TW
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The silence upstairs wasn't the kind of silence Taylor used to enjoy. It wasn't the peaceful kind where the world slowed down and she could breathe. It wasn't the good kind of quiet that came after a long day on tour, wrapped up in Travis's hoodie, her hair damp from a shower, curled up in his arms as the night rolled in.
No. This silence screamed.
She stood barefoot on the cool marble tile of the bathroom, the lights dimmed to a flicker because she hadn't the strength to face the world in full brightness. The mirror didn't show her. Not really. It reflected a stranger with sunken eyes and tremors in her hands. She didn't recognize this version of herself anymore.
She had always been good at putting on a show. At smiling when it burned. At taking the hits: press, heartbreaks, betrayals, illnesses, injuries and spinning them into lyrics, into melodies people tattooed onto their skin. But lately, the spotlight had turned inward and every step felt like walking through water in clothes too heavy to carry.
And so here she was, standing in front of the open medicine cabinet.
Her hand trembled as she stared at the full bottle of antidepressants, prescription label worn from the humidity of too many ignored showers. She opened it and poured the pills into her palm just enough to cover the creases of her hand.
She didn't cry.
She didn't think.
She just swallowed.
One.
Two.
Four.
Seven.
All of them.
And for one horrifyingly silent moment, she stood there.
Waiting.
But as the seconds passed and the weight of what she'd done settled in her chest not just the pills, but the finality something cracked.
The vision of Travis's face. His laugh. His hands on her waist. The way he whispered, "You're stronger than you think, Tay."
The image of Ophelia, her daughter, smiling over pancakes. The giggle of the triplets. The hum of life. The joy that still flickered in the world, however dim.
"I don't want to die," she whispered.
And then louder panicked "I don't want to die!"
Her feet stumbled forward as adrenaline shot through her like fire. She grabbed the edge of the counter, practically flinging herself out of the bathroom, down the hall. Her heartbeat was wild. Her throat burned. Her vision blurred. She could feel the pills starting to pull her under like a current she couldn't swim against.
"Travis!" she screamed, her voice cracking, sobbing now. "TRAVIS!"
She didn't know where he was. Out getting groceries? At the gym? Maybe just downstairs. She didn't remember. She couldn't remember.
The stairs came fast too fast. Her legs buckled halfway down the staircase. Her knees gave out. Her hands clawed at the railing as her body went limp and the world tilted sideways.
"Tra—"
And then there was nothing.
Just darkness.
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Travis had just walked through the door, arms full of takeout containers from Taylor's favorite vegan café. He called out into the house with a grin, "Babe, I got the stuff you like the weird kale rice bowl and those overpriced lemon muffins you pretend are healthy."
No answer.
He frowned, heading to the kitchen and setting the bags down. Something felt...off.
The silence wasn't right.
He stepped into the living room. Nothing.
"Taylor?"
Then he heard it. A sound like fabric scraping wood. A thud.
He turned toward the stairs and froze.
Taylor was sprawled on the steps, her arm bent under her, hair sticking to her face, and her lips slightly parted. Her skin was pale. Unnaturally pale. And then he saw the empty pill bottle lying next to her hand.
"No." His voice broke as he lunged up the stairs. "Taylor!"
He dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms, his hands moving over her face, checking her pulse, her breath.
"Baby, stay with me. Stay with me." He fumbled for his phone with one hand and dialed 911.
The operator picked up immediately.
"My fiancée—my fiancée just overdosed—antidepressants, I don't know how many, she's unconscious—I need help, now. 458 Sycamore Lane. Please. Please hurry!"
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The ambulance lights painted the front of the house in red and blue as paramedics burst through the front door. Travis didn't let go of her until they had to strap her to the stretcher. Even then, his hand stayed clutched in hers until the EMT gently pulled him back to start working on her vitals.
"Her breathing is shallow we're administering charcoal and prepping for transport."
Travis rode in the front of the ambulance, fists clenched in his lap, throat raw from shouting, pleading, praying.
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They pumped her stomach the minute they reached the hospital.
Travis sat in the corner of the ER room, fingers laced together, watching her chest rise and fall under the oxygen mask. Machines beeped steadily around her.
Time slowed to molasses. Every minute was a mountain he had to climb.
A nurse came in. "She's stable. The charcoal worked, and she was found in time. She'll be groggy for a while, but she's out of critical condition."
He nodded, voice gone. "Can I—can I stay?"
"Of course."
And he did. All night. He sat beside her, holding her hand, gently stroking her thumb with his, whispering soft words like prayers.
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By morning, she stirred.
Taylor blinked up at him, her lashes fluttering weakly. "Travis?"
His voice cracked. "I'm here. I'm right here."
Tears filled her eyes. "I—I didn't want to die. Not really. I just... I wanted the pain to stop."
"I know, baby. I know." He cupped her cheek. "You're not alone in this. I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, guilt flooding her.
He shook his head, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Don't apologize. Just stay. That's all I want."
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Later that afternoon, after the discharge paperwork was signed and her vitals were monitored for a final round, Travis helped her into the car. She was wrapped in another one of his oversized hoodies, hair pulled back messily, skin pale but alive.
As they pulled into the driveway, she stared at the house like it was something foreign. Travis noticed.
"Hey," he said gently, reaching for her hand. "You don't have to be afraid. We're going to make sure this doesn't happen again."
Inside, he led her to the couch, wrapped her in a blanket, and made her drink water while he unpacked a small Amazon box that had arrived while they were gone.
Taylor frowned. "What's that?"
Travis opened it to reveal a child-proof medicine cabinet lock with a 6-digit code entry. It was sleek, electronic, and built to withstand tampering.
"I'm installing this on the medicine cabinet upstairs and the backup one downstairs," he said as he tested the lock. "Only I know the code. You won't have access alone."
She looked down, ashamed.
But he kneeled in front of her, catching her gaze. "This isn't about trust, Taylor. It's about protection. Until you're in a place where you're safe with yourself, I'm going to be the guardrail. You don't have to be strong alone."
She nodded slowly, tears in her eyes. "Okay."
He kissed the back of her hand. "Okay."
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That night, he helped her into bed. Her body was still sluggish, weak. He pulled the covers over her and crawled in beside her.
Taylor turned on her side, facing him, whispering into the dark, "I was so scared."
"I was too," he replied, pulling her close. "But we're here. You're here."
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