blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{20} new territory

Taylor's POV:

It's Monday morning, and the school hallway buzzes with the noise of students catching up after the weekend. I'm walking towards my classroom, feeling the remnants of the weekend's emotional haze still clinging to me. Every step I take feels heavy, like there's a weight pressing down on my chest. It's not just exhaustion—it's the guilt, the confusion, the fear of what I'm about to do.

I spot Travis walking up to me. He lifts his head and locks eyes with me. There's an uncertainty in his expression, a question he's already half-answered for himself. I see the corners of his mouth twitch like he's not sure whether to smile or frown. His eyes narrow slightly, studying my face.

"Hey," I say, forcing my voice to sound normal. I can feel the way it falters and wince internally.

"Hey," he replies, but his voice is flat, and I know he's not going to let this go without a conversation. "I didn't hear from you all weekend. Everything okay?"

There it is. The disappointment, the suspicion. I bite my lip and glance away, trying to find something—anything—to anchor myself in this moment. All I see are students drifting by, wrapped up in their own worlds. It feels like there's a spotlight on us, like everyone's watching and waiting for me to make a move.

"Yeah, I, uh..." I hesitate, grasping for an excuse, but I can't lie anymore. I promised myself I wouldn't keep dragging this out, that I'd face it head-on. He deserves the truth—or at least a version of it.

"Travis, we need to talk," I say softly, and his face falls instantly, shoulders tensing. He knows what those words mean.

"Talk?" he repeats, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out strained. "About what? What's going on, Tay?"

"Can we go somewhere more private?" I question before shoving him into one of the teacher's bathrooms.

I shut the door behind us and close my eyes for a second, inhaling slowly, trying to summon the courage I need. When I look at him again, he's waiting, arms crossed over his chest, the hurt already starting to harden into something sharper.

"I... I think we should break up," I say, the words stumbling out of me in a rush. I can't even bring myself to look directly at him as I say it, my eyes flickering to the floor, to the walls, anywhere but his face.

There's a pause—a beat too long—and then he lets out a breath like I've punched him in the gut. "Wait, what?" he says, voice cracking. "Where is this coming from?"

I swallow, feeling my pulse quicken. "It's just... I don't think it's working anymore," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "And I don't want to drag this out if it's not right."

"Not right?" he repeats, the anger starting to creep into his voice now. "What do you mean not right? It was fine just last week. We were fine."

I try to keep my voice calm, measured, but my hands are shaking. "Travis, I—"

"Is there someone else?" he interrupts, his eyes narrowing. He's staring at me with such intensity, like he's trying to read my mind, to see if I'm hiding something. And in a way, I am.

"No," I lie, trying to force conviction into the word. "It's not about someone else. It's just... about me. I need to focus on myself right now, and—"

"Focus on yourself?" he scoffs, cutting me off. "That's bullshit, Taylor. Don't give me that cliché crap. What's really going on?"

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say? That I spent the weekend with a student, that my mind has been spinning in chaos because of her? That I can't stop thinking about things I shouldn't even be thinking about? No, I can't tell him that. It's too messy, too painful, too dangerous.