blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{8} I watch all my bridges burn to the ground

November 2016
Taylor's POV:

The next few weeks pass in a blur of lesson plans, late-night grading, and the same familiar routines. I'm stuck in a loop, where every day feels like the one before it, but at the same time, I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Travis to corner me, waiting for Aurora to push me over the edge again, waiting for something to shift.

Aurora, of course, is still Aurora. In class, she gives me that same defiant look, like she's daring me to snap, and she always finds a way to push the limits just enough to stay out of real trouble. But I notice the little things—how she's always lingering a second longer at the end of class, or how she sometimes looks like she's about to say something before shaking her head and brushing past me.

Sometimes I catch her staring out the window, her gaze distant and heavy, and I wonder what she's thinking about. There are moments when I almost forget to be her teacher, when the urge to ask if she's okay, to reach out, feels like a weight in my chest. But I remind myself that it's not my place. I'm her teacher, not her friend.

Still, there's this tension between us that I can't quite ignore. During another detention, she makes some sarcastic comment about the assignment I've given her—an essay on an author she clearly doesn't care about—and instead of firing back, I just laugh. Her eyes flash with surprise, and for a moment, she looks almost... softer, like she's unsure of what to do with my reaction. The silence that follows is heavy, but I catch myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there's so much more to her than the front she's putting up.

Outside of school, things feel just as unsettled. Travis tries to talk to me several times, but I keep dodging him. Every time I see him in the hallway or the teachers' lounge, my stomach twists, and I find a reason to slip away before he can bring up that night at the club. I don't want to talk about it, not with him, and especially not with the way my mind keeps drifting to Aurora. I don't know why she's taken up so much space in my head, but she's there, like an echo I can't shake.

I keep myself busy to avoid thinking too much—late nights working through piles of essays and early mornings when I barely touch my breakfast, the fear of the calories always gnawing at me. Sometimes, when the weight of it all feels too heavy, I pull out my guitar and let my fingers move over the strings. It's like finding pieces of myself that I lose during the day. I play the songs I've written, the ones I still don't have the courage to share with anyone, and imagine a life where I'm brave enough to take a step into that direction, to be more than just Taylor, the high school teacher.

On Friday after school, I stay late in my classroom, the guitar on my lap, and I'm strumming a melody that's been stuck in my head for days while softly singing along.

"Tell me, when did your winning smile
Begin to look like a smirk?
When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?
I hope she'll be a beautiful fool
Who takes my spot next to you
No, I didn't mean that
Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury
You haven't met the new me yet"

The room is empty, the quiet settling like a blanket, and for a few minutes, I let myself get lost in the music. It feels safe, like a space where nothing else matters.
Then, out of nowhere, there's a knock at the door, and I flinch, my fingers slipping off the strings. I look up, and there's Aurora, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Didn't know you played." Her tone is casual, but there's a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

I set the guitar down, trying to act like it's no big deal, even though my heart's pounding.
"It's just a hobby."