A request.
There was the underlying fear that she would drive him away...always a consistent presence, lurking under the surface like a splinter, waiting for the opportune moment to break through the skin, to ruin the normalcy they worked so hard collectively to maintain. The fear was tattooed, the irrational terror (she was cognizant enough to realize it as such) of her actions or something she said, the way she could sometimes unconsciously push people out of her life when they got too close. Her psyche liked to fuck with her that way...that if there was a good thing going on, it would inevitably blow up, whether it was by her own hand or outside forces, so she might as well be the one doing the sabotaging; wound or be wounded.
Those thoughts weren't something she shared right away. They had talked about their past relationships, he knew things weren't good for awhile, but the extent, how damaging it was, she'd glossed over. Not because she thought he'd think any less of her; Travis wasn't that kind of man.
Thing was, she was fucking embarrassed. It was sad, how long she'd stayed past the expiration date and mortifying that she'd fooled herself into believing things could change. It was never perfect, but nothing ever was, right? The underlying theme was love and somewhere along the way, she had convinced both of them that love was enough.
When she had written the song, it was during a time apart where she wanted to bang her head against a brick wall. Nothing was right, there was nowhere for the pain to go but into her work and Jack, immediately understanding what was going on, had her come over. She brought wine, but Jack's cupboards had been virtually empty, except for some fucking raisins of all things and it'd seemed fitting because nothing made any sense, anyway, and they got shit faced and made music.
It was common, to drink or take a couple of edibles and put the shit she couldn't say into lyrics and a melody that her friend was able to piece together like some people can bang out a jigsaw puzzle. But there was something special about that night...an admittance that anything she and Joe did, moving forward, wouldn't be a cure, only a temporary fix. A bandaid to slap over a gaping wound that would eventually bleed out. The only question was when; a fucking ticking time bomb if there ever was one.
Jack knew she wasn't okay. Jack knew she was drowning. He also held his tongue, a lot more than he wanted to, didn't think it was his place, but when they'd finished writing, played it through in its entirety for the first time, he'd looked down at her from his position in the chair while she sat on the floor, his eyes compassionate and stoic behind his glasses.
"You deserve better. I'm not telling you anything you don't know."
She hadn't cried. She hadn't cried through the entire process; hardly ever did. It wouldn't be until she listened to the playback and the agony in her voice was impossible to ignore that it would hit her with the force of a freight train.
Nor could she respond to Jack, not that he had expected her to. It was more that he needed to say it, to get it out, rather than saying it because she needed to hear it.
A week before it was scheduled to officially come out, the week she'd gotten to spend with Travis, she wanted to play it for him. It would explain things, she knew, in a way that a long, drawn out story never could.
The third night she was there, Trav had just come home from a particularly long, grueling practice and they ate bowls of ravioli on the couch after he'd showered. It was the ultimate level of comfort; the television provided a gentle buzz of background noise, but mostly, in between eating, they talked...about how practice went, about the day itself, the upcoming week.
"The song that's coming out, did you wanna hear it now?"
He smiles, "sneak preview?"
"Something like that." Taylor crossed her ankles underneath herself, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. "I know we talked a little about it before, but---"
