Emotions Are For Children

The next morning March 9th; 2025Taylor Swift's Point of ViewI wake up slowly, disoriented, my mind still foggy from sleep. I rub my eyes, squinting at the soft morning light filtering through the blinds. As my vision clears, I realize I'm in Travis's room. I glance down at myself, surprised to see I'm wearing his t-shirt, and everything comes rushing back—his hands on my skin, his breath hot against my ear, the wild, desperate way we had kissed. It all hits me with a rush, and I feel a sick knot twist in my stomach. My back was arching, my toes were curling, and I could still feel the intensity of it all—the way I had screamed his name, how perfect it had felt. But the aftermath is different now. Now, it feels wrong. It feels like something that shouldn't have happened, yet it did.

I feel his presence beside me, but I don't turn to face him. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, unable to look at him directly, the weight of what we did sitting heavily on my chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to happen.

"We shouldn't have done that," Travis says quietly, his voice almost unreadable. I didn't even realize he was awake, but hearing his voice shakes me out of my daze.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath, but the words catch in my throat. "No. We should've just... no," I murmur, my voice thick with regret.

The room feels too small, the air thick with tension. I don't know what to say. What can I say? We crossed a line, and now there's no going back. The reality of it settles in with every passing second, and the weight of it feels like a lead blanket on my chest.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence between us is almost suffocating. I'm scared to look at him, scared of the thoughts that might be running through his head, scared of how this might change everything.

Finally, I glance over at him, but it's only for a split second. He's staring at the ceiling too, his jaw clenched, eyes distant.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," I whisper, my voice shaky. "I didn't want this to be... like this."

Travis turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting mine for the briefest moment. He doesn't say anything at first, just exhales slowly, his eyes full of something unreadable. It's almost like he's trying to process everything too, trying to figure out what this means for both of us.

"Yeah," he finally mutters, a quiet resignation in his voice. "I get it. I don't know what to do with this either."

His words feel like a sharp sting, but they're the truth. Neither of us knows what to do with this now. What's done is done, but we're left with the mess of it all, trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces.

I stand up from the bed, the coolness of the floor hitting my bare feet. The rush of reality floods back as I pull the blanket off of me and head toward the door. I walk slowly, my body still feeling the warmth of him lingering on my skin. As I step into the doorway, I glance over my shoulder, only to catch Travis staring at me. He quickly looks away, but not before I notice the direction of his gaze.

I feel a flush creep up my neck as I glance at him, smirking with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Are you looking at my ass?" I ask, my voice teasing but with an edge of nervousness.

Without missing a beat, Travis's lips curl into a grin, his eyes flickering with humor. "It's a good ass!"

I roll my eyes, both flustered and trying to suppress a laugh at his boldness. "Travis!"

He chuckles, clearly unbothered by my reaction, but I can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of my lips despite the tension still hanging between us. The absurdity of the moment breaks through the heavy atmosphere, and for a second, I forget the confusion swirling in my chest.

"Zoë's going to be awake soon," I say, turning toward the bathroom. "I—I need to shower and change."

"That's—that's a good idea," he stammers a bit, as if unsure how to continue, then adds, "You do that."

I nod, finally slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. The moment is quiet again, but my heart still pounds in my chest, not just from the lingering effects of last night, but from what comes next.

I slip out of Travis's t-shirt and step into the warm water, letting it pour over my skin, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of him. I run my fingers through my damp hair, the water cascading down my back as I try to clear my mind. The soap lathers quickly in my hands, but even with the familiar feel of it, something about this moment feels different. The weight of last night presses down on me as I scrub my skin, almost like I'm trying to erase what happened. But the more I try to rinse away the feeling, the more it stays with me, like a mark I can't undo.

When I step out of the shower, the steam fills the bathroom, the mirror fogging up. I swipe my hand over the glass to clear it, hoping to get a glimpse of myself—just to see something familiar. But as the fog lifts, my heart skips a beat, and I freeze. There, glaring back at me, is a large hickey on my neck, the red-purple bruise stark against my pale skin. I reach up to touch it, but my hand hesitates, the reminder of last night too fresh and real. My breath catches in my throat as I slowly turn my head, and to my horror, I see another hickey, this one nestled just below my collarbone, a deep mark that almost feels like a claim.

A sudden panic rises in me, and I quickly scan my body, looking for any other evidence of what happened. And then I find it. Another mark, lower this time, just at the curve of my breast. I stand there for a moment, taking it all in, the sight of those marks—so intimate, so raw—settling deep in my stomach. It's like a physical representation of the decision I can't take back. The realization hits hard, heavier than I expected. What have we done?

"Mama, potty!" Zoë's little voice calls out from just outside the bathroom door, loud and insistent.

I freeze, clutching my towel tightly around me, heart racing as the reality of the morning crashes back. "Um, oh jeez. Uh, I'll be right there, Zo Zo!" I call out, trying to sound calm, but my voice wavers.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror one last time. The hickeys stare back at me like accusations, and I let out a quiet groan. Not the time to spiral, I tell myself. Wrapping the towel securely around my body, I grab my hairbrush with one hand and the bathroom door handle with the other.

Zoë is standing there, wide-eyed and doing a little wiggle-dance that's the universal toddler code for I really have to go. "Okay, sweetie, let's go!" I scoop her up quickly, ignoring how my damp hair drips water onto her pajamas as I hurry us down the hall.

"Potty now!" Zoë insists, her urgency pulling me back to the moment. At least her little world is simple.

I set Zoë down in the bathroom, helping her onto her little potty seat. She swings her legs, looking at me with big, curious eyes as if she knows something is different but doesn't quite have the words to ask.

"Mama, you're wet," she says, pointing at the droplets rolling down my arm.

"I just got out of the shower, Zo Zo," I explain, kneeling beside her as she does her business. My mind is racing. I feel raw—both physically and emotionally.

"Shower?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Yup. Mama needed to get all clean," I say, trying to keep my voice light.

Zoë seems satisfied with this and starts humming a little tune while she sits there. I can't help but smile at her innocence, even as my own thoughts churn with guilt and confusion. How am I supposed to pretend everything is normal today?

Once Zoë is done, I help her wash her hands, her tiny fingers slipping through mine as she splashes water everywhere. "All done!" she cheers, holding her hands up proudly.

"Good job, Zo Zo," I say, genuinely smiling this time. Her joy is infectious, and for a moment, I let myself just be her mom—nothing else.

But as we head into the living room, I hear the creak of the floorboards behind me. I turn my head slightly and see Travis leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching us with a look I can't quite decipher. His hair is disheveled, and his expression is softer than usual.

"Morning, Zo Zo," he says warmly, crouching down to her level.

"Daddy!" she squeals, running into his arms.

I stand there, clutching the towel tighter around me, unsure if I'm more embarrassed by the state of me or the memory of last night still hanging between us.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to ignore the unspoken tension swirling in the air between Travis and me. Instead, I kneel beside Zoë and ruffle her messy curls, smiling at her. "Guess who just went potty all by herself?" I say, my voice filled with pride as I redirect the moment to her.

Zoë's face lights up as she bounces on her feet, her hands clapping together in excitement.

"No way," Travis says, crouching down to her level. His expression shifts instantly into an exaggerated gasp of shock and delight. "You did? All by yourself?"

Zoë beams and throws her arms up in the air. "I did! I did, Daddy!" she shouts, her little voice ringing through the room like a triumphant anthem.

"Well, that is amazing!" Travis exclaims, his tone almost cartoonish in its enthusiasm. He gives her a high-five, then lifts her up and spins her in the air. Zoë squeals with laughter, her tiny legs kicking.

"I think this calls for pancakes," he declares, setting her back down gently.

"Cakes?!" Zoë echoes, her eyes growing impossibly wide. She grabs his hand, tugging on it as if pancakes might suddenly materialize out of thin air if she just wills it hard enough.

I laugh softly, standing back and crossing my arms as I watch them. For a moment, the guilt and confusion that's been clouding my thoughts fades. Seeing the way he interacts with her—how natural it looks, how happy it makes her—I can't help but feel a flicker of warmth in my chest.

"Well, looks like you've made your decision," I say, tilting my head toward the kitchen.

"Obviously," Travis replies with a grin. "Pancakes for the potty champion. It's basically the law."

Zoë tugs him eagerly toward the kitchen, her excitement bubbling over, and I follow behind them, letting the lighter moment carry us forward.

I grab the mixing bowl from the cabinet, measuring out the flour and sugar while Zoë sits at the counter, humming to herself. I make sure to add a generous handful of chocolate chips to the batter, knowing how much she loves them.

Travis leans against the counter nearby, his arms crossed, watching me. His expression is unreadable, but there's a tension in his posture that tells me he's been holding something back. Finally, he clears his throat. "So, about last night..."

I pause mid-stir, my hand gripping the whisk a little tighter. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, debating whether to let this conversation happen or shut it down before it starts. "Do we really need to talk about that right now?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, though I can feel my chest tighten.

"Yes," he says firmly, his tone quiet but resolute. "We do."

I let out a breath and set the whisk down, leaning both hands on the counter as I finally meet his gaze. His blue eyes are serious, searching mine for something—maybe reassurance, maybe regret.

Zoë interrupts by drumming her hands on the counter. "Cakes ready, Mama?" she chirps, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment.

"Almost, honey," I say, forcing a smile and turning back to the batter. "I'll pour them onto the griddle in just a second." I hope the distraction might make Travis drop it, at least for now, but he doesn't move. I can feel his gaze boring into me.

"Taylor," he says softly, his voice pulling me back to him. "We can't just pretend it didn't happen."

I close my eyes briefly, letting the tension settle over me like a heavy blanket. "I'm not pretending it didn't happen," I reply, barely above a whisper. "But we have other things to focus on right now." I nod toward Zoë, who's happily munching on a stray chocolate chip from the counter. "Can we at least get through breakfast first?"

Travis hesitates, his jaw tightening as he considers my words. Finally, he nods, stepping back. "Alright," he says quietly. "But we're not letting this go."

I nod back, grateful for the temporary reprieve, and pick up the whisk again, stirring the batter with more force than necessary. The clink of the chocolate chips against the bowl fills the silence, but the weight of the unspoken conversation lingers in the air, pressing down on both of us.

After cooking the pancakes and setting a plate in front of Zoë, I join Travis and her at the table. Zoë is in her own little world, humming to herself as she stuffs her face with pancakes, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Every so often, she smacks the table and exclaims, "Cakes! So yummy!" Her joy is contagious, and for a moment, the tension from earlier feels lighter.

I take a bite of my pancake, savoring the melty chocolate chips, when Travis clears his throat. I glance at him, expecting him to bring up Zoë's accomplishment in the bathroom again, but instead, he surprises me.

"Do you want to do it again?" he asks casually, as if we were discussing the weather. He leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee like it's the most natural question in the world.

I nearly choke on my pancake, coughing violently as my eyes widen. "What?!" I manage to sputter, grabbing my water glass to take a sip.

Travis raises a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Not romantically, obviously," he clarifies, setting his coffee cup down and folding his hands on the table.

"Not romantically?" I echo, my voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "What do you even mean?"

He shrugs, his expression calm but serious. "I mean... it was good, right? We're adults. We have chemistry. Why not?"

I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. My mind is spinning, trying to process the sheer audacity of his suggestion. "Travis, we have a child in the room," I whisper harshly, glancing at Zoë to make sure she's still too engrossed in her pancakes to notice.

"I'm not saying it has to mean anything," he says, his voice low but earnest.

"Okay," I say, narrowing my eyes as I sit back down at the table. "When you say 'again'... do you mean just one more time, or are you talking about something consistent?"

Travis smirks, leaning forward slightly. "Roommates with benefits type of situation."

I exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose as I let his words settle in. "You know I have three hickeys right now, right?"

His brows shoot up, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. "Three? Damn."

I roll my eyes but can't help the slight blush creeping up my cheeks. "Yeah. And let me tell you, they're a lot harder to explain when you have a two-year-old running around."

He chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee, completely unbothered. "Noted. But, hey, they look good on you."

I shoot him a pointed look. "I'd much rather those hickeys be enjoyed than regretted, Travis."

He's quiet for a moment, his playful demeanor softening slightly. "I don't regret it," he says, his voice lower now, more serious.

I stare at him, his honesty catching me off guard. Zoë giggles from her spot, still utterly consumed by her pancakes, completely unaware of the loaded conversation happening around her.

The room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound the clink of Zoë's fork against her plate as she happily hums a tune to herself. My mind feels like it's in overdrive.

"Nothing romantic about it?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I study his expression.

"Not a thing," Travis replies, his tone even, but there's a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

I hesitate for a moment, weighing the situation one last time. Then, with a deep breath, I extend my hand toward him. "Alright. Deal."

Travis looks down at my hand and grins, shaking it firmly. "Deal," he echoes.

Our handshake lingers just a second too long, the touch sparking an electricity that neither of us acknowledges out loud. When we finally let go, there's a tension in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

"Just so we're clear," I say, crossing my arms as I lean against the kitchen counter. "This is purely physical. Nothing messy, no strings."

"Purely physical," he repeats with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. "No strings. Promise."

I roll my eyes. "You'd better stick to that. I have enough going on without adding unnecessary drama to the mix."

"Drama? With me? Never," he teases, grabbing his coffee.

—————Author's Note:

Travis is so blunt