Blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale [Taylor x OC]

{67} you need to calm down

November 2020
Taylor's POV:

The past four weeks have been nothing but a blur, a cacophony of chaos and quiet battles. My career has taken on a life of its own. It feels like overnight, I've gone from playing for spare change on street corners to being the woman on every magazine cover, playlist, and trending topic. My album hasn't just skyrocketed; it's set fire to the stratosphere. Everyone wants a piece of me—interviews, endorsements, appearances. My name is everywhere, my face plastered across billboards, my songs looping endlessly on the radio.
And with that fame comes the near-impossible task of stepping outside unnoticed. A simple grocery run has turned into a strategic operation, sunglasses and hats my only armor. Even then, the cameras find me, snapping, flashing, shouting questions I don't want to answer. Felicia hates it. She clings to me every time we step out, her small hand gripping mine so tightly it hurts. I keep telling myself it's normal—this is just what comes with success - a success I always wished for- and I have to make the best out of it.

Joe hasn't come back. Not once. No texts, no calls, no veiled threats. And while that should be a relief, it's not. It's a shadow that stretches long and unyielding, creeping into every corner of my mind. I live in fear of the silence, of the absence that feels more dangerous than his presence. I double-check the locks every night and keep Felicia's bedroom door cracked open so I can hear her breathing. When she has nightmares, I'm already awake to soothe her before she even calls out.
I try my hardest to be strong for her, to make her feel safe, but she's slipping away from me. My little girl, usually so bright and cheerful, is a shadow of herself. She's acting out in ways that leave me breathless with guilt.

Just yesterday, I caught her snapping the heads off her Barbie dolls, an eerie calm on her face as she lined the decapitated bodies in a row.

"Feli," I said, kneeling beside her. "What are you doing, sweetheart?"

She shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "I don't want them to be scared like me anymore."

Her words knocked the air out of my lungs. I tried to hug her, but she squirmed out of my arms and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Another time, I found her in the living room, cutting up literally every book on the shelf until the floor was covered in pieces of pages.

I don't know what to do. She won't talk to me about Joe. She won't talk to anyone. The school counselor says it's normal for her to act out, that she's processing trauma in her own way, but I'm terrified that I've broken her, that I can't fix what he's done.

Aurora has been my lifeline through it all. We talk almost every night, long conversations that stretch into the early hours. She listens without judgment, her voice a balm to my frayed nerves. She makes me laugh when I think I've forgotten how, and somehow, she knows exactly when to push and when to pull back. We're... closer than we've been in years. It's dangerous, how easy it suddenly feels to let her back in, to lean on her like I used to.
But I need her and I'm not afraid to admit that anymore. I need someone who understands me, who doesn't see me as just the singer, the rising star. Aurora knows me—the real me—and that scares me as much as it comforts me.

I glance over at Felicia now, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her sketchpad. She's drawing, something she hasn't done in weeks. Her tongue pokes out in concentration, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the old Feli. But then her hand falters, and she crumples the paper, throwing it across the room with a frustrated scream.

"Feli, hey," I say, rushing to her side. "It's okay. You're allowed to make mistakes."

She shakes her head violently. "No, it's not okay! Nothing's okay!"
Her words pierce me, and I gather her into my arms, rocking her even as she tries to push me away.