Misery Business (Sequel to Never Let This Go) *Paramore*

Chapter Thirty: The Wreck

Hayley's P.O.V.

We agreed on going back to my house to put my guitar away and because I have to use the bathroom, then we are going to do some other random things, and maybe, just maybe, we'll have a nice dinner together for the first time in a long time. Well, first time ever, really, as a couple.

As soon as we walk in through the door, my jaw drops at the sight. My house is a complete mess, pillows thrown everywhere, picture frames cracked, and the couch on it's side. I look to above the fire place as I walk into the house a bit more and my favorite picture of Dad and I is not only cracked, but the photo itself it ripped it half. I'm not able to say a single word, as it's too much to take in. I didn't even notice I am crying until now.

Above the cabinets in the kitchen, where I keep my birdhouses, the birdhouses are completely destroyed, pieces of wood and paint chips all over the counters. This is already so overwhelming it stings, but I have to find out what else is destroyed. I walk into the bathroom, as the mirror has red lipstick on it spelling out four words.

Your time is coming.

The only other thing wrong in the bathroom is ripped towels and curtains. I forget about the other rooms and run upstairs to my room, even forgetting Taylor. The matress that made my bed is up against the wall, the sheets stripped and thrown across the room. My writing journal that I usually keep under the matress is still there, but with ripped pages all over. Those lyrics I wrote were personal. Some things I haven't even showed Taylor...

The lamp shade is upside down, the light bulb across the dirty room. Also on the floor is a lot of my clothes, jeans, skirts, shirts, and even some under garments. Some of it is ripped, like a sweatshirt and a t shirt I stole from Taylor and wear to bed a lot. Pictures that used to hand on the walls and other decorations are now broken and everywhere on the floor in odd places.

In my upstairs bathroom, the mirror is broken, and set all over the floor are razors and knives, probably because they know I cut often enough and want me to continue with it. Even the guestroom is wrecked, just as much as my room too, just without the personal things and clothes everywhere.  I'm terrified of what I may find in my soon to be music room.

Once back downstairs and in the room, more red lipstick is on my Granddat's old piano, spelling out two words, a letter on each key. It reads:

K i l l  y o u r s e l f .

My only other guitar is broken, strings sticking out, the fret board completely broken off, and two keys are even missing. This game of Angela's is sick. That was a gift to me from my now dead sister. An old drum set is a wreck as well, holes all over, multiple pairs of drum sticks snapped in half and all over the floor like two amps. Even my old record player, that belonged to my Mom, is now broken on the floor, with old, exclusive vinyls.

I'm sobbing at this point, and I'm not sure why I can still remain standing, but I do and I will. Everything in my home, my safe place, is ruined. All of it. Even the TV is dead on it's side. I'm not sure I even have a plate to use if I decide to actually eat something. I move toward the staircase, and I sit on the second step, burying my face in my hands as I cry. Very soon I feel Taylor's strong arms wrap around me, and rub my back. "I'm so so sorry," he whispers.

"I'm never going to be able to afford everything I lost!" I explain. "My journal is even ripped up, T, everything I've written this year was in there,"

"It'll be okay," Taylor softly tells me. "I will help you as much as I can,"

"Taylor, it's your birthday, you should be celebrating," I reply looking up at him. He just sighs and wiped one of my many tears away.

"They happen every year. Besides, how could I leave you here?" he asks kindly kissing my forehead.

"I love you so much," I tell T as he moves a piece of my hair away from my face.

"I love you too," T responds gently pressing his lips against mine. Our shared kiss only lasts a moment, until I pull away, staring deeply into Taylor's eyes.

"We can't call the cops can we? We have to do this on our own," I ask, already knowing the answer. Taylor hesitates, but nods yes and I let more tears fall to my lap, standing up, with my fingers entwined with his. "I'm on my own," I whisper, not thinking Taylor will hear me. He stands though, and hugs me tight from behind.

"Never. We are on our own," he corrects. I twist my body around in Taylor's grasp, our noses just touching, and slam my lips against his, fresh tears running down my cheeks as we kiss. I allow our kiss to deepen, as I'm on my tippy toes. We are basically making out now, as I giggle a bit, and pull away for air. I giggle more, and watch as Taylor's eyes light up, so I kiss him again. At this point, his strong arms are tightly around my lower waist, my hands, as usual, stuck in his curls.

He gives me a feeling I haven't gotten from anyone else before. As my lips are against his, he makes me get a funny feeling in my chest, and I want more. That's quite right, kissing Taylor York makes me want more. I get my secret requests a little too, as I allow his tongue to meet mine. It only means he is enjoying this as much as I am.

One thing leads to another and I'm on the kitchen counter, my lips almost glued to Taylor's. His hands are around me, and my legs are around him. What a day. I let my thumb gently brush over his ear, as his hand tickles my neck. Soon he pulls away for air though, leaving me to stare deeply into his endless eyes, mesmerizing and a death trap, because once you see them, you can't look away. "You're such a tease," he tells me breathing heavily.

"You pulled away, not me," I explain laughing a bit. I've at this point forgotten about everything else in the world apart from this one man.

"Well then why are we talking?" he asks playing with my fingers.

"Because we have cleaning to do right now," I explain looking sad again. He sarcastically frowns and sticks his bottom lip out. I kiss his button nose and giggle. "Later birthday boy,"

"So you prefer cleaning over me? Oh, and I'm the birthday man," Taylor asks me as I jump off of the counter.

"You know that isn't true, and okay birthday man," I say with a small smile. I know for a fact Taylor can only make me feel great the way he does temporarily, as I have a lot of cleaning to do. Many things have to be thrown away, with the pieces of my broken heart, and my broken, once beautiful life.