Wildest Dreams - A Taylor Swift Adoption Fanfiction

Chapter 9: Very Very Pro Justice

Author's note: I'm having so much fun writing Tree's character lmao just like, pretend this is how it would work in real life.

I have like 3 more chapters completely written and edited, but I'll post one a day I think. 

BUT also trigger warning for churchy childhood abuse

I wake up to sunlight streaming through windows I don't recognize. For a moment, panic claws at my throat until last night's memories filter back in. Kitchen floor. Hot chocolate. Emotional breakdowns with Taylor. Great.

My phone - still weird to think of it as mine - buzzes on the nightstand.

Andrea: Good morning sweetheart. Taylor told me you had a rough night. I've ordered some specialized knee supports to be delivered, and I'm having my personal physician send over some better pain medication.

Andrea: Only if you want them of course. No pressure.

Andrea: Also there's a heating pad in the second drawer of the bathroom. It helps with joint pain.

Andrea: And make sure to elevate your knee when you rest.

I stare at the messages, something twisting in my chest. Before I can process it, another text comes through.

Tree: Morning tiny delinquent.

Tree: If you're done wallowing in that ridiculous queen bed, come upstairs. I'm about to teach a masterclass in how to systematically destroy both a jobless actor's career and a nun's holy reputation.

Tree: Breakfast included.

Tree: But only if you're interested in watching me commit career homicide while eating croissants.

I snort. This woman is so weird. Another text from Andrea pops up.

Andrea: Don't let Tree corrupt you too early in the morning.

Me: too late

Andrea: Well in that case, make sure she saves some reputation destruction for me. Nobody hurts my girls.

I stare at that last message until my vision blurs. My girls. Plural.

The phone buzzes again.

Tree: The croissants are getting cold. And Sister Katherine is about to do a morning show interview that's going to backfire spectacularly.

Tree: Your choice. But I've got front row seats to the take down of the century.

I look around the stupidly luxurious room, at my bandaged knee, at the phone in my hand. At all these weird stupidly rich people who just... keep showing up. For some reason.

Me: save me a croissant

Me: and it better be a good take down

Tree: Oh honey. I'm about to make any other take down you know of look like amateur hour.

I swing my legs out of bed, testing my knee. It hurts, but maybe that's okay. Maybe some things are worth hurting for. I think. Although it hurts like a motherfucker if I think about it too much.

Down the hall I hear Taylor sing. It must be her recording studio. She sounds angry and it sounds like it's a new song.

"Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?"

I freeze - this is the first time I'm hearing her voice like that. She keeps repeating the lyrics until she's happy with it. But nope, I'm not getting invested in that. In her. She's safe from Joe and that's all that matters. I don't tell her I'm awake, just march on. Well, hobble on.