blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{6} you're tied together with a "smirk" but you're coming undone

Taylor's POV:

Monday morning arrives like a freight train, hitting me full force with the weight of reality. The alarm blares, and I force myself up, my body protesting as if it knows what's coming. My head pounds—more from the anxiety gnawing at me than from any lingering hangover. I spent the whole weekend trying not to think about Friday night, about the hazy blur of the club, the pounding music, and the mistakes I made.

Travis.

His name flashes in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could wipe it all away. My colleague, my friend—someone I've laughed with over staff meetings and late-night grading sessions. Now, he's the person I hooked up with in a bathroom stall. A bathroom stall, for God's sake. It's like I wasn't even thinking, like I was someone else for those few reckless minutes.

I can't afford to let it mess with my head today. I pull on my usual black dress pants and a simple button-down blouse, something that makes me feel in control, like I can hide behind the fabric and pretend I'm fine. The familiar scent of my favorite yoghurt wafts through my tiny apartment as I open the fridge, and I almost reach for it—but then I hesitate, calculating the calories, the way it will fill my stomach, making me feel heavy and unbalanced. Instead, I take a few sips of water, the coldness grounding me, and leave for school.

The way feels longer today. The air is crisp, the kind that sneaks under your coat and bites at your skin. It's like the city knows how unsettled I am, and I'm not sure if I prefer the sting of the cold or the quiet buzz of dread creeping in.

I reach the school and head straight for my classroom, clutching my stack of papers like they're a shield. If I can just make it through the first hour without seeing him, I'll be okay. But, of course, the universe has other plans.

As I turn the corner near the teacher's lounge, I almost collide with him. Travis, in his usual gray sweater, his eyes lighting up when he sees me—until they dim, his expression shifting into something awkward, uncertain. He opens his mouth to say something, but I'm already panicking.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is gentle, too gentle.

"Hey." I force a smile, hoping it's enough to convince him I'm fine. "Sorry, I—uh—gotta get to class." I try to move past him, but he steps in my path, blocking my escape.

"Taylor, wait." His eyes search mine, and there's this hesitancy there, like he's waiting for me to say something that will make everything okay again. "About Friday night—"

"It's fine," I cut in, my voice sharp. "We don't have to talk about it."

He looks taken aback, and I instantly regret my tone, but I can't let myself dwell on it. If I stop, if I let myself think about what happened, I'll spiral. "It was just... a mistake. We were both drunk." I try to keep my voice light, like it's no big deal.

Travis's expression tightens, and I can see the hurt there, the way he presses his lips together before nodding. "Right. Just a mistake." His tone is flat, and he steps aside, letting me pass. "See you later, I guess."

"Yeah, see you." I walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last. I hate the way my chest tightens, the way I feel like I've ruined something. But I can't let myself dwell on it. I push it down, shoving the guilt and the embarrassment into that familiar, dark corner of my mind.

By the time I get to my classroom, I've got my mask back on—teacher mode, the version of me that's always in control, always composed. The bell rings, and the students trickle in, filling the room with the usual chatter and energy. I breathe out slowly, reminding myself that this is my safe space. Here, I'm the one in charge. Here, I can pretend everything's fine.