The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

16

TAYLOR SWIFT
Harry and I seemed like the perfect couple. Outwardly, we appeared deeply in love and inseparable. He adored me and was fiercely protective, but my feelings were a complex deception. I believed I was in love with him, but it was an illusion, a longing for the safety and security he offered. This unhealthy dynamic made me completely reliant on him.

Lost and terrified, my world was a chaotic nightmare. Harry became my sole anchor, my savior. To survive, I clung to him, but at a devastating cost. I became a burden, consuming his resources without reciprocation. My self-esteem was shattered, and I sought constant validation from him. His unwavering love couldn't fill the void, and I inadvertently destroyed his life.

I played the victim while he assumed the heroic role. His caretaking reinforced my feelings of helplessness, creating a vicious cycle of dependency. Harry craved a deep emotional connection, finding purpose in being needed and valued. His savior complex mirrored my belief in my own incompetence. Our relationship was a toxic blend of manipulation and love.

On the surface, it was a classic hero-and-victim narrative. In reality, I was living a parasitic existence, while draining the host of his life.

It was finally 2014, and Harry's 20th birthday had arrived. There was an awkward age difference between us—one that others might have found unsettling—but I had a habit of dating men who weren't my age. As if I was searching for some elusive quality that only they could offer. It wasn't something I was proud of; in fact, it only served as a reminder of my questionable choices when it came to relationships. I knew, deep down, that I was bad at picking men, but I couldn't help myself.

Harry and I had been dating for about three months, and already, I was clinging to him like a lifeline. My feelings for him were overwhelming, consuming even. I was completely infatuated, and the thought of being apart from him made my chest tighten with anxiety. To be closer to him, I made the impulsive decision to buy a house in London. It was a bold move, one that might have scared off someone else. But not Harry. Instead of pulling away, he found it endearing that I wanted to be with him so often. His acceptance only fueled my dependence on him, deepening my sense of urgency in the relationship. We were moving fast—too fast, perhaps—but I couldn't slow down. I didn't want to.

In my eyes, Harry was perfect. I idealized him to the point where he became more than just a boyfriend; he was my obsession, my addiction. He felt like a drug—something I craved constantly, something I needed to function. We were inseparable, our lives intertwined to the extent that we barely had our own identities anymore. We were no longer just Harry and me; we were Taylor + Harry, a unit that everyone expected to see together. It was assumed that wherever Harry was, I would be, and wherever I went, he would follow. We were a package deal, and there was no room for anything or anyone else in our world.

But beneath the surface of our intense bond, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. We were moving too fast, blurring the lines between love and dependency, and I wondered if we were headed for disaster. Still, I pushed those thoughts aside, too wrapped up in the thrill of it all to care about the consequences. For now, it was enough to be with him, to be his, and to lose myself in the intoxicating whirlwind of our relationship.

How did you not realize how unhealthy that was?" Alice cuts in, her eyes wide with disbelief.

I pause, taking a sip of my wine. "Probably from how much sex we were having."

Alice chokes on her water, her face turning a deep shade of red. "What!?"

I smirk. "It was a lot. Like, a lot. Daily. Even though everything else was a mess, physically we were on fire. I'm surprised I didn't end up pregnant."