The life I thought I wanted

Taylor sat down, her legs crossed, as she silently shamed herself for wasting her coffee.

She sighed.

She found herself in situations like this often, sitting down and just glooming at her coffee, sometimes at her legs, or her phone, and occasionally the earphones trailing down from her ears to her left thigh, even though she rarely ever found herself listening to any kind of music.

She wasn't exactly mourning; she wasn't exactly neutral though, she was just sort of victimized. She felt like there was some sort of dark aura, creeping through the floorboards, up the wall and weaving through the ceiling. She hated when the dark accompanied her, making her especially moody when alone in her house.

She didn't exactly like her apartment here in New York, well, she was okay with it, but often did she find herself plopping down on the rug in her kitchen, missing the days when she was young, when she'd tap along the couch pillows in her dirty socks, tracing the frame of the couch with her fingers.

She sighed again, picking up her now room temperature coffee, and even worse, it was rather cold in the room, so it was more like iced coffee in her eyes, but iced coffee with watered down sugary creamer that'd been in her refrigerator since she'd moved in. She knew it wasn't going to hurt her by wasting a cup of coffee, but she remembered how she felt it was urgent she ate every single bite of food and drank every drip of water as a child, not because of poverty or anything remote, but sometimes it did seem to leave her mind that not everyone earns thousands of dollars a day, not everyone has more important things to do than eat, drink and sleep.

She walked to the kitchen, with an uncomfortable slouch that she couldn't shake off at home. Well, her apartment here wasn't an exact example of home, but it was closest.

Stepping up to the sink, she poured the coffee down the drain, watching it swirl around, disappearing to god knows where. Well, Taylor was sure plenty of people knew, but she didn't, and didn't feel like searching it. (Despite the fact that she often spends her free time on the Internet, she had now figured out ways to heavily filter her ignorance of every single thing that might ruin her day. In Taylor's eyes, the Internet was terrifying.)

Taylor never knew why exactly, (from what she knew,) that the majority of people who weren't in fact her fans always wanted to call her names and claim false things, but as she'd learned by now, it was pure targeting strategics, she was a girl, she was fragile, and she was clueless. She'd learned that it's easiest to target girls, but the main reason people targeted her is because she's super famous and that's just how life goes: admittedly, she had found herself occasionally judging people before knowing them, and those times are when she notices that's just how people react to her, they judge, because it's just how the human mind works.

But she knew even when her career was no more, she'd always still have the reputation.

Being 24, now, she was getting worried about where her life was going, if she'd ever stop releasing albums and touring and writing and having tiny acting rolls, if she'd ever try dating again, or if that was just too dangerous.

She supposed time would tell.

When she was a little girl and thought she'd marry every single boy she liked, that one day she'd be a successful woman with over fifty jobs and still plenty of free time to be with her seventy-five kids (all girls,) how she imagined coming home to her husband who'd obey her every need, how he'd treat her like the queen.

She'd found a few guys that she even in recent times thought would treat her like that, like Conor, who she'd really thought it would work out with, who she'd really assumed it would end up fine with.