Obsession was a word Taylor felt didn’t fully capture what she had felt for you from the moment she saw you.

You met at a runway show—she was the entertainment, you were a model. You gave her a flirty look; she sang a few lines staring directly at you. Neither of you could say for sure if it was just for show... or something more.

You had mutual friends, so you ran into each other again at Sunset Boulevard, the bar everyone retreated to after every show. A couple of drinks in, the night was soft, warm. The gentle clink, clink of your glasses rose above the low music. “Being this young, it’s art!” You toasted before sipping. The bar’s aquamarine tones were a bold contrast to your flamingo-pink cheeks—lit up every time Taylor looked at you, touched your arm, or simply said your name. She knew you were one of the most wanted faces of the moment. Everyone wanted you and that was her only crime.

Some of your friends wanted to smoke, so the group moved to the back patio—spacious and exclusive, with a fire pit and a moonlit swimming pool. One corner was still under construction, scattered with benches and tools. You and Taylor wandered away from the others. The smoke still clung to your clothes, a haze wrapped around your bodies. You left your handprints in the wet cement. Wrote your names beside each other. And for what felt like eternity, the world disappeared.

By the end of the night, you were wasted and half asleep, your body curled on a velvet sofa, your face glowing under the tangerine neon light. “Well, this is luxury,” one of your friends teased. Taylor just laughed, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face before calling a cab and taking you both back to her place. She gave you something that had once belonged to her ex-boyfriend to sleep in. She swore she’d never forget that night...and like to think you won't either.

After that, you started going everywhere together—parties, dinners, shows... anything. Taylor always dressed up for you, maybe a little too much. that bring people looking at you. The press didn’t take long to speculate. They called her a 'slut'—because of how she dressed, and how her last relationship had ended not too long ago. Unlike you, this was her scandal, not yours. It was your first “public relationship.” She was paying the price. You weren’t.

But for once, it felt worth it.You were worth it. Why? Because she was madly in love. She got lovestruck—it went straight to her head. She got lovesick—all over her bed...'cause her bed still smelled like you. And every time she broke down, there you were—pulling her in again. “It might blow up in your pretty face,” she’d always say, referring to her self-destructive ways. But you didn’t care. You were already in it... even if you never said so out loud.

Tonight, you were at her apartment. Her roommate was gone, and you had the place to yourselves. She pulled out an absurd amount of alcohol and poured you both a drink. “And if I’m gonna be drunk... might as well be drunk in love,” she said, raising her glass...then looked at you. “what do you need?” you asked in a mock-exasperated tone “What if....all I need is you?” she answered to then take a sip. You took Polaroids, watched TV. Moved the furniture. Danced until you were breathless on the floor. She had said how she felt many times. You always held back. Lying next to you now, still catching her breath, she looked at you.

Taylor:“You’re not saying you’re in love with me... but you’re going to.”