Sad, Beautiful, and Tragic - A Taylor Swift FanFiction

Chapter 7

That night, I snapped off the tags from a new pair of pajamas I bought. It was just some sweat pants and a tank top, but it was enough. It's all I really wanted. I threw them on and went to wash up. Of course, I found Meredith curled up in the bathroom sink. She looked so adorable...I didn't want to move her. So I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and went back toward my room. I knocked on Taylor's door and poked my head in. I thanked her for the millionth time today, and said good night. Then I went back to my room.

I pulled back the covers and crawled under them. Wrapping myself in them like a cocoon, I shut my eyes and hoped that tomorrow wouldn't be my last day with Taylor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never fell asleep. It was three in the morning, and I was still up crying. The clock kept ticking, I knew, but it seemed to stay still. A panic attack. I hate them. I'm obviously having trouble controlling this one, because I wouldn't have stayed up for five hours with my eyes leaking and my heart beating out of my chest if I could. I would've stopped blaming myself for my mom's death, my dad's alcohol addiction, having no friends back at school.

Panic attacks don't just take a toll on your body, but your mind.

I bunched up the covers in my fists and wiped away the tears, but they just kept trickling down my face. I didn't know what to do. Before this, the longest panic attack of mine lasted three hours.

I was in a stranger's house. Where was my mom? I needed to get out of here. I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm an orphan, because my father is dead to me. Why does God take the best people?

This isn't right.

It's been five hours. I was gasping for air as if there wasn't enough in this entire country, and my pulse could probably be heard in Australia. My eyes were puffy, and dry, and still producing tears somehow.

I turned around and buried my face into my pillow, screaming two times at the top of my lungs. I prayed that the pillow and my shut door would be enough for Taylor not to hear me. I didn't want to cause any trouble. All I am is another freak whose mentally unstable, another mouth to feed and thing taking up the space.

I whined and took the comforter, pulling it up and over my head. I curled up in a ball underneath it, all of my tears and crying making my arm and the sheets soaked. I held my knees with my other arm. This wasn't my fault.

I was counting the seconds, hoping it would stop. I got to seventeen before somebody tore the blanket off of my head. Dammit, I did wake her up. You're such an idiot, Cherie.

"Cherie!" Taylor panicked along with me. I sat up quicker than I could blink, kicking myself away from her until I got to the other side of the bed.

I didn't say anything, just hoped that she would leave me alone. I didn't want her thinking she was housing a psychotic fourteen year old, nor that I was too big of an issue for her to keep. I didn't want to go back.

"Cherie," She sounded much calmer this time, "What's wrong?"

She was wearing sweatpants and a James Taylor tee shirt. It was the only thing I noticed before I took the pillow nearest to me and held onto it for dear life. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't going to just sit there, letting her watch me suffer.

"Look in the drawer." I cried between gasps, "The top drawer on the nightstand."

She didn't argue. Taylor slipped the note out from the wooden drawer and shut it, sitting on the bed where I was just laying. I kept letting my body take the blow from this stupid panic attack. It's been almost a full four days without me having one. I thought they were getting less frequent, but as usual, I was wrong.

It took her a minute and thirty seven seconds for her to read it and put it back down on the nightstand. I was counting, trying not to have my arteries and veins all implode in unison.

"Cherie..." She said for the third time. She sounded sad. What did she have to be sad over? She was a freaking billionaire with anything and everything she wanted!

"No!" I whined into the pillow. I started sobbing heavier when I did. I didn't even see her walk around, but her hand was suddenly on my arm. I tugged it away and laid back down on my original side of the bed. She sighed, and I sobbed. She should've just left me on the street. It would've been less trouble on her end. I would be dead by now.

She rounded the bed and sat an inch away from me, singing at my side. I rolled my eyes at first, scooting toward the headboard while I clung onto my pillow. She was singing something about the morning light, and fire outside my window. It didn't make me feel any better that I couldn't understand it at the moment.

She sang it for a few minutes, and it only calmed me down a notch or so. I was still heavily bawling, and my heart continued to pump at a rapid pace. It scared me, because I wanted to go into the kitchen and grab a knife to thrust into my chest, but I wouldn't do that. Not while I was a guest for somebody. At my father's I've tried numerous times to rid myself from this cruel place, the world. But not here, not now.

"Cherie." This is the third time she's said my name. I looked up, and through my blurry eyesight, I could see her blue puppy eyes bearing into mine.

"What?" I squeaked. It was the second time I've spoken the entire attack.

"You're fine, here." She told me. She repeated herself about seven times before it finally began to sink in.

I'm fine. Nothing is hurting me here, and I am not harming anybody. Taylor has confirmed it. I am not a bother to her. I am not a stranger in her eyes. I am a friend, I am my mother. Sweet. Compassionate. Loyal. Understanding. I'm just like Taylor. I'm not a freak, and I'm perfectly fine right here. I'm in a bed, not a prison. I am safe. She isn't a threat to me. I need to put my guard down if I ever want to be comfortable here.

"I'm fine." I murmured. It took me awhile to stop crying, and by the time I did, my tears had run cold and I felt exhausted. I kept talking to myself as I laid back down and pulled the covers up to my shoulders.

"Are you sure?" Taylor asks, standing by the door. Her eyes were big and sad.

"Yeah." I manage, wiping some temperate tears from the corners of my eyes.

"You know what?" She says, a smiling crawling on her lips.

"What?"

"I know what I want to do after the interview tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Alright, well you need to catch some sleep, Cherie. I'll see you in the morning, okay?" She grins, nodding.

"Okay."

"Good."

Taylor shuts the door most of the way, leaving it cracked so a single line of light falls over the room. I close my eyes with the streak on my face, wishing for something better tomorrow. Something that won't trigger me.