Stolen Memories [Tayvis Fanfiction]

APPREHENSIVE

One Week Later
January 13th; 2025
Taylor Swift's Point of View
I'm rushing to the bathroom in the middle of the day due to an unsettling feeling. My stomach is churning and I can tell all the remnants of lunch are about to come back up.

As I lean my head over the porcelain bowl, I begin to vomit relentlessly. It's been three days since I was supposed to get my period. I'm never late. Never. Now it's day three.

My last "period" was a joke – a measly smear of pink that I brushed aside, blaming stress. Stress from Travis, stress from Joy, the whole tangled mess of our relationship. Now, nothing. No sign at all. Doubt creeps in, gnawing at the memory of that pathetic excuse for a period. Was it even one?

The past few days are a blur of random puking episodes. I convinced myself it was a stomach bug, food poisoning, anything but the truth staring me in the face. But it's not going away.

Sliding down the cool tile wall, I stare at my still-flat stomach. "Stupid Travis," I groan, the words muffled against the cold ceramic. Seven weeks. If that stupid pregnancy test comes back positive, I'm seven weeks gone.

The dread is a cold fist around my heart. I've been here before. The exhaustion, the constant nausea, the weird food cravings – I know the drill. My body knows. There's no mistaking it. I'm pregnant. Numb. That's all I feel. Just numb.

The bathroom light feels harsh, casting stark shadows across the room. I pull myself up, shaky and weak, the taste of bile clinging to my tongue.  With trembling hands, I reach for the cabinet under the sink. There, tucked in the back, is a box – a familiar blue and white design, mockingly cheerful with its picture of a smiling woman cradling a perfect baby bump.

Yesterday, I bought these damn tests. I laughed at myself then, the absurdity of even buying them, shoving them to the back of the cabinet like a shameful secret. But here I am, still stuck in the same place, the nausea a constant reminder, the silence a deafening scream.

Should I take one? The question hangs heavy in the air. Maybe ignorance is bliss, at least for a little while longer. But the truth, no matter how unwelcome, will surface eventually.

With a trembling hand, I tear open the box, the plastic ripping with a harsh sound. Inside, the sleek white test gleams accusingly. It's a simple thing, this plastic stick, yet it holds the power to shatter my carefully constructed world. I stare at it, the instructions on the back a blur of words.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I finally reach for the test, its cool plastic sending a jolt through me.  Following the instructions with numb precision, I complete the task.  Now comes the waiting.  The next few minutes stretch into an eternity, each tick of the bathroom clock a hammer blow against my already shattered nerves.

The silence stretches, broken only by the dripping faucet and the ragged gasps of my own breath. Is it time yet? It feels like days have passed and my insides twist with an impatience that borders on panic. Finally, I can't take it anymore. Steeling myself, I steal a glance at the counter.

There. The little window on the test. Two lines. Both a stark, undeniable blue. The world shrinks to the confines of that tiny plastic window. Positive.

The word hangs in the air, a heavy counterpoint to the fluttering hope in my chest. A baby. A tiny human, a part of me growing inside. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, but it feels fragile, easily shattered.

How am I always messing up my life like this?  Why can't things ever be simple? The elation fades, replaced by a wave of cold reality.  Pregnant. Again. Single motherhood. The words echo in my head, a familiar refrain.