Call It What You Want - a Taylor Swift Story

Part 15

Lila's POV:
The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight, as if blocking out the world was the only way to keep it at bay. I sat on my bed, surrounded by old toys and dance shoes that felt like relics from another life. It had been days since I'd stepped outside, days since I'd seen Taylor and the walls felt like they were closing in on me.

Mom was in the other room, her voice a constant hum of worry and anger, talking about how people were interfering. "They don't know us, Lila! They don't understand what it means to be a family!" she had said. It hurt to hear, but I could feel her fear radiating through the house. She thought that if I was near Taylor or the music video, I would forget about her, forget about us. But how could I explain that it wasn't like that? Taylor made me feel seen, like I mattered, and I missed that feeling more than anything.

Every time I thought about dancing, about being with my friends, a weight settled in my chest. I remembered the sparkle of the studio, the laughter of my dance mates, and Taylor's warm smile. I could almost hear the music in my head, a melody that pulled at my heartstrings. But now, all I heard was silence, broken only by the creaks of the house and my mother's muffled words.

"Lila! Come help me with dinner!" Mom called, and I flinched at the sound. I had been lost in my thoughts, and the sudden reminder of my reality brought me back with a jolt. I wanted to shout that I didn't want to help, that I wanted to dance instead, but I knew better than to argue. I slipped out of my sanctuary, heading to the kitchen where she was stirring a pot on the stove.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, not looking up. "I need you to set the table."

I nodded, grabbing plates from the cupboard. "Can I invite Sienna over tomorrow?" I asked hopefully, trying to break the tension. Sienna was my best friend, and I thought maybe if she came, things would feel normal again.

"No!" Mom snapped, finally turning to face me, her eyes flashing. "You're not going to have any more of those dance people around here. They don't understand what we're going through. It's best if you focus on what really matters."

I felt my heart sink. "But I miss them, Mom. I miss dancing. I miss Taylor," I whispered, hoping my voice would carry some of the weight of my longing.

"That's not how this works," she replied sharply. "You need to stay away from that world. It's not safe for you. You're my daughter, and I need to protect you."

Protect me? The word echoed in my mind like a cruel joke. I wanted to scream that her protection felt more like a prison, but instead, I swallowed my words. The kitchen felt stifling, and I busied myself with the plates, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill over.

As dinner went on, the conversation was shallow, filled with mundane topics that barely registered in my mind. All I could think about was the music video and how I would never be part of it. I felt like a ghost, haunting the edges of my own life while everyone else moved on without me.

After dinner, I retreated back to my room, the silence wrapping around me like a cocoon. I glanced at my dance shoes, lying forgotten in the corner, and a wave of sadness washed over me. I longed to put them on, to feel the familiar rush of movement, to let my body express the feelings I couldn't put into words.

I picked up my phone, hesitating as I thought about texting Taylor. But what could I say? "I'm trapped at home and miss you"? Would she even understand? The thought of reaching out felt both hopeful and terrifying.

Instead, I laid back on my bed, staring at the ceiling as my mind wandered. I imagined what it would be like to run away, just for a day. To dance freely under the sun, to be with Taylor and my friends, laughing and spinning without a care in the world. But the thought was fleeting, crushed by the reality of my situation.