Broken Records | Tayley

Chapter 4: Remnants of the Past

Hayley's POV

The morning light streamed through my bedroom window, casting a soft glow across the room. I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the small wooden box in front of me. Inside were the remnants of a life that I was trying to let go of—a life that had once felt so certain, so perfect, but now seemed like a distant, painful memory.

I opened the box, my fingers brushing over the items inside. Photos, little mementos, and tucked away in a small velvet pouch, my wedding ring. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled the ring out, holding it in the palm of my hand.

It was a symbol of the promises we made, of the life we were supposed to build together. But now, it felt like a relic of something that never really existed—at least, not in the way I had thought.

For weeks after the divorce, I hadn't been able to take it off. It was as if removing it would somehow erase everything, would confirm that all those years we had spent together had been for nothing. But deep down, I knew that holding onto it was only prolonging the pain, keeping me tethered to a past that no longer served me.

With a deep breath, I placed the ring in the box, letting my fingers linger on the smooth surface for just a moment before closing the lid. It was time to move on, to start rebuilding my life without the weight of those memories dragging me down.

But it wasn't just the ring that haunted me. The tattoos on the inside of my fingers, Chad's initials inked into my skin, were a constant reminder of the promises I had believed in so fiercely.

How naïve that seemed now.

I had been avoiding looking at the tattoos, keeping my hands hidden whenever I could, but they were always there, a ghost of the past that refused to fade. I knew I needed to do something about them, to reclaim my body and my identity from the shadows of a relationship that had nearly destroyed me.

One afternoon, I found myself walking into a tattoo studio, the same one where I had gotten the initials inked in the first place. The artist, a kind woman with a gentle smile, listened as I explained what I wanted to do.

"I want to cover these up," I said, holding out my hands for her to see.

She examined the tattoos, her eyes thoughtful. "What were you thinking for the cover-up?"

I thought for a moment, trying to find something that would symbolize my need to reclaim myself, to create something new out of the pain. "I want something simple, something that's just about starting over."

After a pause, I suggested, "Maybe just black squares. They don't have to mean anything—they can just be there, like a blank canvas."

The artist nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I can do that. Sometimes simplicity says more than anything else."

As she worked, the buzz of the needle filling the quiet room, I felt a strange sense of relief. Each square that replaced the initials was a step away from the past, a small act of reclaiming my body, my story.

When the tattoos were finally finished, I stared down at my hands. The black squares were stark against my pale skin, unadorned and unapologetic. They weren't meant to be beautiful or symbolic—they were just there, a reminder that I could rewrite my own narrative, that I didn't have to be defined by what had come before.

Later that afternoon, Zac swung by my place with a six-pack of soda, his usual cheeky grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, stranger," I greeted him with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. "What's with the soda?"

He shrugged, his grin widening. "Thought we could use a sugar rush. Plus, it's been too long since we had a proper chill session."

I laughed, genuinely happy to see him. It felt good, having him around. Things hadn't always been easy between us, but Zac had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, a little less heavy.

We settled into the living room, Alf curling up beside me as usual, his head resting on my lap. I absentmindedly stroked his fur as we talked, catching up on everything and nothing. It felt good, just being there with him, no pressure, no expectations. Just friends, hanging out like we used to.

At one point, Zac glanced down at my hands, his brow furrowing in curiosity. "Hey, did you get those covered up?"

I held out my hands, showing him the small black squares that now adorned my fingers, covering the tattoos that had once been a constant reminder of my past. "Yeah," I said, my voice soft. "It was about time."

Zac leaned in, examining the tattoos with a thoughtful expression. "These are cool," he said, genuinely impressed. "It's like a fresh start."

"Yeah," I replied, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. "It feels... liberating, you know? Like I'm finally starting to let go of everything."

Zac nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good. You deserve that, Hayley."

We spent the rest of the afternoon just hanging out, talking about everything and nothing, the way we always did. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was starting to move forward, starting to find my way back to myself.

But as much as I was trying to heal, there were still moments when the weight of everything threatened to pull me back under. And that's where Taylor came in.