Nora. They practically think you live here with us now," she tells me as we walk down the hall and into the kitchen.

Her parents are often working, so it's just Taylor most nights, and her older brother appears once in a blue moon when he's not at his college dorm halfway across the state doing college guy stuff.

"But I don't," I answer.

"Yeah, but you could." Taylor's brow quirks upward. She's serious. "Like, think about it. If not therapy, why not be here? This house is as much yours as it is mine. Nora, I've known you since we could crawl on our hands and feet. We've known each other so long that I'm convinced there's nothing about you I don't know." Her eyes glimmer with love and care as she looks at me. "I know that Adam can be...fucked in the head..."

"Really fucked," I emphasise.

"But he doesn't care about you enough to check up on you. Because, really, that's just the way he is," Taylor continues. "He only wants you around so he can use you like a Barbie doll that serves him more booze when he can't afford to be at a bar or sniff coke or whatever it is he does..."

Taylor closes the space between us, and I feel her palm against the side of my face. "It would mean the world to me if you said yes. Because if you do, I know that you're safe, and if you're safe, I would feel on top of the world." Her eyes pool with tears, and so do mine. "Even if the nightmares happen, at least I'm here. I'll be beside you, and we can work on it together."

I don't know what I did to deserve Taylor. To have someone care and love you for who you are, despite how fucked up I am and how useless my father is, she still wants me around—no expectations, no questions asked. She just wants me to be loved, to be cared for, to finally be free.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "I'll stay."

Taylor's face lights up with relief and happiness. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of hope. Maybe this is the start of something new, a chance to heal and find peace.

We spent the evening in the comfort of her home, talking about everything and nothing. Her parents come home and greet me warmly, making me feel even more welcome. Taylor's brother, Alex, arrives later and joins us for dinner, adding to the warmth and sense of family that envelops me.

As the night deepens, Taylor sets up a makeshift bed for me in her room. "You know you can have the guest room, right?" she teases.

"I'd rather be here," I admit, grateful for her understanding and support.

We lie in our beds, the room dark except for the soft glow of a nightlight. Taylor starts telling me about her plans for the future, her dreams and hopes, and I listen, feeling a sense of normalcy wash over me.

"Good night, Nora," she says softly.

"Good night, Taylor," I reply, feeling a warmth in my chest that I haven't felt in a long time.

As I close my eyes, I realise that for the first time in months, I'm not dreading the nightmares. With Taylor by my side, I feel stronger, more resilient. Maybe, just maybe, I can face whatever comes my way. And with that comforting thought, I stare up at the wall, curious as to what the new day will bring tomorrow.