𝙄𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙨 | Taylor Swift | WLW

13

Bea tore across the busy streets of New York with all the city lights blurring together in some kind of kaleidoscope of colours. She gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity as her face streamed with tears down while ragged breaths hitched into hiccups. The ringing of her phone, practically nonstop in the cup holder, was just a jarring reminder of what she was running away from. Nathan's name flashed across the screen, each call a jab of guilt and fear. Of course, he would be angry, hurt, and confused, but she just could not face him right now, not after all that happened.

The guard at Taylor's building had let her through, recognizing her car, and the heavy wrought-iron gate slid open with an expensive mechanical hum. Bea took another deep breath, wiping at her face with the back of her hand as she pulled in among the ranks of Mercedes in the underground parking garage. She couldn't let anybody see her like this; particularly not Taylor.

Bea leaned over to pick up her stuff from the passenger seat as she slung her shoulder bag over her shoulder, shaking. For one more moment, she looked into the rearview mirror at her reflection, her eyes red and puffy from the weeping. "Get yourself together, Bea," she whispered, barely audible. "You fucking idiot."

The walk to Taylor's penthouse was a complete blur; somehow her feet knew how to walk on autopilot as she rode the elevator to the top. Standing outside of her door, heart pounding in her chest, she brought her hand up and knocked. The soft rap of her knuckles against the wood echoed down the quiet hallway, and she held her breath, waiting.

The door opened, and there was Taylor, a bright smile on her face that faltered the moment her eyes landed on Bea. "Bea, what's wrong?" Taylor asked as she pulled her into a tight hug.

Bea clung to Taylor, shaking, racking sobs trapped inside her. She couldn't explain, not yet. She held on and gained some strength from Taylor's warmth, from the steady beat of her heart.

Taylor flinched somewhat from the strength in Bea's grasp, but she said nothing, only clutched her tighter. "It's all right," she murmured. "You're safe now."

A moment later, Bea drew back, her eyes cast downward as she whispered, "I'm sorry, Tay. I didn't mean to—"

Taylor shushed her calmly, as she motioned her inside the penthouse: "There's nothing to apologise about, you're clearly hurting. Come on, sit down."

They walked into the large living room where city lights spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bea plopped herself onto the plush velvet sofa; her body felt heavy and leaden. On her lap landed Benjamin, Taylor's cat, who lay purring steadily as she stroked his soft fur.

A few minutes later, Taylor vanished into the kitchen and came back with two steaming mugs of tea, which she handed to Bea; gratefully, she grasped it as the heat seeped into her cold hands.

"Thank you," Bea said with a barely heard whisper.

Taylor sat beside her, their legs touching, a silent gesture of support. "There's nothing to be thankful for, Bea. I'm just glad you're here." She glanced into Bea's lap to find a little smile playing upon her mouth. "I think you've got a good friend there."

Bea's eyes found Benjamin's, he stared back, wide open, in a trusting manner. A faint smile showed before all that weight of emotions came, in tidal waves, crashing upon her once again.

Taylor's face was set in a frown, her brow furrowed as if she were walking around, worried. "Bea, what's wrong? I'm beginning to get really concerned."

Bea stuttered while her hand closed tighter on the mug, battling for the right words. Then she looked up, and her eyes met Taylor's, that flutter in her chest suddenly felt real with such a gaze.