Honky dancer please and for the love of god throw some smut into this chapter give us all something to enjoy and happy in this hard and difficult time PLEASE !!!🤣🤣
Oooh wouldn't that be ... a nice surprise? Eh? #foreshadowing
So happy you’re back, anxiously awaiting an update
I have started writing! I promise! Next chapters of Honky Dancer AND First Contact now have not only words but fully formed sentences! I already know where the plots are going - now to just get enough time to get them written...
Just stumbled across your blog (again) when I was going through my follow list. Just wanted to say a quick hello and remind you to go at your own pace. As a key worker I have seen people react differently to the pandemic and I’ve saw some people not understand the reason people are acting the way they are. So just remember: you do you, you’re the only person who knows what’s going on in your head. And ignore all the haters who don’t understand xx
You... are a beautiful soul. This really touched me so much! I think it's an important lesson to consider and weigh. I struggled, and I'm not afraid to admit that. And I'm just now crawling back to some sense of normalcy and security again, nearly 6 months later. You cannot feel inspired when your survival instinct has been activated, and when you've been buried under mountains of anxiety and insecurity. Add to that a heaping spoonful of guilt because you didn't - couldn't - use the time you suddenly had. But feeding myself and showering and getting any semblance of sleep felt like an impossible fight; you're right, I'm the only person who knows what it feels like in my own head! But I do think sharing it and being honest is not only courageous but maybe helps someone else out there feel not so alone. And that has been the greatest weapon during this time - to make sure we ALL know we are not going through this alone. Thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to me.
Are you ever going to update again? Hope you’re staying safe in all this craziness ❤️
I have received several messages about abandoning my blog, and I promise you that I did not. So this is to answer all the messages from concerned readers - I am safe and well but I went through an incredibly difficult 2.5 months. I was more concerned with basic survival as I was laid off and lost some paychecks and trying to figure out how to keep the lights on was a struggle. But I am here, and I am slowly crawling out of the deep dark tunnel. We don’t talk about this enough, that there are very real people on the other side of these words we’re writing, authors who have personal struggles and the pandemic hit me hard. I wish I could have been strong enough to sit here writing every day and helping you all through it with some amazing fics, but some days I didn’t even have the strength to shower. But things are looking up and I’m dealing with my depression and I’m working on new chapters for both Honky Dancer and First Contact! I have still been gaining followers and likes and for every single person who has read my words, a deeply heartfelt thank you is in order. I love you all and I look forward to getting back writing these stories I love so much. I hope you all are keeping well and safe as well! Much love, Jess ❤️
So ... I owe you all a massive update and apology for my recent disappearance.
First things first, I have started working on another chapter of First Contact, for those who are fans of the series. I have already started writing it, so if you haven’t already read it, now would be a good time to get caught back up! So keep an eye out for that one soon.
Secondly, I know I shouldn’t have to apologize because this isn’t actually a job, but I do care about each and every person who takes time to read my fics and comment/like/reblog/follow me. Sometimes life has other ideas for us, and I’ve just cast my hat back into the job-hunting ring. I still have my three jobs, but I am trying to find the next step forward, both in my career path and in my salary. Any extra time I’ve had has been devoted to that - I recently turned in a 12-page application - yes, 12 pages - so believe me when I say that finding a new job is a full-time job in and of itself. Hopefully if I can find an opportunity to make the kind of salary at ONE job that I make at THREE [which, seriously, is entirely possible, I don’t even make that much and I’m woefully underpaid in my career job] then I can have plenty more time to focus on the stuff I enjoy doing and not just surviving. I want my life back! But you know, such are dreams.
So anyway, that’s how things are going.
Also, it must be said, stay safe and if you contract Covid-19 please take every precaution to take care of yourself and let everyone know that you’ve possibly exposed (as I would hope you’d do with a cold or flu anyways). Don’t panic, wash your hands, and stay aware. But also, you know, continue to live your life. I have some upcoming concerts and a comic con planned and I refuse to cancel out of panic. If we reported the common cold and influenza numbers, which are also coronaviruses, the way we have been reporting Covid-19, everything would feel just as apocalyptic. Right now, awareness and precaution are your best defense.
Is there anything intimidating about writing characters that literally are real people that doesn't apply to writing original characters? (I really hope this question makes sense)
Of course that makes sense. I was absolutely petrified when I launched this blog - partly because Taron is a real person. But when I write my fics, I am very careful to keep in my mind a separation. The characters of Taron I write are based on him, on what I know of his personality and obviously has his face claim, but I am very clear that these are just characters still. It’s a line you have to be careful not to cross as a fanfiction author, I think. I try incredibly hard to still remain respectful of the person my characters are based off of. But all the Tarons I write are iterations of him, and he is still the real person outside of my fics. There were some grumblings in the fandom about fanfiction but I think there is a careful line to maintain of respect. I don’t want to treat my character in a way that would be unfaithful to that person. I also am very careful not to insert my own self in the fic. My original characters have their own backstories and lives; in other words, they are not me and are not based on me, whether I can relate to their situations or not. I can stand outside of the fiction I create. I care about my characters very much, as I think any author does. And because of that, I have a responsibility to them. But they are also fiction, and I respect that they must remain in that world. So for me, maintaining the line of fiction and not crossing it and keeping yourself outside of your fiction are the most important rules for both people who exist in real life, and those who don’t; the rules remain regardless. I hope that explains my thought frame.
You asked for asks, so here we go! How many drafts does a fic usually go through before you post them?
Typically one draft and then an editing read-through to catch all of the small mistakes. If I realize a scene is missing some huge development I will go back and insert whatever that is, but for the most part, I just sit down and will write an entire chapter out over 2-3 days, in one draft, depending on how long that takes. The story just flows out of me as I write. So I don’t necessarily have “multiple drafts” per se. Once posted, I’ll give my chapter a read-through again just in case any pesky grammatical mistakes manage to make their way through and will fix them if I find them. I do a lot of thinking through scenes and chapters in my mind before I ever sit down to write them, and because of that, I can usually kind of stream-of-consciousness write it. Of course if this was more of a book, there would likely be more writing drafts where I’d go back and adjust things, but since this is fanfiction, and I’m writing and posting things just chapter by chapter, it’s a bit of a different process for me. That being said, I do a lot of planning in my head of the overall arc I want to see play out in a fic. This is probably why I don’t always sleep well at night; I spend too much time thinking of fic ideas! Thanks for the ask! I enjoy responding to them!
Congratulations to Elton John, Bernie Taupin and everyone who poured their heart and soul into Rocketman for this Oscar win! The song is brilliant and exactly what we’ve always come to love about an Elton song. I wish Taron had been at the Oscars to sing it with Elton, but he wasn’t, and I could write paragraphs about that decision, but I’m not going to do that here. Let’s celebrate this win and now we can call Rocketman a Golden Globe- AND Oscar-winning film!
Yep, this girl right here! 👈 I love seeing asks in my inbox - Questions about my fics or writing process, requests for prompts, curious questions about who I am, or just a “hallo, how are you?!” I’m one of the friendliest people you’ll ever meet, and I’m not just saying that! 👋
Title: Weekends are for Lovers
Pairing: Taron x reader
Rating: M
Warnings: Some smut
A/N: So I kind of took this idea and ran off with it. Not really sure I’m capable of writing anything short these days, but I hope you all enjoy this very sweet and slightly sexy one shot. Enjoy! x
Prompt: Something with Taron, Y/N, and his beloved camper van? Requested by @authordreaming13! Hope you love it, lovely!
You had just tucked into your kale and balsamic salad when your phone rang. You smiled to yourself as the screen lit up with a picture of your smiling boyfriend. You hit the button to pick up the call.
“Hi babe!” you said, happy to hear from him and grinning over his uncanny ability to always call just as you were taking your lunch break. It seemed like some kind of cosmic connection, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.
“Heeeey, how’s my favorite lady?” he asked.
“First of all, your favorite lady is your mam, and we both know that,” you said, making him chuckle. “And otherwise, I’m good. Bloody ready for the weekend, I can tell you that. Today at work is draaaa-gging,” you said, also dragging the word out.
“Oh love, sorry to hear that. But you’ll love to hear what plans I’ve cooked up for the weekend,” he said excitedly.
“Plans?” you asked, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see that.
“Yeah. I’ve loaded up the campervan and she’s all ready to go. Just you and me, a case of beer, and being surrounded by nature and the water. What do you say to that?” he said, sounding obviously proud of himself.
“Oh Taron, honey, that sounds amazing. But you forgot about my wellness retreat this weekend,” you replied.
“I forgot about your wellness retreat. Shit,” he said. “I know you told me about that.”
“About ten times,” you sighed.
“Ahhh, well, I suppose we’ll have to go another time,” he said, sounding so crestfallen you wished you could reach through the phone and give him a hug. The gesture had been incredibly sweet, and you couldn’t lie, there was a part of you that just didn’t care to balance your energy vortex or whatever it was your friends called it after convincing you it was going to be the best time.
“You know what? I can skip the retreat. Let’s just go,” you said.
“No, no, nooo, babe. You can’t cancel on your friends,” he replied, and you loved him for the fact that he always supported your time spent with the girls you’d known since school days.
“Look, I think I can pass on the kombucha bar and inner goddess workshop and spiritual cleanse. I just want time with you. That sounds like the best retreat by far.”
“You sure?” he asked, a bit dubiously. “I mean, you’ve already paid for it.”
“Won’t be the first time I’ve wasted money, T. But I think the retreat is just going to stress me out more than anything. If I really want to find some wellness, I think it’s gonna be in the back of your campervan,” you said with a smirk.
“Oh-ho-hoo, I can promise you that,” he replied, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice too. Less-than-subtle flirting was apparently your specialty as a couple.
“Alright, so… I’ll get myself home as soon as my shift ends,” you smiled to yourself, suddenly really looking forward to the weekend. You both managed to hang up the call and you quickly finished off your salad before returning to work, staying as busy as possible but also having thoughts that probably weren’t exactly appropriate for work. But if anyone noticed you blushing, they didn’t say a word.
You nearly leaped from your desk as soon as the clock hit 3 p.m. and rushed out to your car. You dialed Steph, easily your most sympathetic friend, to tell her you were canceling on the retreat. Instead of cooking up some kind of white lie, you told her the truth, that Taron had made weekend plans for you and you got so few of those together that you didn’t want to pass it up.
“So I can count on you to smooth things over with everyone?” you asked nervously.
“Of course. I mean, I can tell you you’re missing out and you’d better promise to dish about the weekend at yoga class next week, but everyone will understand. I mean, if I had the chance to sleep with Taron all weekend long I wouldn’t pass it up either,” she teased you.
“Shit, Steph,” you laughed, feeling your cheeks redden, but grateful for her understanding all the same.
Sure enough, the campervan was waiting in the drive when you got home. You parked your car behind Taron’s, feeling slightly giddy as you rushed inside. “Babe, where are you?” you asked as you wandered down the hall.
“Back here!” he called, his voice coming from the bedroom. You dropped your purse and coat on the couch as you passed by it and found Taron in the closet, rifling through some things, both of your open duffle bags resting on the bed. His was nearly full; yours still completely empty.
“Hey,” you smiled, leaning against the door frame for a moment.
“Hey you,” he smiled back, wrapping his hands around your waist and leaving a playful kiss on your lips. “Excited?” he asked.
“Of course!” you said with a laugh. “It’s going to be brillo.”
“Soooo, get yourself packed up and we can hit the road as soon as you’re ready,” he smiled, tossing one last thing in his duffle, zipping it up, and hefting it over his shoulder.
“Sounds good,” you said, accepting one more kiss before he left you to it. You were so distracted by the possibility of the weekend ahead of you that you didn’t exactly pay a lot of attention to what you were tossing in your duffle. Of course you made sure to grab some cold-weather clothes, as it was still early spring and England weather liked to be tempestuous. But you imagined neither of you would be spending much time outside of the campervan, or in clothes for that matter, so you didn’t put much thought into it.
Taron did some final checks to make absolutely sure everything was ready, and soon you were both rolling down the road, the windows down despite the chilly air, the radio turned way, way up, and both of you feeling about as free and relaxed as you ever got to feel.
While he genuinely enjoyed meeting fans and doing the promotional bits like interviews and appearances, you also knew the grind could get to him. He absolutely cherished his campervan and his ability to get away, to just be another person at a campsite, kicking back with a good beer and his girl. There was something to be said for anonymity. The rest of the world always wanted to be known; you personally wanted to scream back at just how much fame stole from the people who, by talent or luck or something else, had managed to fall into its abyss.
“You’re thinking something,” his voice broke into your thoughts.
“No, nothing important,” you shook your head.
“Yeah, but I know you, and I know that face you make when it’s not nothing. Do you want to talk about it? Get it off your chest now so we don’t have to think about much else later?”
You sighed slightly and turned the dial down on the radio. “Just thinking how nice it is that you can still get away, that’s all.”
“Disappearing isn’t all that hard. It’s wanting to give up the glitz and glamour and attention that is. It’s an addictive lifestyle,” he admitted, “having everyone at your beck and call.”
“But you’re not about that, are you?” you smiled over at him.
“It has its perks, but it’s also exhausting. And when I’m off doing those things, I’m not spending time with you, and I miss you terribly.”
“You’re too sweet babe,” you said, running your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.
You both settled into a comfortable silence again, the hours and hills of the countryside rolling past you gently. After just about four hours, you finally were on the narrow access road to Westacott Farm Camping on the Devon coast. It was a new place neither of you had camped at before, but the reviews had been good and the views of the bay unparalleled.
You pulled in to the campsite and Taron carefully navigated the vehicle around to the Lundy field, pointing out a sign that had your names carefully chalked on it. There was only one other name on the board at the moment, so you guessed it was going to be an incredibly quiet hideaway this time. “Cute!” you remarked as he backed the campervan into the spacious pitch and, once satisfied, turned the ignition off.
“We’re here!” he announced with aplomb, making you giggle too. You both crawled out, grateful for a chance to stretch your legs and to breathe in the sweet country air. A gaggle of ducks greeted you as you walked to the farmhouse to get checked in, squabbling loudly but harmlessly at you. A few sheep peered at you curiously from behind a fence, chewing methodically.
The owner you met was incredibly friendly and laid-back, making sure you had everything you needed and walking you around the toilet and shower facilities. She even offered a fire pitch rental, which you both happily agreed to, as the nights were still nippy. She answered your curious questions about the small working farm, and even allowed you to meet a few of the animals, your enthusiasm for this part making Taron grin to himself.
Eventually, though, you two were left to your own devices, and you both decided a trip down to the beach was in short order, no matter how chilly it was. You both pulled on windbreakers over your jumpers and, hand-in-hand, made the hike down to the pebbly beach. Your shoes crunched a bit as you walked, taking in the stunning view. You didn’t walk too far, eventually getting chased back to the campervan by the cold.
“I can’t feel my cheeks!” you giggled as you settled in on the bed next to Taron, happy just to warm up a bit. “Or my nose. Or my fingers.”
“Here, let me have a crack at that,” he said, taking your hands between his, still somehow so warm, and rubbing them gently until sensation returned. You stared up at the purple frilly curtains hanging over the squat horizontal windows in the campervan; Taron had been so amused when you’d picked them out because they reminded you of the ones in your childhood bedroom. But he’d obliged you and now here they hung, providing you some privacy from the outside world.
“This was the most perfect idea,” you said, feeling a calmness settle in your soul.
“Yeah?” he asked, propping his head up in his hand and gazing at you sweetly. “I’m quite grateful you decided to run off to the wilderness with me.”
“Civilized wilderness, if you will,” you teased him lightly. “I hear in America that some people go totally off the grid. No electricity, no toilet facilities at all,” you laughed lightly.
“What do they do, poo in a pail? Shit in the kettle?” he asked, feigning outrage.
“Taron!” you squealed with laughter, slapping him in the arm lightly. “I think they just dig holes or something. Apparently they quite enjoy it but… I’m good with still having lights and heat and a shower.”
“You’re so spoiled. And I love it,” he grinned, leaning over to steal a kiss or three from you. You got caught up in the feel of his soft, supple lips moving hungrily against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space. His fingers slowly found purchase under your shirt, brushing against the skin of your stomach, drawing goosebumps across your skin.
You raked your fingers through his hair, drawing him closer to you, feeling that familiar tingle waking up in your core. Safely cocooned away in your campervan, it felt like a world away from the world, and all you needed was the man right in front of you.
You allowed the kisses to deepen, opening your mouth to him, your tongues meeting messily as you hastily pulled at the hem of his jumper. He broke those searing kisses only long enough to allow you to pull the jumper and shirt under it off, tossing both aside. You ran your fingers over the heated skin of his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin rippling slightly. You loved that he was the perfect blend of small but built, strong but also compact, muscular but lithe. You had never cared for men so beefy it would feel like you could be broken in half with a simple hug; Taron seemed to exist in the perfect middle, and you could never get enough of admiring him. Though, to be fair, he never gave you much time to just gawk.
He carefully pulled your own jumper and shirt off, revealing that you hadn’t bothered with a bra once you’d changed out of your work clothes. “I came prepared,” you chuckled lightly as he raised that characteristic eyebrow of his, before delving between your breasts, leaving a trail of kisses along the valley of your chest. Tiny moans escaped your lungs at the feeling of his lips traveling fervently over your bare skin.
His fingers traveled along the waistband of your jeans before fumbling with the button. “Fuck,” he said with a giggle, having to take a moment to actually concentrate on what he was doing, pulling them slowly down your legs. The anticipation was killing you.
“Ahhh, the feast awaits!” he said, pushing your knees apart and diving in between them, nuzzling his nose into your clothed core and making you throb harder with need. He made small kitten kisses against your sensitive nub before pushing your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your wet folds.
“Holy fuck,” you groaned loudly, arching your back. You gripped the sheets as he slipped his fingers into you, pumping them slowly.
“So wet for me, princess,” he said, his voice gravelly. You would never have chosen that nickname for yourself, but he also only ever called you that when you were in the throes of passion. And when he made you feel like that, he could call you anything he wanted.
“Please, I need you inside me,” you groaned, not wanting to cum without the feel of him stretching you in that delicious way.
“I will always oblige you, my love,” he said roughly, removing his fingers and making you keen softly at the feeling of emptiness. He peeled your panties off you before quickly removing his own pants. The bed springs squeaked as he clambered over you, lining his hips up with yours, his throbbing erection hot against your thigh.
You anticipated the feel of him sliding into you, but no matter how many times you had sex, it always felt deliciously new every time. “Ohhhh,” you gasped softly as he pushed his way into you, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. The groan that ripped through his body went straight to your groin, your walls clenching around him and spurring him to pull out and thrust back into you powerfully.
“Shit,” he moaned, a vein in his neck standing out as he began thrusting in and out of you, both of you lost to the feeling, the knot in your core winding tighter and tighter.
“Oh god, so close,” you managed to mumble. “I’m … going to cum,” you gasped, feeling the knot snap inside you, sending you over the edge. Your walls clenched around his engorged cock as the waves of pleasure rushed through you, crashing endlessly upon themselves. All you could do was try to hold on through the crescendo of your body’s climax. Taron’s thrusts grew sloppy as he spilled into you, his chest heaving as his hips snapped against yours until he stilled, spent and absolutely happy.
He peered down at you, sweetly brushing your hair aside, the sheen of sweat on both of your bodies glistening in the campervan’s low lights. He pulled out of you and rolled over on the bed, sighing deeply as he did so. “Absolutely perfect,” he said, to no one in particular though there was no one else around but you.
“What, the camping or the fucking?” you asked cheekily.
“Making love, love,” he giggled lightly, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “I can never get enough of you.”
“Well, there’s more where that came from, but I’ll have myself a pint first, if you don’t mind,” you said as you rolled off the bed and felt around on the floor for your jeans. You found them and pulled them on, as well as your jumper, before going to the fridge and pulling out a beer. You popped the cap off and took a long swig, your back still to Taron, knowing you’d abruptly left him hanging.
He always got vulnerable after you’d had sex, and you weren’t good at being vulnerable. He wanted to talk about his feelings, he wanted to tell you how much he needed you in his life. You were comfortable enough being his girlfriend, of course, but you didn’t need to state it after every sack session to know it was real. Maybe that was being a bit harsh, but his lovesick soliloquies always made you feel on edge, like he wanted more from you than you were willing or able to give.
“Pass me one too?” he asked you, a strange timbre in his voice, as he tried to collect himself again. You popped the cap off a second beer and handed it to him, still sitting on the bed in his glorious nudity. His hair was a total wreck, his eyes much darker than usual, but he looked pensive now, and you knew you were the reason for it.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” you said, grabbing your phone and leaving the campervan, crossing the lawn to the toilet facilities. You barely had any reception out here but still typed a message to your best friend Rosalind. <I’m an absolute idiot, Roz.> You waited for the little circle to finally show the message had been sent and sighed.
<What’d you do this time?>
<Oh you know how I said Taron gets after we... sleep together. I know he’s wanting me to tell him I love him and that I’ll have his babies and we’ll live happily ever after and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why, because I love the guy, dearly. But something stops me every time.>
<Afraid of the permanence, perhaps?>
<Maybe> you texted back, looking at yourself in the mirror. The harsh lighting in the bathroom made your face look haunted somehow. You grimaced slightly and turned away from your reflection. <What the hell am I supposed to do?>
<I think you should take the leap. You live with him, you say you love him. Maybe it’s time to really open up. I know you’re scared of being hurt. I know you’re scared that he’ll leave you. But real love takes risk and being vulnerable is worth it. You should really tell him how you feel.> Damnit if Rosalind didn’t make a lot of sense.
<I don’t much like feelings, you know. They’re messy and imperfect and can get you in a whole load of trouble.>
<You also can’t run from them> she pointed out, and I sighed. If any of us was a spiritual guru in a past life, it would definitely have been Rosalind.
You returned to the campervan to find it empty, a pang of nervousness running through you for a second, until you heard Taron’s characteristic chuckle drifting across the open field. You pulled your jacket back on, as well as a pair of gloves, before going to find him.
“Alright, now watch the ball. Keep your eye on it, alright. Here you go,” Taron said, carefully and slowly tossing the ball at a kid wielding a bat. The kid swung wildly but managed to hit the ball, where it bounced across the ground a couple times and rolled to a stop near you.
“Heeey! Good job! That’s how it’s done,” he grinned, clapping his hands cutely. You stooped over and picked the baseball up before tossing it back to Taron. “This is Emmanuel,” he added to you, gesturing to the kid. “The McCormick’s invited us over to their bonfire. You should go say hi,” he replied, nodding his head at the other camper in the area.
You slowly walked over to a couple sitting around a fire along with presumably their daughter. You wished you’d thought to grab your unfinished beer, but it ended up being unnecessary, as these people were incredibly friendly and all too happy to share theirs with you. They introduced themselves as Patrick and Sandra, and daughter Celia and son Emmanuel, whom you’d already met.
“These nights are chilly! You shouldn’t be without one of these!” Pat exclaimed, gesturing to the raging fire pit that was putting out quite a bit of heat.
“Oh, we rented one, just haven’t had a moment to set it up yet,” you smiled ruefully.
“Look at those stars, dear. Nothing like this back home,” Sandra said, gazing up at the deepening night sky, thousands of stars twinkling across the expanse.
“Where’s home?” you asked, taking a swig of the beer.
“Barnstaple, not far from here,” she replied. “You?”
“Oh, London. It’s a busy city, and it’s good to get away from it all once in a while,” you smiled, as Taron and the young boy finally returned, plopping themselves down in the empty camp chairs.
“Can we get the mallows now, mummy?” Celia asked primly.
“Fantastic idea!” Sandra agreed, and her daughter went to retrieve the bag of marshmallows and the roasting sticks. You all had fun roasting marshmallows and getting to know each other a bit, and while the kids excitedly talked about their favorite things to do in town, you and Taron stole a few glances at each other.
Eventually you both felt you’d worn out your welcome, though Pat offered that you both join the family for dinner the next day at the pub, which was only a 20-minute walk away. You gave a non-committal answer before returning to your campervan, full of marshmallows and beer and conflicted feelings.
“We should probably get a proper dinner in us, don’t you think?” Taron said, pulling out storage containers of pre-made food and holding them up. “Indian or Italian?”
“Uhhhh, let’s go with the curry,” you said. “Save the Bolognese for tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” he said, going about reheating the curry and rice in the incredibly compact kitchenette area of the campervan and dividing them between bowls. He turned the small TV on and popped in one of your favorite movies, and you both snuggled together while you ate, enjoying the cozy feel of it all.
“I’d probably be trying to choke down a grass smoothie right about now if I’d gone to that wellness retreat,” you joked.
“That bad, huh?” Taron chuckled slightly.
“I mean, I’m probably being judgmental and all but… Wellness retreat just smacks of superiority.”
“Glad you’re not above roughing it with me,” he commented.
“Of course not. This feels perfect, really,” you said, looking up at him. “I love the campervan. And I love you. And I know I don’t say that nearly enough.”
“You really don’t,” he sighed softly.
“And I’m sorry for that, I really am. I’ve never been good at this, sharing my feelings,” you admitted. “But I don’t mean to shut you out either. So… let’s talk about it.”
“What is there to say that I haven’t already tried to say?” he asked, his fingers running idly over your forearms.
“There can be more to us than just this. There can be a future together, and as scared of it as I am, I’m willing to follow that path with you, if you want. When we’re ready for it. The idea of that kind of dependability on you terrifies me, to be honest.”
“Why?” he asked in a whisper. “Have I ever given you any reason to not trust me? To be scared of a future with me? To keep the walls up?” You shook your head and mouthed the word ‘no’ as he continued. “Every layer of you I pull away, I just want to know more. I need more, of you. And yet there are these times you’re as much a mystery to me as the first day we met, and I wonder if that means I’m not enough for you.”
“No, god, that’s not it at all, T. Just sometimes I don’t have the words for how I feel. I can’t connect my heart and brain and I just sound stupid,” you sighed.
“You never sound stupid to me,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face and shifting slightly so he was facing you. He sweetly cupped your face in his hands before leaning in and kissing you, slowly, gently, tenderly. “Sometimes, words aren’t even needed to speak how you feel,” he whispered against your lips, his light green eyes seeming to look right into your soul. You felt your breath catch in your chest, knowing no one else had ever looked at you this way.
“God, I love you. You...are everything. You always make me feel like a better person than I am.”
“Doubtful,” he said with a sweet smile, as you continued to ramble on.
“I miss you so badly when I have to be alone, but it’s like we never lost that time at all when you come home.”
“I’ll always come back home to you, darling. I adore you too,” he said, wiping at the tears shining on your cheeks.
“You are the poetry of my soul, Taron. And maybe none of this life makes sense but everything makes sense when I’m with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in every way we possibly can, and even the next life after that, wherever that finds us,” you finished, knowing it all probably sounded insanely stupid but not caring.
“Did you just propose to me?” he asked, cocking his head slightly with a boyish grin growing across his face.
“Oh my God, I’m just trying to express how I feel about you, about us. I want this and I’ll go shout it into the universe if you want!” you said, hiding your laugh and your blushing cheeks behind your hand. “I don’t want to be the thing holding us back, T. I know this is a rambling mess, but it’s how I feel.”
“I’m so glad you told me,” he said, the string of twinkling lights you’d hung across the campervan’s ceiling reflecting in the deep pools of his eyes. He looked affected by what you had said, truly touched, and even if it had been scary, you felt so much relief finally saying how you had been feeling all along.
He leaned in to kiss you again, something deeper, more meaningful, passing between you. You kissed him back, feeling yourself completely opening up to him, needing more of him than you’d ever demanded before. Because this time, you wanted to feel, everything, not just the delicious, spine-tingling physical bits, but also the way your hearts beat in time together, the way he caressed every curve of your body with such care, the loving gaze in his eyes you’d always shut yourself off from seeing before.
Your kisses heated up, and your bodies were on fire, as you quickly divested yourself of your clothes and crawled back into the bed. But this time, as he joined your bodies together, there was so much more to it than just sex. He filled you up in so many more ways than just physically; he gave his soul to you, he trusted it to you.
This was making love, and as you reached your climaxes together, your moans mingling in the campervan’s cabin, skin pressed deliciously against skin, breaths ragged, you knew you never wanted to go back. This was where home was, this was what it felt like to be totally, utterly loved. It was unlike anything else you’d ever felt before.
As you laid on your stomach on the bed, hugging a pillow and feeling completely spent again, the blankets pulled partly over you, and Taron’s fingers languidly stroking your bare back, you felt completed, whole; excited for what the future could hold for you both. You felt your eyes grow weary with sleep, Taron’s caresses lulling you softly toward slumber. “Love you,” you managed to mumble, feeling him press a gentle kiss against your forehead before settling in beside you.
“Love you too, my beloved,” he said gently.
“I thought your beloved was your campervan,” you teased in a voice thick with sleep.
Taron chuckled at that. “Only cause I have the best times in it with you. The weekends are made for lovers just like us.”
“And so is the future, Taron. So is our future,” you replied sweetly, letting yourself softly sink into sleep, welcoming the delicious dreams to come.
Rules: Tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better.
Top 3 Ships: I really never joined the ship wars to be honest, but if I had one, it would be Stiles/Lydia (Teen Wolf).
Lipstick or Chapstick: Chappy! I mostly use just basic ass vaseline because it’s the most effective.
Last Song: Rocketman soundtrack (go figure)
Last Movie: “Tribe Zero,” an Amazon Original. It was cute.
Reading: “The Toll” by Neal Shusterman, the third in the Arc of a Scythe trilogy.
Dream Job(s): As an actual published author (no surprise there), and to work with horses in some capacity.
Tea or Coffee: Tea. I have an extensive collection. I also really enjoy a good cuppa hot cocoa. I don’t like coffee for the most part, and drip coffee makes my gut sick. I enjoy a blended drink once in a while as a treat, but the calories/sugar, YIKES!
Been on Tumblr: I have only had this blog up and running since July 21, 2018, so not even a year. But I have been on Tumblr much, much longer on my personal blog, which isn’t worth asking to follow because I only lurk and I’m boring over there.
Favorite kids show(s) growing up: Okay, don’t judge me, but the original Power Rangers and Digimon. Also Saved by the Bell and Boy Meets World.
Chapter title: Recovery and Reconciliation
Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8
Rating: M
Pairing: Taron x OC
Warnings: Mentions of an eating disorder, medical drama, subtle mentions of sex
A/N: I know you all have been waiting to know the outcome of what happened after the cliffhanger I left with you last chapter. I truly apologize it took me so long to put this together, and I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. There’s not a lot of action in this, but there are a lot of emotions, so I hope you hang on for the ride. When things get dark, the people we love truly are the lights we keep fighting for. Always remember to be someone else’s light; it may save their life. X
Soft sheets, but not soft enough. Maybe the industrial-produced kind. A quiet whooshing noise. Dim light. The smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the dry, static-filled air. When I first assumed consciousness, it hurt to open my eyes, so these were my first impressions of the world around me, from what I could sense. But while I could try to analyze the stimuli around me, I had very little sensation coming from my own body, and that concerned me more than anything. Of course, I was probably on strong painkillers, but the absence of pain made me feel no longer grounded. Instead, I just felt drained and lethargic, like it would take far too much effort to even lift my arm.
Where was I? What had happened? I fought through the mental fog clouding my thoughts as I tried to remember. We were filming, on set, of that I was certain. Flashes of dancing played behind my still-closed eyelids. I remembered how hot it felt that day, the shimmers of heat bending the air. I didn’t feel well, but I’d pushed through like the stubborn fool I was. I had… fainted? Collapsed? Given up? I wasn’t sure entirely, but now here I was, prone in a hospital bed and not sure what was going to happen next.
I groaned slightly and felt the need to move suddenly, shifting uncomfortably, slowly becoming more aware of the weight of tubes and wires snaking across my body. A low moan escaped me and then a voice asked “Juliette?”
I instantly popped my eyes open, the room a wash of white. I knew that voice, of course, but it wasn’t the one I’d been hoping to hear. “How are you feeling?” Markus asked concernedly.
“I’m stuck in a hospital bed, Markus. How do you think I feel? Like shit,” I said bitterly.
“Of course. Dumb question,” he said, not even blinking at my tone.
“Why are you even here?” I asked, staring at some point on the wall above his head. “And where is Taron?” I asked softly, despite myself.
“Your lover has been here already, but he couldn’t stay. He had obligations beyond you. He brought your phone and purse, they’re over there,” Markus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But what happened to you, it concerns me too,” he said, not unkindly.
“Concerns you? Like you give a rat’s arse about me,” I said, angry at him, and angry at myself too. Angry at the world, really, but for what I couldn’t even define.
“It...affects me. Alright? I had a fucking personal stake in this whether I wanted it or not,” he said, his voice a bit choked up.
“What are you going on about, Markus?” I asked.
“The baby. Our baby. You … lost it,” he said, and I instantly felt my blood run cold.
“What?” I asked, struggling to sit up.
“When they brought you to the hospital, you were dehydrated, and malnourished, and miscarrying. You lost the baby.”
No, no, it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real. I was still pregnant, I had to be.
“You didn’t take care of yourself, so you caused this. You killed our child,” he continued, his words turning sharp, ruthless, cutting deep. The pain that blossomed through me, no drug could touch.
“No,” I whispered, horrified at this new reality. A reality I wished I hadn’t woken up to. I felt sick to my stomach, hitting the call button for the nurse, certain I was going to puke in my own lap. The tears threatened at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of Markus. He didn’t deserve my tears.
“You didn’t even care. You wanted me to get an abortion. How is this different? Why are you using this to hurt me?” I said, gasping for air, feeling like my lungs were seizing up in my chest.
“Oh, Juliette, it’s just simply what you deserve,” he said, those steely eyes of his as closed off as a mask. He delighted in my pain, a pain I couldn’t escape. I slowly smoothed my hands over my stomach, my hip bones protruding prominently, feeling empty in a way I had never known, not even in my darkest moments before.
“No,” I said again, feeling the grief compounding in my chest. I hadn’t known I was pregnant for very long, but that didn’t matter. The bond had been instant, the hope for this baby immense. I was its mother and now I had nothing - I would never hear its cry, I would never be able to nurse it, I would never sing it lullabies in the 3 a.m. dusk. There wouldn’t be belly laughs and first words, rounds of patty-cake and jars of baby food. There wouldn’t be tiny fingers and tiny toes to kiss, the sweet smell of milk breath, the discovery of new things. And I wouldn’t be able to experience those moments with Taron either. I felt a pang so deeply in my soul for him, an ache, a longing for him just to hold me in that moment. But there was distance between us now, and I didn’t know how he would respond to all of this either.
A nurse with a kind face and brown hair pulled tight in a ponytail swept into the room after knocking. “Glad to see you’re awake,” she smiled brightly at me, but I couldn’t return it. She seemed to notice my distress right away. “Oh honey, let’s make sure you’re more comfortable,” she said, checking all of the med levels on the IV machine before checking my vitals and sitting with me as I fought off the urge to puke, clutching a bucket to my chest. Markus was silent through all of this, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just caused me this torment.
“I’ll see if I can get the doctor in here shortly to talk to you. You’ve had a rough go of it but we’re going to get you back to normal, sweetie, I promise,” the nurse said kindly. While I tried to appreciate her kindness to me, it was hard to pull myself out of the depressive pit I was sinking into. I could feel the wave of hopelessness clutching at the edges of my psyche.
“Markus, could you leave me alone for a while? I need to rest,” I made sure to say in front of the nurse, hoping this would mean he’d have no choice but to leave.
“I can sit right here while you sleep,” he said, almost smugly, but that just made the panic rise in my chest. I could not be left alone with this man again.
“No, please, just go,” I said, clutching hard at the blankets.
“Perhaps it would be best if we give Juliette some space,” the nurse said, reading my distress and emphasizing the last word. She stood up and looked expectantly at Markus, who sighed and stood up himself after a beat of awkward silence, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.
“Good luck with everything,“ was all he said before striding out, and I felt both relief and also more alone than ever.
“Do we need to put a security alert out for him?” the nurse asked sympathetically, but I shook my head.
“Not necessary. He won’t be back. He’s my ex and, it ended painfully,” I said, wiping at my eyes quickly.
“He doesn’t seem like a very kind man,” the nurse observed. “You’re better off without him, honey.” After promising, again, to get a doctor in to visit me as quickly as she could and making sure I was otherwise comfortable, she left me with my thoughts, which were veering toward a dangerous place.
I finally had the space to let out the tears, crying so hard I knew I was leaving snot all over my pillow, but I didn’t have the capacity to care at the moment. Fat, hot tears rolled down my cheeks, unbidden, though I tried to keep the sobs that wracked my body as silent as possible. I could now place a finger on that empty feeling in my body; I was no longer pregnant, and I couldn’t hide from that harsh truth. The abyss of pain yawned wide in my chest, beckoning me into its darkness. I didn’t feel I had much to live for, and maybe non-existence would be better than this pain.
But then there was Taron, and if I had anything to keep fighting for, it was him. I couldn’t leave things the way they had been. I couldn’t allow my mess of a life to ruin his. This wasn’t how things should be. I sniffled slightly, trying to calm myself down. I’d spent my tears already, and now my head was throbbing and my chest hurt and my nose was congested, and I really didn’t feel any better. I saw a box of tissues on the nearby bedside table and grabbed one, wiping away my tears, my fingers brushing against a tube taped to the side of my face. I followed it to my nose, and realized, with a sickening shock, that I had been fitted with a nasogastric feeding tube; they were forcing nutrients into my starved body, and for some reason that made me angry. Who’s right was it to decide that?
But, rationally, that’s what had landed me in the hospital in the first place. That’s what had cost me my baby in the first place. They were trying to save my life, but was it worth it? That question would haunt me for a while.
I managed to doze off for a bit, exhausted by my emotions and my depleted body, but my sleep was restless, my dreams troubled. I woke to a very different presence in the room. “Taron.” I could barely make my voice work, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes already just to see him there.
He looked tired - no, exhausted, his hair a mess, probably stuck under a bald cap and wig all day, but there was only concern in his expression. Concern for me, but I’m not sure I deserved it. “Hey, I’m here now,” he said softly, reaching over and gently taking my hand in his, careful of the IV lines.
“Are you sure that you want to be?” I asked hesitantly, and Taron’s brow wrinkled like I was being ridiculous.
“Of course, why would I be anywhere else?” he asked softly, sweetly brushing my hair out of my face, his fingers coming to rest under my chin. “Seeing you fall put some things in perspective. I don’t want to hold onto my anger any more. So those things that happened before, they don’t matter to me.”
“But they should, Taron. They should. I lied to you, about a lot of things. I was scared, yes, but that doesn’t excuse it,” I replied weakly.
“And I’ve forgiven you, and it’s as simple as that. People say they forgive each other all the time but it’s not real if you still hold a grudge, if you still hold it against them. Real forgiveness takes trust and courage. All I know is that losing you isn’t an option for me. So first, we focus on your recovery. Then, we can work on the rest of it. Okay?” he said gently. I found it hard to meet his beautiful peridot gaze.
“But… You shouldn’t be with a baby killer, you’re too good for that,” I said resentfully.
“What?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“I lost the baby. Markus said it was all my fault,” I whispered.
“Markus doesn’t know shit,” Taron replied instantly. “We both know he’s an idiot, and he doesn’t know the situation at all, so don’t you dare believe a word he says. I spoke with the doctor myself. The baby had a genetic defect, Juliette. It was never going to survive. Maybe the malnourishment contributed to this all happening at the same time, but love, it wasn’t meant to survive. You didn’t do this, okay? It’s sad, and it’s awful, and we’re going to mourn it, but please don’t take on that guilt as yours. It’s not,” he whispered, his eyes growing watery too. He paused to wipe quickly at his eyes. “I had hopes for this too, you know. I was excited for what could be, for us. I’m not going to let you feel alone in this. The baby is gone, yes, but you are still here, and you are what I have to focus on. I need you to get better.”
“I just don’t know if I can,” I said, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.
“What, get better?” he asked, knitting his brows together again.
“Move forward. I’m not strong enough. I’m not sure I deserve anything more.”
“Hey,” he said, “that’s not true. You’re one of the strongest people I know, next to maybe my mam,” he added with a cute laugh. “I’m sure right now it doesn’t feel that way, but I know you. I see you. It’s going to take time and it’s going to take as many steps back as you take forward, but you can move forward, and you do deserve to be happy again. It’s painful now, yes, but not impossible. You have so much to look forward to still. You have me.”
I opened my eyes again and gazed at him for a moment, feelings tumbling and crashing through me, the depression and grief clashing with the hope and love I felt for Taron. That was definitely something I think we took for granted in life; that emotions weren’t simple, black or white. They didn’t come to us one at a time, perfectly lined up so we could deal with each one in its time. No, life was much more complex than that, and oftentimes we were battered in a sea of emotion, in a constant battle of contradiction. How did anyone ever figure themselves out?
“One day at a time, Juliette. I just need you to fight for you right now,” he continued after watching me wrestle with my inner turmoil.
I nodded and closed my eyes again. “Just so tired,” I murmured softly.
“You should sleep. I’ll be right here,” he said, pulling the blankets up around me again. I couldn’t help but smile over his tenderness, something he still wished to bestow upon me despite everything we’d been through. I felt myself slowly sliding toward sleep again, and gratefully surrendered.
I wasn’t asleep for long, though, as a doctor arrived finally to advise me of my condition. He explained some of the obvious, corroborating what Taron had told me about my miscarriage, and also some of the less obvious problems, the dehydration and malnutrition that had caused my collapse and an acute kidney infection resulting from it, which I was now on heavy antibiotics for, and a concussion from hitting my head on the concrete road. My bloodwork levels were incredibly out of sync, and my body had been crashing hard when they rushed me into the ER, which was likely why I felt like shit now, lethargic and headachey and exhausted. I was also assigned a therapist, whom I was going to have to have consultations with over acute anorexia nervosa and depression. In other words, I was a complete and utter mess.
But somehow even worse than all of that was the fact that I’d managed to sprain my ankle too when I’d fallen. My leg was bound in a heavy plastic boot, which I discovered when I hastily yanked the covers back. I gasped and shook my head in disbelief; this directly threatened my livelihood and I didn’t know how I was going to cope.
I tried to not have a meltdown in front of the doctor and nurse and Taron, but I could feel it clawing at my brain. I grabbed my phone to try and distract myself, surprised by the many text messages from other dancers and my friends who knew what had happened, at least. I tried to respond to those as best I could after the doctor and nurse had excused themselves. I had several voice messages from Zayn and my mother, and I realized I needed to let them know I was going to be okay. The production, of course, had already contacted them, as was protocol in an emergency situation. But to hear from me would probably be good.
Just as I was dialing my mum’s number, though, a knock came on the door and she popped her head in. “Mum!” I nearly cried, struggling to sit up and nearly getting knocked back into the pillows by her embrace.
“Juliette, my darling, darling girl,” she said into my hair, running her fingers through it before holding me out at arms length and looking at me. “Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again. You scared me half to death. I had no idea you were so sick,” she said, tears running down her face. “Why didn’t you talk to me, honey? I could have helped you, I could have…” she said, her words cut off by her sobs.
“Oh god, mum,” I said, also tearing up and trying to hug her again. “Mum, I’m fine. I’m going to be okay. I promise,” I said, my voice breaking slightly.
“I know, honey. But I feel like I should have seen it. I should have noticed you were hurting,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful of my leg, which was resting on a pillow now.
“Mum, I hid it from everyone that ever loved me. I’m still sick, you know... in here,” I said, pointing at my head. “But I have people in my life worth fighting for, and I know that. Clara, you … Taron…” I smiled over at him, caught up in the emotion I saw there in his face. “It’ll be alright,” I whispered softly, finally laying back into the pillows, already worn out but happy to have my mum there.
We talked quietly for a while, and I’m pretty sure I went in and out of sleep, at least until the nurse came back to check my vitals and suggested I should eat something. I had no desire to eat but knew this was a major test I needed to get over if I was ever to get this damnable tube out of my nose. So I would have to pretend until it was no longer pretend, until my brain didn’t see food as the enemy. I ordered something off the menu that sounded remotely palatable, but when it arrived even the smell made me want to throw up.
Still, with my mum and Taron there to support me, I picked up the applesauce and slowly peeled back the lid. “You can do this, Juliette. You need to do this,” Taron said, watching me carefully, a supportive hand on my knee. My hand shook slightly as I picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, staring at it for probably uncomfortably long before finally putting the bite of applesauce in my mouth. It tasted okay, and my stomach even gave a small rumble, realizing, even if my brain didn’t, that I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours.
I managed to swallow that first bite, and then it was like something inside my brain snapped, and I wolfed down the rest of the applesauce without another thought. I was hungry, absolutely starving, and no matter how much I worried about calories and being fat, I couldn’t deny the almost-nauseous pain in my stomach any longer. Soon after that applesauce, I dug into the other food on the tray, eating greedily and not seeing the looks my mum and Taron were exchanging, words being said without a voice.
“I need to pee,” I finally spoke up, pushing the food tray away from me.
“I’ll call the nurse,” my mum said, reaching for the button.
“No, I’ve got it,” I grumbled slightly, peeling off the covers and awkwardly swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“I think we should get some help, babe,” Taron said hesitantly, instantly going to support me, as I was a bit precarious on the edge of the bed. A wave of dizziness passed over me, likely a result of my concussion, but I wasn’t willing to let that win.
“I have to try,” I said, gripping the bed railing tightly and slowly lowering my feet to the ground, the boot making a clunk on the cold tiled floor. I winced slightly, aware that my ass, clad in a massive pair of mesh granny panties to absorb the blood from my miscarriage, was open to the world in the starchy hospital gown, but my bladder was insistent. My mum carefully unplugged the IV from the wall so we could wheel the tower into the bathroom, and I carefully shifted my weight into my feet. Despite the support the boot gave, a sharp crack of pain ran up my leg, making me cry out and reach for whatever was nearby; thankfully, that was Taron, and he kept me from falling to the floor.
“I think we should have waited for help,” he said, as he clutched me tightly to his chest, helping me hobble to the bathroom before I had an accident on the floor. I had to admit he was probably right, as I sat there on the toilet, groaning silently as I relieved myself. Taron leaned in the doorway, his soft, caring, gentle eyes taking me in. He wanted to fix this all for me, I knew, but he couldn’t.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, if I can’t dance,” I whispered softly, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom. “I’ll lose Rocketman, and my classes at the Academy, and then what am I? I’ve defined my life by dance.”
“I think right now is not the time to worry about the what ifs to come. You have a road of recovery ahead of you, and you are more important than any career. Besides that, most of the major dance numbers are already done, and you if you focus all of your energy on getting better, maybe you’ll be back in time for Bennie. But regardless of that, the most important thing is you right now. Your career can, and will, wait for you. You’re more than just a dancer to me, you know,” he said with a small smile. “You’re my girl, and I love you.”
His words hit me straight in the chest, and I cried for what felt like the 80th time that day. There I was, sobbing into a wad of tissue paper, goosebumps on my arms because it was cold, propped on the toilet and losing it over everything; it was not my finest moment, but no one was there to make me feel guilty over it either.
My mum had ended up calling the nurse, and she’d brought some crutches for me too, because I wasn’t supposed to put any weight on my leg for a while. After I managed to get myself sorted out, I hobbled back to the bed, and gratefully crawled in, exhausted by even just going to the bathroom. I really had done myself in, and it saddened me. I didn’t want to need help doing even basic things; I wanted to tell myself to get over it, to stop being so weak, but my body didn’t have a choice. I’d abused it, and now I was paying the price.
My head had started to throb by now, and my body ached everywhere. I was due for more painkillers, though, so the nurse changed out my IV bags so I could rest a little easier. She suggested my company give me time to rest, but I didn’t want Taron or my mum to leave just yet.
I asked after Troy, but my mom reassured me that my dog was with Madison and would be just fine. She had also contacted the Academy to let them know of my situation, and they had been nothing but concerned and understanding, which gave me a little bit of relief. Another knock on the door turned out to be Zayn, holding a bouquet of flowers, and Clara, who instantly ran over to me and launched herself into the bed. “Mummy!” she squealed as she flounced down beside me.
“Clara, be careful!” my mum chided, but I was happy to pull my daughter into my arms and hug her tightly.
“Oh, my Clara Bean,” I said, kissing her on the top of her head and smelling the sweet fragrance of the strawberry shampoo still lingering in her hair.
“We came as soon as we could,” Zayn said, setting the vase on the bedside table and kissing me lightly on the forehead.
“Thank you, those are beautiful,” I smiled.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
“Not great at the moment, but I’ll be okay,” I replied, watching as Zayn and Taron shook hands and greeted each other with pats on the shoulder. Zayn really had come a long way in just the past few months, I had to give him that.
We talked for a bit but the heavy arm of sleep was beckoning to me like a warm, cozy blanket, and I couldn’t fight it off any longer. I’m sure at some point they all figured out I had dropped off, and the next time I woke up, it was quite late and I was alone in the dark room. There was a note on the bedside table for me, scribbled in Taron’s handwriting, promising he’d stop by in the morning before going to set; I couldn’t begrudge him wanting to shower and actually get a good night’s sleep. My body was on fire, but I hesitated to hit the call button, figuring this pain was a sort of penance to be paid for all the wrong I’d done in my life.
I wasn’t a bad person, no, I didn’t believe that. Deep down, I’d always had good intentions. I loved the people around me, but when you’re a broken person, the way you love is broken too. And I knew Taron saw that, and understood that, even more than me. He was patient and kind in ways I didn’t deserve, but he gave that to me anyways. The only way I could begin to make amends, to try and fix the pain I’d caused him, was to try and love him the best I could. And that started with me, with fixing myself. I decided, then and there, that no matter how painful it would be, I would let the therapist dig deep, deeper than I’d ever let myself go, into the places I’d long ago sewn shut, the things I’d tried to forget. If I was ever going to heal, I needed to discover how deep the wounds were, and forgive every single person in my life that had caused that pain, and apologize to the little girl I was who lost her innocence long ago.
I slept fitfully for a while, waking up from troubled dreams, dreams full of memories of my father before he left, when he was drunk all the time and shouting and breaking things, scaring my mum and me, the times I hid in the bathroom cabinets, clutching my stuffed patchwork bunny until my mum would tearfully come find me, long after dad had passed out on the couch.
I’m pretty sure the nurse gave me more painkillers at some point in the night, because I woke from a deep, dreamless sleep the next morning to Taron’s sweet kisses peppering my face. “Morning, love,” he said with that adorable boyish grin of his. I smiled, happy at least to see him freshly showered and awake. I still felt exhausted, but that was probably how it would be for a while, until I recovered some more.
“G’morning,” I murmured softly, trying to shake the sleep out of my eyes. I had a dull headache but otherwise felt a little better than the day before. I had no idea when I’d be able to leave; there were more tests to be done before being discharged would even be considered. I giggled when Taron barged his way onto the bed, scooting me over gently, ever-careful of my tubes and wires. He cradled me in his arms, and I was all too happy to lay my head on his chest, hearing his heart beating.
“I think this might be against hospital protocol,” I said, actually laughing.
“Fuck the protocol. I’ve got this hot babe in my arms, so I think I might need treated too, for heatstroke,” he smirked.
“What? That doesn’t even make sense, T!” I giggled, but he didn’t care if it was stupid, he was just happy to see me smiling and laughing again. I was even hungry in the morning, so I ordered eggs and fresh fruit and Taron sat with me while I ate, finishing off my toast when I didn’t touch it.
He hated having to leave me but I didn’t mind so much, just grateful that he wanted to be there with me at all. “Go on, go be Elton and be great at it,” I smiled. “You know where I’ll be,” I smiled as he left a sticky jam kiss on my cheek.
“Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with a wave, he was gone, but I didn’t have very much time to be bored. After posting something to social media and responding to more texts and chat messages, I had another steady stream of visitors, Leah and Pietre and Dennis included, and several other dancers I had come to call friends. I was touched by the outpouring of love and support. My mum visited again, grateful to see me in better spirits than the day before. And of course Madison came, bringing a massive bouquet that was so large it took up an entire corner of the room and perfumed the air with its floral fragrance.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh. She painted my nails while chatting about all the drama I was missing at the Academy, and if I closed my eyes I could very nearly pretend we were just sitting on my couch with wine and containers of Chinese takeout spread out before us. It made me feel normal, and not just like the “sick girl.” She even made me promise that I’d get better or she’d kick my ballerina ass, and I was grateful she didn’t pity me because pity wouldn’t get me through this.
So between visits and further medical tests, mostly to rule out any other issues, the day passed on quickly, and I received some good news by the evening. The doctor determined that come morning I could be sent home, where they were certain I’d be more comfortable, with one caveat; I had to keep the feeding tube for a few more weeks at best, until I could prove I was no longer a danger to myself. But I had been clear to the therapist that I was aware of my shortcomings, the control issues and painful past, the things that drove me to try and control my food intake in the first place. I wanted to get better, and that was crucial; you couldn’t make someone change if they were unwilling to do so. And I genuinely wanted to do better, even if trying to convince myself that my worth was more than my waistline would be an uphill battle.
Taron, of course, did his best to convince me I should hole up in his house with him, where he could keep a closer eye on me, and I didn’t have the energy to argue. So the following morning, after being instructed on how to prepare the feeding pump and bags, and getting me back into my real clothes, I happily signed the papers for dismissal. There would of course be follow-ups and therapist appointments, but this small step in my recovery was important. My mum had promised to keep an eye on my house for a while, and after stopping by to collect more clothes and toiletries and my phone charger and anything else that might be useful, Taron got me settled in on his couch with free reign of his Netflix. It wasn’t a bad arrangement, and I felt much better after I finally got a proper bath, with only a little help from Taron getting in and out of the tub with my bum leg.
While he was away filming, I decided I wasn’t just going to be this invalid in need of his total care, so after hobbling to the kitchen and snooping around in his fridge, I decided to make a curry for when he came home. It took a while to figure out a rhythm with the crutches, but eventually I had a skillet full of lean beef and green curry simmering away and a pot of rice steaming too. I’d just set out bowls and a basket of naan bread on the table when Taron came home again, surprised, of course, by my surprise.
“What is this, babe! You didn’t have to. I’m supposed to spoil you, you know,” he grinned.
“I dunno, I wanted to,” I said as he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me gently. “You didn’t have to do any of this for me. You don’t have to earn your way back into my good graces,” he said, gently tipping my face up to look at him.
“I want to give back. I feel like all I do is take and take, and all I’ve done is manage to hurt you. I want this to be an equal relationship,” I tried to explain.
“I don’t think you take and take from me and give nothing back. You make me happy, Juliette. You make me laugh. You support what I do, and you believe in me. You’re not here for my money or good looks,” he said sweetly.
“Well…maybe the good looks,” I teased lightly, making him chuckle.
“Giving back to me doesn’t have to be tangible goods. I don’t operate in black and white like that. You give back simply by being perfectly imperfect you.”
“Yeah, but you are perfectly perfect, so I feel inadequate all the time.”
“What? I’m not perfect. God… I have my flaws. I’ve been jealous, and angry, and bitter over things. I’ve been distant and cold to you too. I drink too much and don’t get enough sleep and sometimes let my house go to shit. I’m not perfect, I just try. I make the effort. It’s high time you had someone in your life making that effort for you.”
“You say such sweet things to me,” I replied softly, somehow struggling to comprehend he was saying these words to me.
“Well I mean them, so get used to it. You need to get used to being happy. Now, shall we eat this curry before it gets cold?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said lightly, both of us tucking into our bowls. I even managed to eat a few strips of naan, and considered it a victory; a small one, but life had to be lived by the small victories sometimes. We finished our food, had a lazy evening cuddling on the couch with a film we didn’t spend much time actually watching, and rather than waking me after I unintentionally dozed off, Taron carried me to bed.
Or at least I assumed that’s what happened, because I woke up some time in the night, needing to use the bathroom, Taron snoring softly next to me. As I watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling in the darkness, shadows shifting over his face, I realized how much I had truly missed him. How much I needed him. How much I wanted him.
An uncomfortable throbbing need woke up in my groin and I groaned slightly. My body could be a real asshole sometimes. I made myself get out of bed to prevent myself from waking Taron from his slumber, though I’m quite certain he probably wouldn’t have minded if I chose to have my way with him. I also just wasn’t in any shape to have sex at the moment, still bleeding and sore down there anyway. At least I wasn’t totally dead inside, I thought ruefully as I strapped myself back into my boot and stomped as quietly as I could to the bathroom, cringing every time the boot scraped over the wooden floor. I didn’t have to sleep in the thing, but I really couldn’t walk without it at the moment either.
After taking care of my needs I stared at myself in the mirror, at my pale face and rumpled hair and dull eyes, and sighed. I had no idea how Taron still found me attractive at all. But I could be that girl again, if I worked hard enough at it.
I returned to the bed and when I laid back down Taron rolled over and nuzzled into my neck. “Where’d you go?” he murmured, kissing my neck sweetly.
“I had to pee,” I laughed, shrugging at how easy it was to just announce that.
“Well, I hope it was a good trip then,” he giggled, sleep still thick in his voice.
“Um, yeah, it was adequate,” I joked back, running my fingers through his soft, fluffy hair. The movie had yet to hack his hair up but I knew that was coming very soon.
“Glad my facilities are up to your standards,” he snickered back. “God I love you,” he added, his breath hot on my neck and not helping the state of my arousal.
“I know,” I smiled, as he continued to kiss my neck, his fingers slowly working their way under my camisole, caressing the skin of my stomach. “I can’t, you know, not yet,” I whispered, and he sighed softly, light spilling in from between the blind slats reflecting in the deep orbs of his eyes.
“You should get some sleep,” he said, withdrawing his hand and making me sigh shakily.
“I want you, I just, my body,” I tried to explain, not very well, squeezing my eyes shut.
“It’s okay,” he grinned, kissing the tip of my nose cutely. “I know,” he said in return, pulling the blankets around me and humming softly as he settled in to fall asleep once more, his arm draped sweetly over me.
This was what I wanted the rest of my life to look like, this moment, a beautiful man beside me who stole my breath away, who didn’t judge me for my failings, who adored me and loved me with a love so pure I didn’t always know how to carry it. If there was anything to fight for, I knew it was a future with him.
Will Juliette continue to fight for herself, and for a future with Taron? Or will she let ghosts of her past haunt her? Keep reading to find out - Chapter 10, Coming Soon!
2087
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
izzy806
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
stormborns
