Because Hearts Get Broken

Alone

A few weeks later Taylor slouches on the couch of her NY apartment, glass of wine in hand. It is not an alien image to her cats that, unsettled by her mood, are keeping their distance.

The past weeks have felt like a single, endless day filled with forced smiles and repetitive rituals: games where she feigned excitement, dinners with friends where her laughter was the loudest, and outfit fits and pap walks that felt like a chore.

Outside, the façade remains unbroken, but inside, sadness and loneliness are taking hold. And it doesn't matter how much she tells herself that she's happy or that she's made it- those thoughts seem to no longer have any impact on her mood.

The alcohol clouded her mind about an hour ago, making her anxiety sharper and her emotions volatile.

It has been a long day.

For starters; She shouldn't be here.

She should be in Kansas. With her boyfriend. Showing face at his game. But she is not.

It had taken a whole day of arguing with her family and her team, "we will all go with you, you will be fine dear."

She wasn't fine. She knew the moment she woke up. She felt on edge, not in control. The toll of her responsibilities, the strain of having to keep appearances feeling heavier than ever. And she knew she couldn't do it.

She had ended up in a shouting match with all of them, her voice cracking with frustration as she pleaded for them to understand. Until the exhaustion and stress had driven her to throw them all out of her apartment.

Now all she feels is guilt for putting herself first, for letting her personal struggles affect those she cares the most about, and her brand.

She is terrified of what they all may be thinking of her. They are surely talking and whispering about her right now; worried and concerned for different reasons. Because what if she has lost it again. She seems so unstable. She can't see things clearly. She will ruin it all. And her tears fall.

She picks up the phone next to her on the sofa, her hands trembling, and dials Harry's number.

When he answers, his voice is immediately concerned. "Hello?"

She never calls him. He is the one texting and initiating conversation always.

"H-Harry," Taylor slurs slightly, her voice wavering. "I—sorry. I didn't know who else to call."

Harry's heart tightens. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I... I don't know," she admits, her words coming out in a jumble. "Everything's a mess. I should be with him. I'm not. I can't do it... I can't even deal with this stupid public pressure. I feel like I am losing it and everyone's going to turn against me. They will hate me..." she clumsily dries silent tears from her face.

"I won't turn on you, you know that" he soothes her, hoping it would be enough for her to not feel so isolated.

Taylor's second phone keeps buzzing with incoming messages and missed calls. Her boyfriend's name flashes repeatedly on the screen. Frustrated, she tosses the phone aside, sending it skidding across the floor. And that seems to give her the energy required to continue.

"I had to get my team off my back. I kicked them out of my apartment and locked myself in. They wanted me to go there, but I swear I couldn't, Harry..." she explains to him apologetically, "I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move and they kept telling me it would be fine once I was on my way..." She pauses to catch her breath.