This is my first fanfic for Flight 29 Down. The ship is Jaylor, which for me is Jackon/Taylor. I'm really proud of it, actually. Please review, I'd really love feedback since this is my first fic and all. It takes place after they get rescued and have all grown up. It centers around Taylor. I do not, nor do I claim to, own any part of the production Flight 29 Down.
There were certain days of the week Taylor called her "Beauty Sleep" days. Those were her rare opportunities to stretch out on the couch with a pillow behind her head, a think fleece blanket tossed nonchalantly over her legs, and the peace and quiet of her empty house.
Sometimes, on these sanctified occasions, Taylor would have a visitor. A friend from her past. She didn't question the way he knew and chose the perfect moment to arrive. It was the precise second when she sat down, arranged her blanket, gave a small girlish sigh, and closed her eyes. It was then that she'd hear soft steps on her front porch and a short rap on her front door, the sounds that made her heart beat a little bit faster. She also didn't question the fact that sometimes on her "Beauty Sleep" days she awoke knowing, just knowing, somehow, that she'd be seeing him today. And the sheer anticipation of it, the curling of her toes inside her white Reebok sneakers, was half the fun.
On some occasions, Taylor wondered if it was wrong. On days when he didn't come, she often thought it over, wondering why he couldn't make it. She usually tried to convince herself it was because of something normal, like a doctor's appointment, some errands to run, or an extra day down at the office. But then scary pictures started to creep into her mind, ones of him out with friends, making music for people like he used to, or even spending time with Melissa. Taylor didn't like these thoughts, they made her uncomfortable, self-piteous. Kind of like the times when Melissa would call her up, to catch up and tell her things she'd rather not hear, or when she saw the young couple on her street that she didn't know out for their intimate morning walks.
But, naturally, she didn't feel like this whenever her visitor showed up. When she awoke knowing that today's "Beauty Sleep" day was just the right combination of sunshine and breeze, when she heard the unmistakeable crunch of gravel as his car pulled into her driveway, and when she allowed herself to close her eyes and revel in the lovely heat of skin on skin, she knew that everything was OK, beautiful, perfect, and each time he whispered her name it made the world a thousand times better than before.
And so, for those too-few days, Taylor gave up her life. She settled into a routine where days blurred into others, spending time watching movies she never really watched, reading books she never really read, crying tears that never really reached her eyes. She let the world turn, go on around her, as she satisfied herself in isolation, a prisoner of her own free will in the solitude of her neat, small house.
Taylor went on living, oblivious to her self-destruction. She went on living each day only to the next time her visitor would make his way to her once again. She went on believing that she had a right to him, and him to her, because everyone deserves to be happy. She went on surrendering her soul not only to the pain in her entire being that seemed to creep up on her at night, but also to the man who used her at his own discretion. She went on gradually forgetting everything that happened on the island save the small moments she spent with him and that warm, girlish feeling in her heart she longed for since they were rescued.
She went on living her life her own quiet ways, wasting away the skin on her bones and the warmth in her heart until she was nothing but a pale ghost, a wisp of the girl that Taylor Hagan used to be. It hasn't hit her yet that only until her visitor knocks on her starch white door can this ghost finally begin to live.