15.1 | who's jackson?

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Travis blinked out of his slumber to a patter of footprints wandering close by. The early December morning sun blared through the window ledge, revealing Taylor. "Taylor, love," Travis began. "What are you doing? It's only after seven."

"Travis, I've been throwing up since four-thirty."

Immediately, Travis sat up. He studied her features as she spoke, becoming more aware of her clammy skin--the color in her flesh that faded. Her voice, raspy and close enough to gone, wasn't audible. Travis knew her well enough, though, and could read her lips from a mile or two away. "What?"

Taylor stared at him, shrugging off the concept of his worry.

"Taylor, baby, c'mere. Come lay down with me," he urged, pounding his fist against the mattress, gesturing. She obeyed, and the close she came, the more Travis could see just how well she had become. "Sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"You were sleeping, Trav," she said, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "I know how hard this week's practice has been, so I didn't want to wake you. I know how to take care of myself, it's no worry."

The man raised his eyebrow at the girls suggestion but bit back his words. "I don't care, Taylor. I'm your boyfriend, I want to know these things. It's not fair that you have to struggle through that sort of thing alone, especially when you're sick. That's not the sort of shit you let slide with me," Travis firmly reminded, wrapping her tightly in his arms. "So, tell me about it. Are you okay?"

"I feel like shit," she cursed into his elbow. "And, what's to tell? I woke up at quarter-after four, feeling like I was going to puke my guts our. Then, I did. Then, I came back to bed and had to throw up again. After that, I went downstairs and watched a movie. And threw up two more times. I got tired and came back up here. Don't get too worried, Trav. I'm just fine."

"Actively worrying, Tay," Travis spat, scooting her close to his chest.

Taylor snicked. "I see that. Don't though, I'm right where I need to be. I think it's over with now." The girl nestled into the man's bare chest, breathing in his scent that she couldn't get enough of—a scent she could recognize anywhere. It comforted her. Whenever Travis's natural essence was by, the singer felt a bit of normalcy, safety.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, baby. Let me know if there's anything you need from me—but you really should try and get some sleep," her boyfriend suggested, massaging both sides of her temples. Off of the top of his head, he knew that anytime Taylor felt the slightest bit ill, a headache was on it's way to jump on her. "What do you think it was, though?"

"I think it was the fish from the diner last night," she muttered. "It kind of tasted foul. But, in a weird way, everything tastes foul to me, so I didn't may much attention to it. Whatever it was, I think it's out of my system."

"Let's hope so. I really wish you would've woken me, Tay, that's not something you should need to go about without assistance. I'm glad you're okay, but if you start feeling sick again, please tell me so I can be with you," he pleaded, kissing her scalp.

Taylor giggled, her eyes falling heavy of tiredness. She adored Travis's protection of her, whether it was against herself, someone else, or the rest of the world. The man never let her fall too far behind, or trip ahead of him. He kept a close eye on her as well as her surroundings, more than she, her parents, Tree, or her body guards did. "Yes, Trav. I know now. But in that case, mind getting me some water?"

He slowly began to lift himself off of the bed, frowning as watched a set of goosebumps cascade down Taylor's bare arm. He didn't want to leave her. He wanted to lay there with her, to keep her warm. But if his girl demanded water, that's what he was on his way to do. There was never a need for Taylor to ask twice for anything in Travis's presence. It annoyed the girl sometimes, as she was a very independent woman and was entirely capable of completing tasks on her own, but Travis let her shine. Taylor folded for that. Every time. "On it," he said, speed-walking to the kitchen.

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