all the stars aligned

weary bones caught the chill - part 4 (tw)

ok i am well aware that my lack of writing is downright annoying and for some reason i just don't have the motivation sometimes bc everythings just too much yk? but i love this story and where its going so heres the next chapter, hope you like it! pls comment bc i love talking to you guys it gives me a reason to keep writing. this short mini-series is geting sort of repetitive and i'm stuck for ideas, so i may write different things that aren't a part of "weary bones caught the chill" (this may be the last in this mini-series) if you want to read more than just this for this mini-series and dont think this is a satisfying ending, then feel free to drop prompts or ideas! also if you have any ideas for other one-shots or mini-series within this book then comment the ideas too! love you all!! xx

Taylor knew Travis well enough to know by the sound of his breath that he was awake. She also knew him well enough to know that he knew she was awake. So they lay there, both uncomfortably aware of eachothers consciousness, yet too afraid to utter a word. 

Taylor's leg throbbed, like there was a heart in there that was constantly reminding her what she had done. She imagined the pulse in her thigh was speaking to her, each beat a bad thought weaseling it's way into her head. 

Thump Thump

You bitch

Thump thump

Fat pig

Thump thump

Li-ar

Thump thump

Her breath quickened and her hand found the new slit in her thigh. She pressed down hard, and felt the warm blood soaking through the bandage that Travis had wound around her leg. Her vision went white, and she must have made a noise, because Travis placed his arm on her waist and opened his eyes, reaching to turn on the lamp with his other hand. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah" she said, moving her hand off of her thigh, now that the thoughts had cleared. "My leg hurts, I'm gonna get some aspirin." 

He nods, concern in his eyes, as he watches her leave the room. What he doesn't see is the fresh blood dotting the silk of her pajama pants. 

Taylor made her way down the hallway, her steps quick and quiet. The dim glow of the kitchen light felt harsher than usual, and she winced as it illuminated the small trail of crimson seeping through the fabric. She knew she should have just taken the aspirin and gone back to bed, but instead, her feet took her to the counter where she kept the knives.

She stared at the drawer for a moment, her breath hitching as she gripped the handle and pulled it open. The blades gleamed up at her, taunting her with their familiarity. Her fingers twitched, and she reached for the one she had hidden away before—the same knife Travis had taken from her just last night.

It was back in the drawer now, like an unspoken challenge.

Her hand closed around the handle, and she felt the weight of it—heavy and cold in her palm. She held it up, her pulse pounding in her ears, louder and faster than the beat of her wounded leg. She could almost hear the whispers again, feel the darkness closing in. The knife trembled in her grasp as the urge to press it against her skin surged up like a tidal wave, crashing over her.

Just one cut, she thought. One cut to stop the noise.

But then, she thought of Travis. Of the way his eyes had looked at her when he saw her last night, full of fear and horror. How he'd stayed awake to make sure she was okay, how he'd been there for her even when she tried to push him away.

She swallowed hard, a sob catching in her throat as she realized what she was doing. She had promised herself, if only for a moment, that she would try. If not for herself, than for him. She knew she couldn't fix it all at once, she couldn't eat, she couldn't stop bruising herself, she knew that, but cutting she could stop. She promised herself that.

She stared at the knives. 

They stared back at her. 

Tears blurred her vision as she dropped the knife onto the counter, the clang of metal startling in the quiet kitchen. Her legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, pressing her back against the cabinets. She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her arms tightly around herself as if to hold the pieces together.

After what felt like an eternity, she forced herself to get up. She took the knife in trembling hands and, with a deep breath, stumbled back down the hallway to their bedroom. Travis was sitting up now, alarm in his eyes as he saw her standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the kitchen.

"Taylor?" His voice was laced with fear, and he got out of bed, moving toward her.

She took a shaky step forward and held out the knife, her hand trembling. "I almost did it again," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't, but I almost..."

Travis took the knife from her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did. He set it down on the nightstand and then pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as she cried.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm trying. I really am." 

She gestures to the knife now placed on the corner of the nightstand.

"This is me trying."

His hand cradled the back of her head, and he kissed her hair softly. "I know, Tay," he murmured. "I'm so proud of you. Thank you for giving me the knife. It must have been so hard."

She nods and buries her face deeper into his chest.

"I'm so, so proud of you." He repeats.

Taylor felt the weight of his words settle over her like a blanket, warm and heavy. She didn't know if she could believe him, if she could believe in herself. But as they stood there in the dim light, holding each other close, she decided that maybe, just maybe, she could try again tomorrow.