blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{31} secrets of the past

Aurora's POV:

It's been almost a week since Taylor was suspended, and everything about her feels... shattered. I come over every day after school, hoping, praying she's somehow better than she was the day before, but she just keeps sinking lower. Her apartment is a wreck—empty bottles crowd every surface, dishes are piled up, and clothes are scattered all over. The blinds are drawn tight, casting everything in shadow.

Today, when I step in, she's curled up on the couch, barely acknowledging me as I set my things down. Her guitar rests on her lap, fingers plucking mindlessly at the strings, her eyes somewhere else. A notebook is open beside her, pages filled with half-written lyrics, smudged and frantic.

"Taylor?" I call softly, but she doesn't look up. I take a deep breath, walking over and sitting beside her, close enough to feel the chill coming off her skin.

"Taylor... have you eaten today?" I try, my voice soft, though I'm almost certain I know the answer.

She mutters something that sounds like "not hungry," barely more than a whisper.

"Taylor," I press, firmer this time, "you need to eat. This isn't—this isn't good for you." I reach out, covering her hand with mine, trying to get her to look at me. Her fingers are icy, and they feel so thin, so frail. I can't help but remember the warmth they used to hold, the strength.

She finally glances up, her expression hollow and empty. "Aurora, I'm fine. I don't... I don't need you to babysit me, alright?" Her words are slurred, and there's a bottle of wine half-empty beside her.

"This isn't fine," I snap, unable to hold it in any longer. "Look at yourself, Taylor. You're not taking care of yourself, you're... you're just wasting away."

Her face darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her eyes. "This is how I deal, alright?" she snaps back, her voice sharp, defensive. "This is how I cope. I write, I drink a little, and I get through it."

"By destroying yourself?" My voice cracks, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Taylor, you're not getting through anything! You're hiding. You're shutting down, and it's like you're disappearing in front of me."

She scoffs, pulling her hand away from mine, clutching her guitar as if it's the only thing keeping her grounded. "Maybe that would be better," she mutters under her breath, her tone bitter.

"What?" I gasp, my heart pounding, feeling like she's slapped me. "Taylor, don't—don't say that."

She laughs, but it's hollow, almost mocking. "What do you want me to say, Aurora? That I'm fine? That I'm happy? Because I'm not. I'm miserable, and I have nothing. I lost my job, I lost everything I worked for, and for what? So I could get a little taste of happiness, and then have it ripped away?"

Her words slice through me, raw and sharp, and for a moment, I feel like I can't breathe. "You haven't lost everything, Taylor. You still have me."

She laughs again, bitter, shaking her head. "Do I? Because look what it's doing to you. Look what I'm putting you through. Maybe it'd be better if—if you just... didn't."

My stomach twists, and tears prick at my eyes. "You're pushing me away. Do you think that's going to make this any easier?"

She shrugs, looking down, and for a moment, she's silent. Her fingers run along the neck of her guitar, strumming a sad, broken chord. "I don't want to drag you down with me, Aurora."

"But that's not your choice to make." My voice trembles as I reach for her hand again, squeezing it tightly, refusing to let go. "I'm not just going to walk away because things are hard."