𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 (𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐓𝐖: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐞, 𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

...🏀...

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒

Papers crackled like dead leaves under my touch as I shuffled through my textbook. He sat across from me at the library table, brow furrowed in concentration. We'd been at it for an hour.

"Oh, this is so stupid. What—why do we have to study history anyway?" Nathan finally declared, slamming his textbook shut with a resounding thud.

"Um, probably, so we're not doomed to repeat it," I reassured him.

"What?" Nathan chuckled.

"Look, Nathan, you have three days to study for this test," I explained. "Tomorrow is a teacher's work day."

Nathan offered a half-hearted smile. "Minus my dad's annual kiss-his-ass jamboree."

I nodded. "Oh yes, the famous Dan Scott party."

Silence settled between us again, broken only by the rhythmic tick of the clock in the corner. The air now crackled with a different kind of tension, a charged awareness that made me uncomfortably conscious of Nathan's presence across from me.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Nathan finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe," I answered him hesitantly. "I haven't decided yet."

Nathan closed his textbook. "I know it's kind of a b-ball crowd."

"If my dad has anything to say about it, then I'll probably be there," I said. I avoided his gaze, focusing on stuffing my textbook into my backpack and exchanging it for a thick packet. "Look," I said, changing the subject, "here's a study guide I put together. It should help you cram for your history exam tomorrow."

He took the guide from my hand with a small smile. "Why don't you just text message me the answers."

"Um, no." I laughed and stood up. "Let me know if you need anything." I looked into his blue eyes. "Thanks for cutting Lucas some slack."

"A deal's a deal, right?" Nathan voiced.

I nodded. "Yeah."

I gathered my books and slung my bag over my shoulder. As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder.

Why did he want to know if I was going?

...🏀...

The forced delight of Dan Scott's annual party felt like nails on a chalkboard. Dan himself boomed from the porch to a crowd more interested in the free alcohol than his words. My brother Alex stood beside me, his face a mask of polite boredom. Unlike him, I couldn't hide the prickling discomfort radiating off me.

In my dark blue off-the-shoulder dress, I felt like a beacon with every turn of my head that seemed to ignite a volley of burning stares, and I could practically feel the whispers following me.

"Spirit," Dan bellowed, launching into his speech. "The vital principle and animating force within every human being. Of course, for some of you," he chuckled, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, "spirit simply means alcoholic beverages."

The parents let out nervous laughter, but most faces remained impassive. I rolled my eyes, echoing my own sentiment.

"But this Ravens basketball team," Dan continued, his voice booming with forced enthusiasm, "has a surplus of spirit. It's an incredible team with an incredible group of young men."

I lifted my gaze from the ground, drawn by his words. There, standing beside his father on the porch, was Nathan. Our eyes met briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us before he looked away.

"Except for their crushing defeat by The Fathers this year, this team has been on a roll." Dan droned on.

But Nathan's presence had snagged my attention, anchoring me in place. His gaze held a weight I couldn't ignore, a silent counterpoint to his father's booming speech.

"...my lovely wife for setting up this party. Look at this, please." Dan bellowed, gesturing towards his wife, who was basking in the applause. "But Raven team spirit also includes the parents and the local businesses, whose financial support make this team great. Tonight's for you. Enjoy."

I stole a glance at Nathan, feeling the heat of his stare on me even though I looked away. He was a dark beacon, a constant reminder of the tangled web of emotions swirling under my skin that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Here's to our host, Dan Scott!" A woman near the front chimed in, her voice bright and enthusiastic.

A wave of polite cheers echoed through the crowd, glasses clinking in a toast. I felt a surge of rebellion simmering within me. This wasn't my idea of a good time.

"I need some air," I mumbled to my dad, catching his eye.

He gave me a knowing nod and pulled me into a brief side hug. "Don't go too far," he cautioned.

In return, I offered a tight smile, the forced cheer draining my energy. Slipping away from the crowd, I navigated the crowd of people until I found a secluded corner with a lone bench. Kicking off my shoes, I sank onto the worn wood, the rhythmic creak of the swing a welcome change from the noise of the party.

My stomach did a nervous flip-flop as Nathan materialized beside the swinging bench, his hands shoved casually in his pockets.

"You came," he said, a hint of surprise lacing his voice.

I gingerly slowed the swing to a stop, a little smile playing on my lips. "Yeah, but this really isn't my scene."

"I'm still glad you came," he grinned, sitting on the other end of the bench." Being with you is a hell of a lot more fun than this suck-fest."

A genuine laugh bubbled in my chest, a welcome sound amidst the stilted conversations and plastic laughter floating around us. "Should I take that as a compliment, Scott?"

"Yes," Nathan nodded with a smile, sitting beside me.

Words escaped me as my gaze was drawn to Nathan's piercing blue eyes. Since the tutoring sessions started, I'd seen a different side of Nathan—a thoughtful, unguarded side that had chipped away at the carefully constructed image he presented to the world. With me, the arrogant jock facade seemed to melt away, replaced by something genuine.

There was also the part where I didn't want to be involved with another person after what he put me through. I'd built walls around my heart, thick and strong, vowing to protect myself from anyone who might try to tear them down. Yet, Nathan seemed effortlessly weaving through the cracks, leaving me breathless and confused.

Brooke's voice shattered the peaceful moment. "There you are, Mylah!" she chirped, rushing towards us.

"Here I am," I mumbled, standing up as Brooke grabbed my arm with a forced smile.

"And look who it is!" she squealed, gesturing towards a bewildered-looking Peyton who stood awkwardly nearby. "Isn't this just perfect?"

My stomach knotted.

Perfect?

I opened my mouth to protest, but Brooke cut me off, dragging me towards the house. A burning sensation prickled at my skin as I stole a glance back. Nathan was watching us, his expression unreadable. But then, his gaze shifted to Peyton, who sat down where I had just vacated and hurt radiated in my chest.

"Aren't they so cute together?" Brooke gushed.

"Yeah, uh, they are," I mumbled, forcing a smile.

My heart ached with a confusing mix of emotions—a strange sense of possessiveness warring with the walls I'd so carefully constructed.

"I think I'm going to head out," I blurted, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

"But why?" Brooke whined, her grip tightening on my arm.

"Just not feeling it tonight," I lied, my voice strained.

Brooke's eyes narrowed, searching my face. "Mylah," she said slowly, "do you like him?"

Panic clawed at my throat. The question hung heavy in the air, a truth I wasn't ready to confront.

"I—" I stammered, searching for the right words.

Nathan's voice boomed across the yard, cutting through the tension. "Mylah!"

My head whipped around, the sight of him sending a jolt of electricity through me. A desperate urge to flee, to escape the tangled web of emotions that threatened to consume me, overwhelmed me.

"I'll see you guys later," I mumbled, yanking my arm free from Brooke's grasp.

Without another word, I bolted towards the front door, the weight of Nathan's unspoken question clinging to me like a shadow. As I flung open the door and disappeared into the cool night air, the faint echo of his voice calling my name was the only thing that pierced the deafening silence of my own confusion.

...🏀...

𝐓𝐖: 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Sweat slicked my chest, clinging uncomfortably to my tank top and shorts as I tossed and turned in bed. My brow furrowed, digging into my hairline as fragmented images flickered behind my closed eyelids. Each one, a terrifying snapshot, sent my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing the visions away. But instead, they solidified, becoming a relentless loop of fear.

My breath hitched as my back slammed against the wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my side. I squeezed my eyes shut, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Every muscle screamed in protest, my hip throbbing with a dull ache. When I dared to open them, Andrew loomed over me, his dark eyes narrowed with a fury that sent shivers down my spine.

"You let him touch you," he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. He crouched down, his face inches from mine. "What did I tell you?"

Panic constricted my throat. "N-no one," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "No one can touch me but you."

He let out a humorless scoff. "I hate hurting you," he sighed, the words laced with a bitter sincerity. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a grotesque parody of tenderness. I flinched back, the movement sending another jolt of pain through my already aching body.

"But you know the rules," he continued, his voice low and menacing.

Shame burned in my throat, acrid and bitter. I knew I shouldn't have let my guard down, shouldn't have allowed anyone—even a stranger—to get close enough to brush my hand.

He reached down, his grip surprisingly gentle as he pulled me to my feet. A sob escaped my lips, a pathetic sound that seemed to hang heavy in the air.

"I know," he said, his voice softer now. He leaned in, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might apologize. But instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, the gesture as cold and empty as his words. "Now you have to make it up to me."

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision as they tracked a silent path down my cheeks. A year of this, I thought, a year of enduring this, and I still hadn't managed to numb the raw fear that clawed at me every single time.

A choked sob escaped my lips as I felt Andrew's hand brush against the zipper of my dress. The familiar coldness of the metal sent me a fresh wave of terror. With a sickening hiss, the dress pooled around my ankles, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

I squeezed my eyes tighter, willing myself to disappear and become invisible. But the coarse touch of his hands on my bare skin was a constant reminder of the horrifying reality. Disgust, acrid and suffocating, rose in my throat, mingling with the ever-present fear.

A shove sent me sprawling onto the worn surface of Andrew's bed. My breath hitched as he loomed over me, a predator circling its prey. His touch, when it came, wasn't gentle. Kisses, quick and rough, peppered a path from my cheek down to the exposed skin of my neck. He fumbled at his belt, the metallic sound a harsh counterpoint to my heart pounding. Disgust battled with a primal fear, leaving me paralyzed, a fly caught in a spider's web.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

I jolted awake, gasping for air like I'd been underwater for too long. My heart hammered against my ribs, and every muscle in my body tensed and coiled. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room. But the true terror wasn't the shadows; it was the memory of the dream, vivid and horrifying, replaying in my head in a loop.

A choked sob escaped my lips, and the sound seemed to shatter the silence of the room. A moment later, the bed dipped beside me, and warm arms enveloped me in a comforting hug.

"Mylah, hey, it's okay," Haley whispered softly and soothingly. Her familiar scent, a mix of lavender and chamomile shampoo, was a grounding anchor in the storm of fear that threatened to consume me.

I buried my face in her shoulder, tears finally spilling over, hot and stinging against my cheeks. The raw emotion, the choked sobs racking my body, felt both foreign and familiar—a release after holding it in for so long.

Haley held me tight, her silence a balm to my frantic soul. She didn't rush to speak or pry for details I wasn't ready to share. She just held me, a steady presence in the darkness, a silent promise that I wasn't alone.

Gradually, the intensity of the tremors subsided, and my ragged breaths evening out into shaky inhales and exhales. The dream's hold loosened, and the vivid images faded into hazy memories.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Haley's gentle voice broke the silence.

I shook my head, the words caught in my throat. Talking about it felt like reliving the horror, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that.

Sensing my hesitation, Haley didn't push it. Instead, she stroked my hair in a slow, calming rhythm, her touch a silent reassurance. "Just know I'm here," she murmured. "Always."

In the quiet of the night, surrounded by the gentle sounds of Haley's breathing, a sliver of calm began to seep back into my shattered world. The nightmare might still linger in the corners of my mind, but for now, in the safe haven of my best friend's embrace, the terror felt a little less overwhelming.

...🏀...

Pushing open the heavy double doors of the field house, a wave of sound assaulted me—the pounding thrum of music, the crowd's excited shouts, and the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished wood. The familiar scent of popcorn and sweat hung heavy in the air.

My gaze swept across the bleachers on the opposite side of the gym, a sea of red jerseys bobbing with anticipation. I felt my heart hammered a nervous rhythm against my ribs, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. My fingers instinctively rubbed my arms through the long sleeves of my black shirt, a nervous habit.

Where was Nathan?

A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. I scanned the court again. My stomach lurched as I spotted Nathan. He stood hunched over, shoulders slumped inwards, starkly contrasting his usual confident posture.

A frown creased my brow. It wasn't the fired-up Nathan I was used to seeing before a big game.

The knot of worry in my gut tightened. Despite the distance and the pack of bodies between us, my gaze remained glued to him. I was still trying to understand these feelings within me. Even though I hadn't seen him since his dad's party, I still yearned to go to him and get him to tell me what was going on behind his guarded expression to see if there was anything I could do.

But the game clock started its countdown, the crowd cheers intensified, and Nathan joined his teammates, his face a mask of steely determination.

Just as I considered moving, my dad's booming voice cut through the noise.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, steering me towards the bleachers. "You're late."

"Sorry," I mumbled, forcing a smile that felt strained at best.

"You need to be here to support your brother," he continued, scanning the bleachers for the perfect vantage point.

His words, though well-meaning, scraped at a raw nerve.

Support for Alex?

Alex, the golden boy, the star player my dad doted on.

Me?

I was just the teenage mother, the disappointment.

I forced a smile, the corners of my mouth barely reaching my eyes. My dad was so focused on Alex, the star player, and the family's golden boy.

I brush my dad's comments to the side like I always do.

A nervous energy crackled in the air, mirroring the knot tightening in my stomach. The game had started, and Nathan, despite his earlier demeanor, was a force to be reckoned with on the court. Every move he made was precise and calculated, his focus laser-sharp.

He weaved through defenders, his lightning-fast speed leaving them scrambling. The ball arced through the air with a powerful jump shot, swishing cleanly through the net.

The energy in the gym was electric. Every point Nathan scored, every assist he made, sent the crowd into a frenzy. He was on fire, his talent undeniable. When the clock ticked down, the score showed a lead for the Ravens, largely thanks to Nathan's thirty-eight points and a perfectly timed four-pointer he'd set up.

"Come on, Alex," Dad grumbled, his eyes tracking my brother in the court.

"He's scored half as many as Nathan's," I said, coming to my brother's defense.

"He needs to be the lead scorer," Dad explained.

I wished Mom was here at that moment because she brought out a different side in Dad. The non-competitive one. Without her, I had to bite my tongue and choose my words carefully because even though I know that my dad loves me, he loves basketball the game more.

"What's wrong with him?" Dad mumbled.

My gaze snapped back to the court, drawn by an inexplicable pull. There, amidst the chaos of the game, Nathan stood frozen. The ball was in his hands, but his focus wasn't on the play unfolding around him. His eyes, locked on mine, held a look of intense...something.

Confusion?

Distress?

It was impossible to tell from this distance.

A cold dread slithered down my spine. His stance seemed off-balance, a subtle wobble that sent a jolt of fear through me. Before I could even process it, his eyes rolled back into his head. The world seemed to slow down as his body crumpled, the ball clattering away with a hollow thud.

Time seemed to stand still.

The roar of the game vanished, replaced by a deafening silence. Then, a flurry of movement. Players from both teams sprinted towards Nathan, their faces etched with concern. Lucas was the first to reach him; his booming voice reduced to a worried murmur as he knelt beside Nathan.

Panic clawed at my throat, constricting my breath as I stood along with the crowd. All I could do was stare, mesmerized by the scene unfolding on the court. My mind raced, a desperate search for answers. I could only stare at Nathan's motionless form on the gym floor.

"Mylah," Dad's voice cut through the panicked fog clouding my mind.

I blinked rapidly, the harsh gym lights burning into my tear-filled eyes. He stood beside me, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Breathe," he said, his voice calm and steady amidst the chaos. "Come on, sweetheart. Breathe."

A ragged gasp escaped my lips, the tight knot of terror in my chest loosening marginally. I clung to his words; with each inhale, a battle against the fear threatened to consume me.

"He's going to be okay," Dad murmured, pulling me into a protective embrace. His voice was a warm anchor in the storm, a lifeline amidst the swirling worry. "Just breathe for me, please."

I burrowed into his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. My gaze, however, remained glued to the scene playing out on the court. Medics swarmed Nathan, their movements a blur of dark blue against the red and white jerseys that now seemed eerily still.

A silent plea echoed in my head, a desperate prayer that surpassed words—

Please be okay.

...🏀...

A tremor ran through me as I heard a voice murmur from the balcony doors. It couldn't be...but it was.

Nathan.

He stood there, swaying slightly, his face etched with exhaustion and despair. "Nathan," I whispered, rushing towards him. "Why aren't you at the hospital?"

He took a tentative step forward, but I was already there, catching him before he could stumble. "I can't be there," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "My parents are fighting. I had to get out."

My heart ached for him. "Everyone's looking for you," I said gently, guiding him towards my bed.

"I don't care," he sighed, collapsing onto the mattress with a defeated slump. "I messed up, Mylah."

Confusion clouded my mind. "What do you mean?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face, his eyes filled with a turmoil I'd never seen before. "I made so many mistakes. Some because of my dad, sometimes by choice."

I sat beside him, hesitantly reaching out to rub his shoulder. "We all make mistakes, Nathan."

He winced at the touch but didn't pull away. "Not like mine," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "I took drugs to try and beat my dad. Who does that?"

The weight of his confession hit me like a physical blow. Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp was a Nathan I didn't know—a boy burdened by darkness I could only begin to imagine.

"Someone who's hurting," I said softly. "Someone desperate for their father's approval."

A choked sob escaped his lips. "I just can't do it anymore, Mylah. I'm not okay. I lived for tonight..." he trailed off, his eyes welling up. "I was so scared. I'm still terrified. Then I saw you."

My breath hitched. "Me?"

He nodded, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "I promised myself that if I could just get up and walk over to you, everything would be fine."

The memory of his collapse flooded back, the raw fear I felt mirroring his own. "You scared me, Nathan," I admitted, my voice thick with emotion.

His hand reached for mine, his grip tight and desperate. "I never want to make you feel that way again."

My heart hammered against my ribs as I leaned my forehead against his. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air—a silent confession of the connection that had bloomed between us, fragile yet powerful.

"I was worried," I whispered.

"Can I stay here?" he asked, his voice barely a rasp. "Just for tonight. I can't go home."

Without hesitation, not caring about how our families hated each other,  I did the only thing I could think of—I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of his body against mine offered a small comfort in the face of the storm raging inside him.

"Okay," I murmured, burying my head in his shoulder. The simple word held the weight of a thousand unspoken things—relief, understanding, a silent promise of sanctuary.

He clung to me, his grip fierce and desperate, a lifeline thrown in the churning sea of his emotions. "I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice muffled against my neck. His words hung heavy in the air, laced with a tremor of fear that mirrored the one in my own heart.

In that moment, the world outside our embrace ceased to exist. There was only the quiet rhythm of his ragged breaths against my ear, the beat of my own heart, and the overwhelming urge to protect him from the storm raging both within and without.

The unspoken truth echoed in the hushed room, a sentiment whispered not just by his trembling form but by the traitorous fluttering in my own chest.

I couldn't handle it if I lost you, Nathan.

A realization that scared me.

...🏀...

𝐀/𝐍: ANOTHER UPDATE!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 113K READS.

I just want to remind everyone that I have trigger warnings posted before the chapters begin and then where the trigger warnings will start and end. If it's too much for some of you guys, you know where to stop or skip before reading the rest.

My character, Andrew, is probably the most disgusting and evil character I have written so far. I hate him so much, so I'm doing a good job creating him. As the story continues, please know that Andrew has no redeeming qualities, and I made him that way for a reason. As Mylah's story goes on, the urge for me to kill Andrew will increase, and your guys' urge to rant about him in the comments will, too. But I'm just forewarning you about him because I hate him, and he is not getting a redemption ark because he doesn't deserve one.

THANK YOU TO 920 FOLLOWERS.

Anyway, in this chapter, we have more Mylah and Nathan moments. She slowly realizes that she feels something for Nathan. It'll take her a while to act on it, but don't worry, they will get together soon.

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒: What did you like about this chapter? How do you feel about Andrew? How are you feeling about the rewrite so far?

-𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑎𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘