TWENTY-SIX

"I swear I don't love the drama

it loves ME!"

———

Dorothea had completely forgotten about the photos when she congratulated Taylor right after the show.

It was a brief encounter filled with praise. She was so proud of Taylor—truthfully, none of the words she used felt adequate—and the hug between them was over in a matter of seconds. Despite performing for nearly two-and-a-half hours, the blonde's night was entering the next phase, where she'd be meeting several dozen fans selected by her team. Dorothea honestly didn't know how the other woman had anything left in her. She hadn't done anything close to that amount of cardio, and yet she knew the moment she sat down she'd be wiped out in a matter of seconds.

While Taylor was gone, Dorothea drifted around the dressing room, scrolling through her email on her phone. Despite the merchandise being launched and tour officially starting, there were still plenty of marketing tasks to keep her busy. She tapped out a few quick responses to some of the messages, while others she sorted into their various folders to tackle at another time.

Fifteen-or-so minutes later, she gave in and sat in the chair facing the vanity; the same one Taylor had gotten ready in only a few hours earlier, though it seemed like it was days ago. Dorothea pulled one of her knees up, hugging it close to her chest, and tapped Instagram. When the notification bar flashed, her heavy eyes suddenly doubled in size.

Almost a thousand likes; a few hundred new followers. The highest number, though, was the comments. Her brow creased at the center as she looked up at herself in the mirror, then back to her phone. Without thinking, she tapped the heart in the corner next to her profile.

After reading the first couple, she started swiping much faster through the notifications. Once again, she felt her heart drum in that odd way. It was alarming, how vulnerable she suddenly felt.

She knew Taylor mentioning her in her earlier post would attract some attention, but it was more than that. They —the strangers of social media—were definitely catching on. She wasn't just the photographer. She was also the unknown subject of the Circle K photo, which despite Tree's effort, was most definitely still floating around in some obscure corner of the Internet.

Dorothea scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled and scrolled and scrolled until the notifications were nothing but a dizzy blur flying across the screen. She caught bits of words like gorgeous and hot and talented. Lots of heart emojis. The attention was strange but sweet. As much as she wanted to acknowledge it, she felt better —less exposed— not doing so. Perhaps if she ignored the spotlight that seemed to be growing hotter and brighter with each day, she could eventually just convince herself that it didn't exist.

Somewhere around her thirtieth swipe against the device, there was one comment that caused Dorothea to suddenly stab the screen with her finger.

Am I the only one who remembers her sucking Taylor's face?

OMG NO that was totally her!!

😱😱 HOLY SHIT!

Taylor fucking one of the people working her tour?? WE LOVE TO SEE IT!

THEY FUCKED?!?!! 😵‍💫😮‍💨🥵

GUYS! Leave them alone! You know Taylor doesn't like us speculating about her private life

Who cares? they're HOT

Ehh....I prefer Karlie 🤭

WTFFF

NAH THIS GIRL'S BANGING HOLY FUCKSOJFNF

13/10 🥵 GOD DAMN

...Did anyone see that one photo from tonight tho? Like am I the only one who thinks she low-key looks pregnant? like idk but LMAOO

Dorothea felt everything around her warp as she read the last comment. Her hands suddenly felt tingly and detached. The phone in her hand looked foreign. Dorothea looked down at her stomach. She knew the t-shirt was a bad choice.

Dorothea put her hand on her bump, then pulled it back as though it was white-hot. It was the largest it had ever been and it was only going to get bigger. She suddenly felt a strange sensation. She wanted to get rid of it. Hide it. Bury it. Stuff it beneath six layers of clothing. Why did being pregnant have to be so fucking obvious?

She dropped her phone face-down on the vanity with a clumsy thud. The chair she was sitting in was suddenly very uncomfortable. The dressing room was too hot but also gave her chills. They talked about her as though she wasn't there. As though it wasn't her comments under her photo. As though she was some fictional character they could boil down to her most superficial features.

Suddenly, Dorothea snatched her phone off of the counter. One by one, with shaky fingers, she opened each of her social media accounts and made them private. Turned off comments. It was a feeble attempt at damage control, as there were already hundreds of strangers now following her every move.

Her eyes suddenly landed on a pitcher of ice water across the room. If only she could toss her phone into it, and simultaneously erase every trace of her existence on the Internet.

Forever.

———

"You've got to be kidding me. There's no way you're working right now."

Taylor laughed as she found Dorothea on her laptop when she returned to the dressing room. The girl was sitting cross-legged on the couch by the wall with the computer propped on her knees. The light from the screen was giving her skin a sickly blue-white tint.

"Nothing else to do," Dorothea hummed.

"How about a nap?" Taylor laughed. She sat down at the brunette's side, eyeing the screen. Sure enough, she was already sorting and filing the photos she'd taken only hours before. "This is definitely not a priority right now." She laughed again.

"Has to be done at some point,"

"You're not supposed to feel like a prisoner with this job, either," Taylor chuckled dryly.

Dorothea smiled faintly. "You chain yourself to the piano."

"And?"

"What's the difference?"

Taylor cocked her head to the side, silently conceding. She inched closer to the brunette, about to wrap her arm around her when she suddenly stopped and laughed. "Sorry, I have no idea how I smell right now."

"Not terrible. Better than an hour ago," Dorothea mentioned.

"Gee, thanks."

"Just sweaty."

"Great. Thanks for clarifying."

Dorothea finally laughed. The computer screen was reflecting off of her glasses, which made it difficult for Taylor to see the look in her eyes. There was something off. But she was probably just tired.

A few quiet minutes passed between them, and Taylor could feel her eyes growing heavy. Before she risked spending the night in the dressing room, she suddenly reached and pushed the girl's laptop shut.

"Hey!"

"I want to sleep," Taylor sighed.

"Okay, good night."

She laughed. "In our hotel room, Dorothea Madison."

"Our hotel room?"

"Yes?" Taylor said. "I'm sorry, hasn't that been your preference for the past week?"

Dorothea shrugged. "Didn't want to make you feel bad."

"Fuck you." Taylor wrapped her in her arms, and the younger woman's laughter vibrated against her neck. The noise sent a current through her limbs, like the familiar sound of your best friend's voice on the other end of the phone when you haven't spoken in months. She pressed her nose against the girl's hair, suddenly not wanting to share a single piece of her for the rest of time.

"So I never got to ask, how was it down there?" Taylor said.

Dorothea took a moment before she said, "Crazy. But fun."

"Yeah?"

Dorothea nodded, then smirked. "The view was the best part."

"Really."

"Mhm. I started a folder called 'T.'s Legs'. Wanna see?"

"Nope. And on that note, get your ass up," Taylor instructed, standing as the other woman flopped against the couch, laughing.

The pair gathered their things quietly, then headed down the corridor to the exit where Ted was waiting with the car.

Well, where he was supposed to be waiting with the car.

When Taylor and Dorothea exited the building, they were immediately met with lines of cars snaking around the lot. It wasn't clear where they started, and even less so ended. She'd forgotten about the after-show traffic, as well as the occasional bunch of lingering fans, who appeared to be forming behind one of the metal barriers by the curb.

"Tree! Hey, where's Ted?" She asked, spotting the red-haired woman next to one of her security guards.

"Somewhere in that line." Tree gestured with her phone. "We're trying to see if he can bypass it, but apparently he's jammed in."

Taylor turned to Dorothea, who had suddenly put on one of the large tour sweatshirts and was shrinking behind another guard. She was about to say something when several screams erupted from beyond the barricade, and Dorothea suddenly pressed against the brick wall.

"Can we wait inside?" The brunette asked, immediately trying the handle on the door they'd just exited. But it was locked. Taylor instantly sensed the panic rise within her girlfriend. She watched her pull harder on the handle, as though it would somehow decide it wanted to open.

"He says he can see us. Just a few more minutes," Tree called to them, pressing her phone to her ear.

"There has to be another door," Dorothea fretted, looking down each side of the building.

"Babe, Tree just said he's almost here," Taylor reminded. She frowned as she noticed a thin veil of sweat on the woman's brow. She could tell her words hadn't been absorbed. "Hey, why don't you take that off?" Taylor reached for the girl's sweatshirt. "Thea, you must be boiling, it's like, eighty degrees, out here—"

Dorothea suddenly backed away. "No! I'm fine—"

"OH MY GOD TAYLOR!"

"TAYLOR, TAYLOR, TAYLOR! I LOVE YOU!"

"I LOVE YOU BUDDY!"

"DOROTHEA!"

"TAYLOR WE LOVE YOU!"

Taylor's eyes shot to the barricade. She smiled and waved. When she looked back at Dorothea, the woman was also looking at them. She was smiling, as well, but her eyes looked like those of a deer in the woods that was about to get shot.

"There he is! I see him! Get ready," Tree instructed, pointing to the SUV trying to inch out of the line and approach the curb.

When the car arrived, Taylor reached to put her hand on Dorothea's back, but the girl was already launching ahead to the open backseat door. Screams like thunder; camera flashes like lightning. It was the perfect storm.

After Taylor sat in the seat opposite, she immediately looked at Dorothea. The brunette was staring blankly at the headrest of the driver's seat, her backpack still on her shoulders and seatbelt unbuckled. She was so still, it seemed like minutes before she blinked and assured Taylor that she was not, in fact, frozen in time.

"Sorry about that," Taylor apologized after a moment. It was completely out of her control, and yet she still felt responsible for the chaos.

"Don't apologize." Dorothea shook her head. She shrugged out of her backpack and pulled off the sweatshirt, draping it over her stomach and clutching the fabric with her fingers.

Taylor waited for the other woman to look at her, but she kept her eyes locked on the seat ahead. It seemed like she was purposely avoiding looking at her. Or perhaps just the cars out the window.

"We can just wait next time. Until we know the car's outside," Taylor suggested.

"It's not a big deal. I don't know why I panicked," Dorothea said. After a moment, she added, "Don't worry about it."

But that was exactly what Taylor was doing. She pressed her lips together, trying to find the right words even though she was exhausted and her thoughts were losing their coherence.

"Promise you'd tell me if something was wrong?" Taylor finally asked.

But when she looked across the car, she saw that the girl was fast asleep.