Author's Note: This is from Taylor's POV again. :)
If love is supposed to be as easy as ABC, then the alphabet is goddamn difficult.
All the paparazzi has figured me out; they've spotted the depression and pain seeping through Ed and I every time we perform EHC at the concerts each night. We're splashed across every newspaper, our secrets spilt onto the paper like they're only pointless sentences when really they're all cold icy truths. Which is the worst part. Sometimes I can deny the stupid rumours with a sassy remark in an upcoming interview, but it's not a good idea when the rubbish the paps feed the world is suddenly my agonizing reality.
I sigh heavily, bracing myself for the undeniably difficult questions that are about to attack, and thank my limo driver for taking me to the talk show building. Mum grips my arm tight, guiding me through the back door quickly and sending me indoors as she follows pursuit. I almost expected her to react with the 'I told you so' mood anyone else would have if they'd warned someone and their warning had happened. But she didn't; Mum only had sympathy for me and there was no know-it-all attitude at all.
"Try to hold it together for this interview, alright?" She murmurs softly before letting a sudden flurry of make-up artists drag me to a mirror and push me into a chair. Brushes flick across my cheeks and create a bright clown-like blush, mascara curls my lashes, a straightener tugs itself through my protesting curly hair as I sit obediently for the make-up artists.
They try chatting to me, slightly starstruck, and I reply with the most polite casual responses I can without focusing at all.
Ed hovers in my mind as a heartbreaking memory even twenty minutes later as I hang around backstage with Mum, watching Ellen laugh and joke to the huge chuckling audience as I dither on the side. Mum smiles at me sweetly and squeezes my hand tight to let me know she's here, no matter what. I suppose the pain on my face is a little too evident, and attempt to cover it up with a weak echo of her smile.
"Now, we've got a very special guest today. Me and her are like this," Ellen jokes as she gestures to create a closed space between her fingers, indicating how 'close' our friendship is. And I suppose we are quite close, if you call her constantly terrifying me, making jokes about herself with me and interviewing me every few months a 'close' friendship. Yet I'll never really be good friends with Ellen. I'm pretty sure she's already in her forties and it's impossible to be true friends with someone who interviews you and befriends you just to impress the world with the gossip they receive in return.
"It's Taylor Swift!" Ellen suddenly yells, tearing me from my daydream, and Mum nudges me gently before I try to flounce confidently onstage as the deafening applause echoes in my ears. I slouch down in the guest's seat, an actress' grin plastered across my face, and wave to the crowd as their applause dies off.
"Hi Taylor!" Beams Ellen cheerfully, and I smile at her as if I'm actually happy. "How are you?"
"I'm great thanks!" I lie, wondering if anybody can spot the burning ache in my eyes.
"That's good to hear," she replies. "You're always so interesting!"
"What do you mean by interesting?" I giggle, setting the entire crowd off. Ellen chuckles and grins at me.
"Well, I usually terrify you to death when you come here, so..." The audience bursts out laughing again and we don't speak until they've calmed down.
"And how's your tour going, Taylor?" Ellen enquires curiously, resting her chin in her hands.
"It's going fantastically, thank you!" I beam with that cheery pretence I'm trying to keep up.