Taylor and Travis Oneshots

Lead to Fall Out

credit: tumblr (not sure the blog but it was originally from 2015 or something)

"Where did you find that?"

"Your nightstand," Travis says with a wry smile, his eyes moving back and forth from the pink vibrator in his hand to Taylor's reflection in the mirror.

She doesn't turn around and resumes brushing her teeth, her eyes wandering in the mirror from her own reflection over to the left, where her fiancé stands, playfully twirling the object with his fingers. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, and it's pissing her off.

"Maybe you should stop looking through my shit." She spits the toothpaste into the sink, then turns on the water to rinse the white foam down the drain.

He laughs. "Tay, it's not that big of a deal–"

"It is a big deal, why are you digging through my stuff?" She shuts the water off abruptly. Her tone is not playful and she is not laughing.

"Okay. Damn." He has a clear shift in his demeanor. "Sorry." He turns and walks back into the bedroom, and she can hear the bed table drawer open and close with a thud that she would only hear if he slammed it shut.

As she leaves the bathroom, she dries her hands on a white monogrammed bath towel and then taps the switch on the wall, darkening the bathroom and at the same time, the bedroom too. With just the light from the television to guide her, she makes her way to the right side of the bed, kicking her slippers off and climbing under the duvet.

Unlike last night, tonight she does not slide over to Travis and snuggle into his side. She stares ahead, her face looking in the direction of the large flat screen tv, even though she isn't watching it. After a bit, she picks up her phone and starts mindlessly scrolling through an app.

"You're really pissed about this, aren't you?" he finally says, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

She shrugs. "No. I'm not pissed."

"You're sure acting pissed."

She's quiet, pretending to be engrossed in whatever is on her phone screen, for a solid thirty seconds. Then, with a sigh, she speaks. "I'm not pissed. I'm disappointed."

She thinks she can feel him roll his eyes, even though she can't see it. "Disappointed. Okay. Over that? Alright, whatever."

"Don't whatever me, I'm allowed to feel disappointed." She finally looks at him for half a second, and notices the combination of both frustration and sadness across his face, and for a moment feels bad for being upset. But then all the emotions bubble back up to the top, and that feeling fades.

"Of course you're allowed to feel disappointed. No one said you weren't. I'm just having a hard time understanding why you are soooooo disappointed over me opening the bed table drawer. I was just looking for the remote. Who knew that was such a big deal?"

"It would just be nice if you didn't rifle through my things, that's all," she says with a huff as she anxiously scrolls her phone, not looking up as she speaks.

"Tay, would you put your fucking phone away? I'm trying to talk to you." He leans over as if to grab it, but she dodges his reach. As he does, he sees the screen and recognizes what she has been looking at immediately. "So ... let me understand this. Twitter is more important to you than talking to me and telling me why you're upset? Thanks for making that clear." He throws the duvet off his legs, threatening to get out of bed.

"It's not!" she sighs loudly. "God, calm down," she retorts, loudly placing the phone on the table next to the bed. She sits back against the pillows and crosses her arms, her eyes glued to the television. "You want to talk? You have my full attention."