Taylor had seen you rise to the very top and fall to the lowest depths. You had known each other since before the fame, through it, and when it struck both of you with its harshest blows. Taylor handled it the best she could—no one was perfect, but she survived… But you? You couldn’t say the same.

With you, it was always more ruthless. You never knew why, but it was. So you fell into substance use. What started as an innocent smoke turned into long nights in the hospital, on the edge of an overdose—whether from a pill or from inhaling the wrong amount.

So Taylor gave you an ultimatum: rehabilitation or goodbye. And of course, you chose the first.

You had been clean for several years now. You were a functional, closeted alcoholic—but that was a different issue to deal with.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

To celebrate the end of her tour, Taylor and you decided to take a vacation. You suggested Jamaica, since you had never been before. The nights were magical—but the days even more so. The beaches were a color you had never seen before; everything felt like paradise.

On one of those days, you and Taylor went down from your hotel to the beach. Once you settled in, Taylor realized she had forgotten something in the room, so she quickly went back to get it. You didn’t mind—your social skills kicked in, chatting with some locals and making acquaintances. But when Taylor returned, what she saw made her freeze.

You were sitting in a circle with several people who seemed to run a smoothie stand, reggae music playing in the background, laughter drifting through a distinct kind of smoke. Taylor watched with her own eyes as the circle passed a blunt from hand to hand, almost like some kind of welcoming ritual.