isn't it? [taylor swift]

the space between - 2020

January 2020

Leia had thought the hard part would be telling them.

Standing in her childhood home last August, her hands shaking as she looked at her mother, her sister, her father, and finally saying the words: I need help. I'm going to rehab.

But the truth was, saying it had been the easy part.

It was what came after that had nearly broken her.

The first few weeks in treatment had been a fog. A brutal, unrelenting haze of withdrawal, exhaustion, and therapy sessions where she had to sit across from a stranger and say things out loud she had only ever admitted to herself in the quietest, loneliest moments.

She hadn't really thought of herself as an addict until Georgie had said it so easily in the bathroom that night. Hadn't really thought that she could be an addict when she'd only had a few trips of taking cocaine here and there. 

She had spent her Mom's birthday in rehab, eating a dry piece of chocolate cake while the other patients sang halfheartedly, their voices dulled by their own exhaustion. She had spent Thanksgiving in the same chair she sat in every morning at group, listening to someone new tell their story, knowing they were all just trying to hold on. She'd spent months of her life in Upstate New York, at a stunning private facility that Adrian had recommended.

And not a single soul outside of her inner circle - and those that needed to know - had known a thing about it.

By Christmas, she had been clean for nearly two months. That had been her goal - to get home in time for the holidays, to be able to sit at the dinner table with Georgie and her parents and feel there, actually there, not the drifting, distant version of herself she had been for so long since Dylan had started taking over her entire life.

And she had done it.

She had made it through Christmas morning without sneaking a drink or slipping off to be alone. She had rung in the new year with nothing stronger than a sip of champagne, watching fireworks burst over the frozen lake outside the rented beach house that her parents had been staying in down in North Carolina, breathing in the cold air and letting it sting her lungs, reminding her that she was alive.

And now, somehow, it was January 31.

The fans had been worried. They'd heard nothing from her - and the paparazzi in New York had almost given up on seeing her leave the apartment now. They must have figured out that she simply was no longer there, especially since Georgie and Tate only ever seemed to be the ones entering and leaving. 

She was sure that the singular paparazzi that had decided to visit her apartment at the exact moment she returned with Georgie, Tate, Azul and Riven was about to have a field day of offers for those photos. 

The headlines would be splashed across every tabloid by morning: LEIA HUDSON SPOTTED FOR FIRST TIME IN FIVE MONTHS. She could already picture the speculation, the theories, the way they'd analyse her appearance for any sign of what she'd been through. That's why Riven had insisted on the oversized sunglasses, the casual but deliberately chosen outfit - a soft cream sweater that made her look healthy. An outfit that didn't scream 'hey, I've been in rehab for months because I got addicted to cocaine ridiculously easily'.

Tonight, she was sitting in her living room, which felt both achingly familiar and strangely new, like returning to a childhood home after years away. The furniture was the same – the plush sectional that wrapped around the corner of the room, the coffee table where she'd once spilled red wine during a particularly competitive game night, leaving a faint stain that no amount of cleaning could fully remove. But the air felt different somehow. Cleaner.

"You okay?" Georgie asked, settling beside her on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap. 

"I'm fine," Leia said automatically, then caught herself. One of the things she'd learned in rehab was to stop saying she was fine when she wasn't. "Actually, I'm nervous. But I'm here. That counts for something, right?"

Georgie squeezed her hand. 

"It counts for everything."

Leia was sure about that. They'd all been through a lot and sometimes she wondered if she was too much for them all.

Yet, they'd still dropped everything to come to her apartment when she said she wanted to watch the Miss Americana documentary as soon as it dropped on Netflix.

She hadn't spoken to Taylor since rehab. Hadn't reached out, hadn't dared to, because what would she even say? Sorry I disappeared? Sorry I couldn't be the person you needed? Sorry I was being blackmailed into breaking up with you, but you also didn't even try to stop me from doing that and I kind of hate you for it, even though I don't think I ever could hate you?

And maybe more than that - maybe she was afraid that Taylor simply wouldn't have cared.

Taylor had been a part of her life for years. She had loved her - God, she still loved her, no matter how much she wished she didn't. No matter how painful it was, she still wanted to see the documentary. Even if she was sure there was going to be lots of Taylor and Joe mentions, since they were still together.

And besides, Leia was in it.

Only for a few seconds, probably. A flash of old tour footage, a clip of them standing backstage, maybe. But she had been one of the opening acts for the Reputation Stadium Tour. She had been there, in the orbit of Taylor's world, back when everything still made sense. She'd been there when they'd filmed parts of that, when Jana had asked her to do a short interview about the tour incase it made it into future footage.

Leia sat curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap, her socked feet tucked beneath her. The lights in the living room were dimmed, the soft glow of the television the only illumination.

Georgie, was stretched out beside her, scrolling mindlessly through her phone between bites of ice cream. Across the room, Riven was perched on the arm of a chair, fingers wrapped around a glass of wine, while Azul sat on the floor, his back against the couch, one hand lazily tracing circles on Riven's knee. Tate had disappeared into the apartment, probably sulking that he was back in New York and no longer exploring the beaches in NC.

Taylor's voice filled the room, familiar and measured, as Miss Americana unfolded on the screen. Leia hadn't been sure she even wanted to watch it - too many memories lived inside Taylor's voice, too many ghosts lurking beneath every song, every interview, every soft, thoughtful pause.

Georgie had pressed play before she could make another excuse, and now here they were, an hour into it, all drawn in. Most of it was familiar to Leia - the recap of Taylor's life, the snippets and beats of things that she'd done in her career. The Kimye drama, the reputation tour - it was all so fucking familiar.

Until it shifted.

Taylor sat curled into the corner of her couch, a loose knit blanket draped over her legs. The late afternoon light softened the room, casting long shadows against the cream-colored walls of her Nashville apartment. A cup of tea sat on the armrest beside her, half-forgotten, the steam curling into the air. She looked at it for a moment, then out the window, then finally back at the camera.