Messy Bun, Messy Life, and Lionel Messi

One Week LaterJanuary 1st; 2025Taylor Swift's Point of ViewThe world outside is alive with chaos—fireworks crackle in bursts of color, drunken laughter echoes down the street, and someone is banging pots and pans like they've never seen a drum before. It's New Year's, the night everyone collectively decides to celebrate excess and new beginnings. Did you know September is the most popular month for births? Do the math. Apparently, we have a lot of fun on New Year's.

But me? I'm not outside in the madness. I'm here, looking at Zoë. The steady rise and fall of her tiny chest as she sleeps is the only rhythm I need tonight. Her small hands curl tightly around the new stuffed elephant we bought her, the one she fell in love with once we introduced it to her properly.

I reach out to gently smooth a strand of hair from her face, and I can't help but smile. The fireworks outside are trying to steal the show, but nothing compares to this. I get to start my new year with her. There's nothing more I could ask for.

"Happy New Year, Zo Zo," I whisper, kissing her temple softly before pulling the blanket up around her. She stirs for a moment, her little fingers tightening around the stuffed elephant, but then she settles again. I quietly close the door behind me, my heart full.

Downstairs, the TV is still blaring, showing crowds cheering and confetti raining down in Time Square. I flop onto the couch, and there's Travis, drink in hand, looking more relaxed than I've seen him in days. He glances at me and raises his glass. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," I reply, leaning back into the cushions. "Zo Zo is knocked out."

"I'd imagine," he says with a small smirk.

I glance at him, the flickering TV light playing across his face. "What are your resolutions this year?"

He takes a sip of his drink and thinks for a moment. "To be less lonely, I guess. Make some real connections."

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by his honesty. "I thought you'd say something like 'eat less bacon.'"

"That too," he admits with a chuckle. "What about you?"

I pause, unsure how to sum up the million thoughts in my head. "To give Zo Zo a better life. To finally feel...stable, maybe. Like I'm not running from one disaster to the next."

"That's a good one," he says softly, his tone losing its usual edge. For a moment, there's just the sound of the TV and distant fireworks.

"Here's to that," I say, lifting an imaginary glass. He clinks his real one against the air, a rare and fleeting smile crossing his face.

"When are you leaving, by the way?" Travis asks, his voice a bit quieter now.

"I don't know exactly," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "We never really decided on a date."

He leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "Are you still hell-bent on getting out of here?"

I shrug, trying to play it cool. "I need to get back to my life. I know that. I can't live in luxury forever."

He raises an eyebrow, a little amused. "So you like it here?"

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Hey, you have a mansion with an indoor hot tub! I have a studio and a mattress on the floor. It's not hard to see the difference."

Travis smiles, but it's one of those half-smiles that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, well, I didn't expect to be living like this either." His words hang in the air for a moment, thick with something unsaid.

"I think I'll need to leave though in the next couple of days. I have a job and everything." I can't keep this up. It's not just the luxury that's pulling me in; it's the way Travis keeps trying to win me over, like everything's okay when it's not. It's hard to be around him, to look at him, knowing what I know. He did something unforgivable, and every day it feels like he tries to make it up to me in some way that makes me want to scream.

"Why the urgency suddenly?" he asks, sounding a little defensive, but I can hear that undercurrent of worry in his voice.

"I don't want to get fired. That job is all I have. There's no way I'll be able to find another job that lets me bring Zo Zo to work." The thought of losing the job, of not being able to provide for Zoë, makes my stomach twist. But staying here with him, pretending everything's fine, is draining me.

Travis stays silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost like he's trying to be reassuring. "You know I can always help you. I want Zoë to be safe and healthy."

"So screw me?" I snap, feeling the anger rise up in me. "That's what this is, right? You're just throwing money at me, thinking that will fix everything?"

"Hey, where's the second-degree coming from? I thought we were getting along," he says, raising his eyebrows, like he doesn't understand why I'm getting so worked up.

"I'm so tired of putting up this act!" I groan, standing up so quickly that my chair scrapes against the floor. "You are the literal worst human I've met in my life!" My voice cracks as the frustration breaks free, the weight of everything coming crashing down.

Travis stands up too, eyes narrowed, as if he's trying to gauge what's happening. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, but there's no real challenge in his voice—more like he's waiting for the truth to hit him.

I don't answer him right away. I can't. Instead, I turn away, pacing the floor like it'll somehow release all this built-up tension inside me. How did I get here? How did everything go so wrong?

The words hit me hard, the shock of them sinking deep. I feel my breath catch in my throat. "You left me! You left me all alone!" I say, the weight of everything we've been through crashing down on me. "You can't make up for that with things! You can't just give me money and expect me to forgive you. You ran. You left without a word—without even saying goodbye. You had a responsibility to me, to us, and you just... left."

My voice shakes as I finally let out everything I've been holding inside, the years of frustration and anger boiling over in this moment. My chest tightens, and I feel the sting of those memories, the isolation, the abandonment. "How could you do that to me? How could you just walk away when everything fell apart?"

There's a brief, tense silence before he responds. His words are cold, sharp like a knife. "Oh, really? Strong words coming from you. You're one to talk."

I blink, my mind racing, confused. "What? What do you mean?"

His eyes flash with something darker—something I can't quite place. "You left me, Taylor. You left me when I needed you most. I second-guessed it for a while. I thought about coming back, but you... you didn't come for me. You didn't try to help. You didn't reach out." His voice cracks just a little, but it's hard to tell if it's regret or resentment. "You left too. You walked away just like I did."

I'm reeling. It feels like the floor has dropped out from under me. "I left?" I repeat, my voice rising in disbelief. "Are you serious? You're the one who walked out on me, Travis. You didn't even give me a chance! I was left behind, all alone, and you think I left you?"

His words hit me like a slap. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, the anger rising to match his. "You always act like it never happened. Like I'm some monster!" He takes a step toward me, his voice cracking with frustration. "You're such a hypocrite! You act like you never left me on the road."

I stand frozen for a moment, his words swirling in my head. How dare he twist it like that? How dare he put the blame on me? I feel the rage building, but I know I have to hold it together.

"You. Left. Me." I say, the words coming out slow and sharp, each one a punch. "You walked away. You left me, Travis. How do you think that feels?" My voice shakes, but I force myself to stand tall, to face him. "You didn't just walk away from me—you abandoned me when I needed you the most."

The silence between us is heavy, suffocating. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he looks at me, and for a moment, I see the guilt in his eyes. But then it's gone, replaced with something harder, something that feels like regret turned inward.

"I never wanted to leave you like that," he finally mutters, barely audible, his voice low. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix things."

"You think you can fix it now?" I ask, my voice laced with disbelief. "By giving me things? By acting like everything's fine and you're some savior coming in to fix it all? You left me. You didn't even try to come back. Don't you dare act like this is something we can just fix."

He looks down, his face hardening again. "I left because you abandoned me!"

I say it before I can stop myself, the words coming out more final than I meant them to. There's a heaviness in my chest as I speak, but it feels like the right thing to say. I'm done with this. Done with the games, the half-hearted attempts to make things right, and most of all, done with pretending that we're anything more than strangers who share a past.

"I think I'm going to pack my things. I'll be out of your hair in the next couple of days," I add, my voice steady but edged with finality.

"Alright," he finally says, his voice quieter now. "If that's what you want. I can't stop you. Makes my life easier."

I don't respond. Instead, I turn toward the door, letting the silence hang heavy in the room. I can't bring myself to look back. I don't need to. There's nothing left to say.

I head upstairs, my footsteps heavy on the hardwood as I try to keep my composure. Once in my room, I grab a few trash bags I'd stashed in the closet. Suitcases are a luxury I can't afford, and honestly, what's the point? A trash bag does the same thing. It's not like I have much to pack anyway. Just clothes, some toiletries, and my cheap dollar store makeup that barely does the job. Nothing here is worth the effort of pretending it deserves better.

I start tossing my things into the bag, not bothering to fold or organize. My hands move automatically, almost robotic, as if detaching myself from the act will make it hurt less. The reality of leaving settles over me, but I push it aside. This isn't the time for emotions. It's survival mode, plain and simple.

It doesn't take long—less than three minutes, maybe. That's how little I have. One bag, cinched tight at the top, is all that represents my life. I glance over at the crib in the corner of the room, where Zoë sleeps peacefully, curled around her stuffed elephant. She doesn't know what's coming. I swallow hard and set the bag by the door.

I walk quietly to her side, smoothing a stray curl from her face. Packing her things will have to wait until tomorrow. For now, she deserves to sleep without the chaos looming over her.

"Tomorrow," I whisper to myself, turning away. "Tomorrow, we'll figure it all out."

• • •

Travis pulls up to the dingy apartment building, the car rolling to a slow stop. The engine hums in the awkward silence between us. I refuse to look at him, staring instead at the cracked pavement outside.

"Here's your stop," he says flatly, his voice void of emotion.

I nod slightly, my fingers already curling around the door handle. "You'll bring the rest of Zo Zo's stuff tomorrow?" My voice comes out softer than I intended, almost hesitant.

"Yeah," he replies, almost curt. "This should get you through tonight though, right?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "She can go one night without her crib. She's been trying to escape it lately anyway."

I push the door open, the cold air biting at my skin as I step out. Grabbing the two trash bags—one for Zoë, one for me—I try not to focus on the fact that everything we own fits in just a couple of garbage bags. Travis gets out too, unbuckling Zoë from her car seat. He lifts her out gently and places her beside me, her small hand clutching her stuffed elephant.

"Come on, baby girl," I say, balancing the bags in one arm while scooping her up with the other. She rests her head on my shoulder, clearly too tired to protest.

As I turn toward the building, his voice cuts through the quiet. "Not even a thank you? Really?"

I pause, the weight of his words settling in the air between us. I glance back briefly but avoid his gaze. "Bye, Travis," I say, my tone sharp enough to end the conversation.

He doesn't respond, and I don't wait for him to. Adjusting Zoë on my hip, I walk toward the building, the trash bags swinging at my side. My chest tightens with each step, but I force myself to keep moving.

When I reach my door, my heart sinks at the sight of a giant piece of paper taped to the front. It flutters slightly in the wind, mocking me. "What is this?" I mutter, shifting Zoë on my hip as I set the trash bags down.

I grab the paper, my hands trembling slightly. My eyes scan the bold, blocky letters at the top: EVICTION NOTICE.

For a moment, the world around me stills. The noise of the city, Zoë's soft breaths against my shoulder—everything fades into a deafening silence. My chest tightens, and I feel the sharp sting of tears threatening to spill.

"Eviction notice?" I whisper to myself, rereading the words as if they might somehow change. But they don't. The notice remains a cold, unforgiving reminder of the life I've been barely holding together.

Zoë stirs against me, mumbling sleepily, "Home?"

I swallow hard, blinking back the tears. "Yeah, baby girl. We're home," I whisper, though the word feels like a cruel joke now.

I glance at the bags by my feet—everything we have in the world—and the weight of the moment presses down on me. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. I lean against the doorframe for a moment, trying to gather myself, but the panic bubbles up anyway.

What am I going to do now?

I unlock the door and step inside, flicking on the light. The apartment feels smaller than I remember—bare walls, a second-hand couch, and the faint scent of dampness I've never been able to get rid of. I set Zoë down on the couch, and she curls up immediately, her tiny hands clutching the stuffed elephant Travis gave her. At least she has no idea what's going on.

The trash bags thud heavily against the wall as I drop them near the door. I take a deep breath and pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the name: Daryl - Landlord.

The phone rings a few times, each chime rattling my nerves, before he picks up.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and tired, like he's been expecting this.

"Daryl? It's Taylor."

There's a pause. "Taylor... I was expecting this call."

I grit my teeth, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're evicting us? We've been nothing but good tenants for six years!"

"Good tenants that don't know how to pay the rent on time, Taylor." His tone is clipped, businesslike, like he's reading from a script.

"I was late a couple of times! But I always paid! Always!"

"Taylor, I've given you chances. I've given you more than enough time to catch up, but you're months behind. I can't keep making exceptions."

"Months—what are you talking about? I've been paying!" My voice cracks, the weight of everything crashing into me at once.

"Not since September," he says, and there's something almost pitying in his tone.

I freeze. September? That can't be right. I fumble through my memories, but everything since then has been a blur of late nights at the diner, juggling shifts and Zoë's care, and scraping together every dollar I could find.

"Daryl, please," I say, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "You know I have a kid. I just need a little more time."

"I've already given you an extension, Taylor," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing else I can do. The notice went out last month."

"I didn't even see it!"

"That's not my problem," he says, and his voice hardens. "You need to vacate by the end of the week, or I'll have to escalate this."

The line goes dead before I can say another word.

I stare at the phone in disbelief, my hands shaking. The end of the week? Where the hell am I supposed to go with a toddler and two trash bags of clothes?

I sink down onto the floor, resting my head in my hands. Zoë stirs on the couch, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep. I force myself to take a deep breath.

"Okay, diner," I whisper to myself, running a hand through my hair. "Let's just...let's just go to the diner. Maybe someone can help us."

I glance at Zoë, still sound asleep on the couch, clutching her stuffed elephant. For a moment, I hesitate. Dragging her out when she's so tired feels wrong, but staying here, knowing we have nowhere to go, feels worse.

I grab the bags and sling one over my shoulder before gently picking her up. Her head rests on my chest, and I can feel her steady breathing as I step out into the cold air. The streets are eerily quiet, save for the occasional car speeding by.

The half-mile walk feels longer than it should. The weight of the bags, Zoë in my arms, and the gnawing anxiety in my chest make every step heavier. But when the neon glow of the diner sign comes into view, I feel the smallest flicker of relief.

I push open the door, the familiar bell jingling overhead. The smell of coffee and fried food greets me, but the comfort I usually feel here is missing. Instead, a wave of unease rolls over me as I see the faces of my coworkers.

"Hey, guys," I say, trying to sound casual as I set Zoë down on a booth. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake.

No one responds right away. Instead, they exchange awkward glances. Marcus, the cook, is suddenly very interested in wiping down the grill, and Jenna, one of the waitresses, busies herself rearranging the sugar packets at the counter.

My stomach sinks. "What's going on?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

Jenna finally looks up, her expression apologetic. "Taylor..." she starts, then trails off.

"What?" I press, my heart racing.

Marcus clears his throat. "It's just...uh...there's been talk, you know? About cutting back shifts. Times are tight."

"Cutting back shifts?" I echo, my voice rising. "You're kidding, right? I need this job, Marcus. I need it."

Jenna steps closer, lowering her voice. "Taylor, we're all struggling. It's not just you. But the boss has been saying—"

"I don't care what the boss has been saying!" I snap, startling Zoë awake. Her wide eyes look up at me, confused and scared. I immediately soften, stroking her hair. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Go back to sleep."

"Taylor," Jenna says gently, "we didn't want to be the ones to tell you, but...you're on the list. They're letting you go."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stare at her, waiting for her to laugh, to tell me it's some kind of cruel joke. But her face remains serious.

"I'm so sorry. But with you being sick. We didn't even know when you'd be back anyways," she adds, but the apology feels hollow.

I sink into the booth next to Zoë, my head in my hands. This can't be happening. Not now. Not all at once.

I lean back in the booth, trying to calm the storm inside me. Zoë shifts beside me, her little hand gripping my sleeve. She doesn't understand what's going on, and honestly, neither do I.

"I need money for the bus," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Jenna raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "We all need money for the bus, Taylor."

I let out a bitter laugh, though there's nothing funny about this. "I just got fired and evicted in the same hour, Jenna. And I have a toddler. I need to get to Los Angeles. Just...please. If you could all pitch in a couple bucks, I'll figure out the rest."

They exchange uneasy glances, the room silent except for the faint hum of the fryer.

Marcus finally sighs, pulling a few crumpled bills out of his apron pocket. "Here," he mutters, tossing them onto the counter.

Jenna follows suit, shaking her head. "Consider it a goodbye gift," she says, sliding a handful of coins and a couple dollars across the counter.

One by one, the others do the same, until there's a small pile of cash in front of me. It's not much—maybe enough for one ticket, barely—but it's something.

I gather the money, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thanks," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No hard feelings, okay?" Jenna says softly.

I nod, even though my heart feels heavy. "No hard feelings," I echo, though the words taste like a lie.

As I stand to leave, I glance down at Zoë. Her big eyes look up at me, tired but trusting. I scoop her into my arms, holding her close.

"Let's go, baby girl," I whisper. "We've got a bus to catch."

I don't even look back. There's nothing left for me at that apartment except bags I can't carry and memories I don't want. I head straight for the bus station, Zoë clinging to me like a lifeline.

When I get there, the fluorescent lights buzz faintly, casting a dull glow over the grimy tile floor. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee and exhaust fumes. I step up to the ticket counter, Zoë's weight growing heavier in my arms as she starts to stir.

"One ticket to Los Angeles," I say, my voice firmer than I feel.

The clerk barely looks at me, just punches the keys on his register. "Twenty-three fifty."

I empty my pockets onto the counter—dollar bills crumpled into balls, coins clinking as they scatter. I'm sure it's all there, but he takes his time counting, his expression unreadable.

After what feels like an eternity, he slides the ticket across the counter. "Bus leaves in twenty minutes. Gate 3."

"Thank you," I mumble, clutching the ticket like it's my last lifeline.

I take a seat in the waiting area, pulling Zoë close to me. She shifts, half-asleep, her tiny fist curling around the hem of my shirt.

"It won't be long, Zo Zo," I whisper, kissing the top of her head. "We'll be somewhere better soon."

The announcement for our bus crackles over the intercom, and I stand, adjusting Zoë on my hip. My legs feel like lead as I make my way to the gate. I hand the driver my ticket, and he barely glances at me before waving us on board.

We find a seat near the back, and I settle Zoë beside me. The bus rumbles to life, the engine groaning as it pulls out of the station. I stare out the window as the city lights blur past, my mind racing with questions I don't have answers to.

Zoë shifts in her seat, her head resting against my arm. I glance down at her, brushing a stray curl from her face. "This is it, baby girl," I murmur. "We're starting over."

Two dreadful hours later the bus driver finally ends. We come to Los Angeles and I walk off the bus carrying Zoë with me. I search how far the address is and realize I'm going to have to Uber.

All I have to do is get there. My hands tremble as I take out my phone and punch in the address. The Uber app calculates the fare—$17. It feels like a small fortune after everything tonight, but I press "confirm" anyway. The screen flashes Searching for drivers as Zoë shifts in my arms, still groggy.

The app spins for what feels like forever before finally pinging: Your ride is on the way. A car icon pops up on the screen, inching closer with every second. Relief washes over me, but it's short-lived. This isn't over yet.

When the car pulls up, the driver—a tired-looking woman in her 50s—gives me a small nod as I buckle Zoë into the backseat. "Rough night?" she asks.

"Something like that," I reply, forcing a polite smile.

The ride is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle from Zoë as she dozes against the seatbelt. I stare out the window, watching the darkened streets of the city roll by. Streetlights blur into golden streaks as we get closer to our destination.

Then I see it. The house looms ahead, its porch light glowing warmly in the night. My heart pounds as the Uber slows to a stop.

"Here you go," the driver says, glancing back at me.

"Thanks," I whisper, unbuckling Zoë and climbing out.

I stand on the sidewalk for a moment, staring up at the house. Zoë stirs in my arms as I gather the courage to walk up the steps.

I punch in the door code with shaky fingers, the beep of each number echoing in the quiet. The lock clicks open, and I hesitate before ringing the doorbell. The chime echoes inside, loud enough to make my chest tighten.

The door swings open, and there he is—Travis. His expression shifts from confusion to disbelief as his eyes land on me, then Zoë, who's still half-asleep in my arms. He doesn't say anything at first, just stares, like he's trying to piece together why I'm standing on his porch.

"Can we stay here a little longer?" I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks, his jaw tightening for a second before he steps aside, holding the door open wider. "Come in," he says, his tone careful, measured.

I shuffle inside, Zoë still clinging to me, and the warmth of the house hits me like a wave. The familiarity of it, the safety I didn't want to admit I felt here, makes my throat tighten. I don't look at Travis as I set Zoë down on the couch, wrapping her in a throw blanket.

"You're back," he finally says, closing the door behind us.

"Not permanently," I mutter, brushing a strand of hair from Zoë's face.

"Did something happen?" he presses, his voice softening.

I turn to face him, arms crossed like they might keep me from unraveling. "I got evicted, Travis. Fired and evicted in the same day."

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he just exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You should've called me."

"I didn't want to." My words come out sharper than I intended, but I don't take them back.

Travis looks down, his hands on his hips, like he's trying to absorb what I just told him. "Well, you're here now," he says after a long pause. "You can stay as long as you need."

"Just a little longer," I say again, more to myself than to him.

He nods, his voice quiet. "I'll get Zoë's crib set back up."

I watch as he walks toward the hallway, leaving me standing there in the middle of his living room. I sink onto the couch next to Zoë, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

For the first time today, I let out a shaky breath. We have a roof over our heads.

—————Author's Note:

What an L for Taylor

Anyways double update