Blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale [Taylor x OC]

{69} and the touch of a hand lit to fuse...of a chain reaction of countermoves

Taylor's POV:

My stomach churns violently, and before I can say a word, I'm on my feet, sprinting down the hall. My vision blurs as I burst into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before everything comes up. I clutch the edge of the porcelain, gasping for air, my throat burning as the nausea rips through me.

It feels like my body is trying to purge itself of everything—the fear, the guilt, the utter helplessness that has taken root in my chest since Felicia vanished. The world tilts as I retch again, even though there's nothing left.

"Taylor." Aurora's voice comes from the doorway, soft but steady. I can't look at her, can't face the pity I know I'll see in her eyes. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the cold tile beneath my knees, willing the wave of sickness to pass.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," she says, her tone firmer now. There's an edge of desperation there, like she's just as lost as I am.

"I'm fine," I croak, though the words sound hollow even to me.

"No, you're not." She steps into the room, her bare feet quiet against the floor. "Taylor, this is the fifth day in a row. You can't eat, you can't sleep, and now you can't even keep water down. This isn't normal. You need to see someone."

"I don't have time," I snap, though my voice is weak. "I need to focus on finding her. That's all that matters."

Aurora kneels beside me, her face level with mine. "You can't help Felicia if you're falling apart. Please, just—just let me take you to a doctor. Even if it's nothing, at least we'll know."

Her words cut through me, but so does the look on her face—like she's holding me together with sheer willpower and running out of strength. I press a trembling hand to my forehead, feeling the cold sweat there. I want to argue, to tell her I don't have time to worry about myself, but the truth is, I feel like I'm unraveling from the inside out.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I whisper, my voice cracking.

Aurora sighs, a sound heavy with frustration and worry. "That's exactly why we need to find out."

I finally look at her, and the sight of her makes my chest ache. She's tired—more tired than I've ever seen her—but she's still here, holding on when I can't. She has been staying with me ever since my daughter disappeared. Her hand brushes mine, tentative, and the touch grounds me, if only for a moment.
"Okay," I murmur, barely audible. "I'll go. But not now. Not today."

Her jaw tightens, but she nods. "Soon," she says, and it's not a question. It's a quiet demand.

I lean back against the wall, feeling drained and empty. The nausea has subsided for now, but the gnawing fear hasn't. It never does. I look at Aurora, and for a second, I want to collapse into her, let her take some of this crushing weight off my shoulders. But I can't.
Felicia is still out there, somewhere, scared and alone. And every second I spend falling apart feels like another second wasted.

Now the brunette reaches out to help me stand, but as I grip her hand, a sudden thought crashes over me like ice water. My knees buckle slightly, and I clutch the sink for support, my heart racing in my chest.

"Rora," I say, my voice trembling. "What—what day is it?"

She frowns, confused by the sudden shift in my tone. "What? It's... November 21st. Why?"

I stare at her, the words sticking in my throat as my brain does the math. My breath hitches painfully, and I shake my head as if that'll make the realization go away. "I'm late."

Aurora's brow furrows deeper. "Late for what?"

My chest tightens, and I force myself to meet her gaze, my voice barely more than a whisper. "My period. I'm at least two weeks overdue."