Fading Into Madness | Kaylor Oneshots

Part 3

AN: TWs for suicide ideation, suicide attempt, mentions of drugs

this one almost stayed in the vault because it's way heavier than what i normally write. the next one will be fluff i promise.

this is an extremely fictionalized take on the song evermore

---

"I love you too, Mom. Bye."

Taylor lets out a shaky breath as the call disconnects. She pulls her legs to her chest, burying her face in her knees, attempting to control her breathing and keep the tears from freefalling.

She turns her head to the side, her gaze landing on the notebook on the bed beside her. A list of names that are now crossed out – Dad, Mom, Austin, Abigail, Selena, Blake – it goes on and on, the page littered with family and friends who have received a phone call from Taylor tonight.

One name remains uncrossed on the list, the one Taylor has been putting off the longest.

With a trembling sigh and a rub of her watery eyes, Taylor stands and crosses the bedroom. She wants to prepare before she makes the final call. She spent the day meticulously sorting through her belongings. The awards – to her parents. Her clothes – to be donated. Her books will go to Austin, instruments to Jack. The cars will be split amongst her family; they can keep them or sell them, she doesn't care. They'll get the smaller of the two jets, the Nashville penthouse, and enough money to sustain them for the rest of their lives.

And then there's Karlie.

Karlie gets everything else. She gets the houses, the jewelry, the jet, the royalties, the fortune. It would have all been hers eventually, anyway, if things didn't end this way, if Taylor stayed and they made it to the altar, she justifies.

Taylor takes a final look at the boxes neatly lining her room, each topped with a sealed envelope for the recipient. The scent of ink and paper hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet perfume of farewells. Taylor scans the row of boxes, each a testament to a life lived, loved, and, now, mourned. Each envelope, sealed with a finality that mirrors the knots in her stomach, holds a piece of her heart, a whispered apology, a desperate plea for understanding.

Weeks of pouring her soul onto the paper have drained her, leaving her raw and exposed. The apologies for missed birthdays, the unspoken resentments, the silent struggles she'd kept hidden behind a façade of smiles – all laid bare in the stark white of the letters. She recounts her memories with each person in their letter, the times they made her life brighter, motivated her, forced the sadness within her to disappear, even for just a moment.

Taylor has never thought of herself as an inherently bad person. Sure, she's made mistakes, said some things she wishes she could take back, but who hasn't?

But when the video came out, the world turned on her. With one post, she went from being America's sweetheart, the shiny blonde who could write incredibly heart-wrenching lyrics that captivated audiences around the world, but wouldn't hurt a fly, to something more sinister. They were calling her a snake, a master manipulator with a victim complex. They told her she should do this, that she doesn't belong here with them, that there is something wrong with her.

Taylor knows the video isn't what it seems, that it was edited to make her appear as a liar. She tried to tell them. But no one listened.

She thought it would pass, that people would stop caring. But July turned into August, and August quickly turned into November, and her heart still aches. The onslaught of hate feels like a physical assault, each venomous comment a blow to Taylor's now fragile bones.