More than Friends

Seven

Before I start, I'd like to say thanks for 5K reads. That's just crazy seeing as this is only the seventh part of the story. I hope you like it and keeping reading and voting x
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Karlie's POV

A week after Taylor couldn't go through with it, we're sitting in the front room, me in leggings and a vest top, Taylor wearing a hoodie and yoga pants. She doesn't feel too good, sipping away at the water just beside her constantly. I don't know what to do, sh won't eat, barely talks to me and refuses to move, only begrudgingly walking to the bathroom every now and then. The TV is on low and though she's looking at it, I can tell she's not focused on it, her eyes glazed over. "Tay-bear, do you want anything?" I ask, deciding to do something useful.
"No," she croaks, her voice hollow and sore. I sigh, annoyed she won't admit she needs help to feel better again.

Taylor's POV.

"No," I reply to Karlie, who has asked me if I need anything for the fifth time this afternoon. It's getting annoying and I know she's worried but I'm fine, I just feel under the weather. "Ok, well I'm going to go buy some food so I can make us dinner," she tells me, standing up, her long limbs stretching out to full length so she's tall, supermodel Karlie instead of lazy Karlie curled up on the couch. "Could you get me some lemon water and throat soothers?" I ask, finally admitting that I don't want to go out and that seeing as Karlie offered, she might as well get something.
"Yeah, I will." She comes over and kisses me lightly, her lips grazing mine quickly. "I'll be back in half an hour, love you."
"Love you too babe," I try to shout as she leaves the room. I can't though, my throat too sore to even reach beyond a quiet talking voice. Having a sore throat when you're me is the worst because you feel so useless, I can't really sing and I'm just glad I don't have any interviews or concerts to do.

Fifteen minutes later, I need to use the bathroom, unfortunate as I hate moving when I feel like this. Every movement at the moment takes twice as much effort as the gym on a day when I'm full of energy so by the time I'm halfway there, most normal people would've finished what needed doing and be back to whatever they were doing beforehand, which for me was not a lot. I need to move faster. I need to see that I can do it, if only for my sanity today. So I try, taking two steps quicker than the rest of the journey put together. Everything starts spinning, the walls jumping from their normal places to ceilings before rapidly appearing as floors one could walk on. The ceilings slide to walls, spinning back to ceilings before shooting themselves into the apparition of my floor. I feel myself falling and a colossal pain shoots through my body.

Karlie's POV.

"I'm back," I shout, then clamping my hand over my mouth as I realise I've probably just caused Taylor a lot of pain: her headache has been worsening all day. Dumping the shopping in the kitchen as quietly as I can, I delve around to find the stuff Taylor wanted and some headache medicine that she's taking whether she likes it or not. Upon finding it, I take it through to Taylor. "Babe," I say quietly, "I've got the stuff you wanted and some..." Taylor isn't where she been all day, she's not even in the room. That's strange, I think, doubling checking the kitchen for any sign of the blonde curls that have occupied the same spot in the corner of the sofa for the last two days. Then I remember that she has been going to the bathroom slowly every now and then, she's probably there. I sit down on the ottoman, her things still in my hands, to wait.

A long time later Taylor still hasn't appeared, no noise coming from the bathroom like usual when she visits it. Thinking of it, the only noise is my breathing, nothing else floating around the quiet apartment. Getting up, I decide to investigate the bedrooms as the next likely explanation is Taylor has gone to bed. No sign of life in all of them, looking exactly like they did when we left them this morning. Perhaps the mini studio and music room that's upstairs, where I know she goes when she feels sad or angry. I doubt she'll be wanting to sing today though, music would only pound around her head. The only place left apart from the bathroom is the dining room, never used as Taylor eats in the kitchen or, if she's feeling particularly lazy, in front the of TV. Like I guessed, she isn't in there, leaving the bathroom. If she isn't in there, I'm going to run around screaming and check the balconies that are rarely used unless Taylor is in one of those moods where she'll sit and stare at the skyline for hours. It's kind of cute. The bathroom is hidden around a corner, always confusing people as they never bother to check around the corner and then complain that they can't find it. Their's also two metres square of floor space that you can't see. Going around the corner, I see something I never imagined.

Taylor. Lying on the floor, a small pool of blood gradually getting larger as an ominous drip plagues the silence.

I can feel the panic rising up through me. The drips aren't helping, acting like a timer, counting down the minutes until Taylor may come to an end. It takes me for drips to find my phone and another two to dial 911 and wait for them to pick up. "What's your emergency?" A calm voice on the other end of the line asks.
"Oh god. My girl," pausing I realise what I just said and change it just it case. "My friend, I...I found her unconscious and theirs blood and I think she's breathing but you need to get here." My voice has risen an octave as I ramble down the phone to the women. The dripping of the blood is still timing me: three drips for me to give her all the information; two drips until she finally replies. "Okay. I need a name and an address please."
"Ummm, it's Taylor, Taylor Swift is unconscious and I'm Karlie Kloss. The address is," I stop, realising I'm not immediately sure of Taylor's address as I just know the building and her apartment. "I think it's Apartment 13, the penthouse one, Manhattan Needle." That's all they'll need as the building is well known. (A/N. I don't know if that's a building in New York but just go with it). I can hear the women writing something down. Another drip. "Okay. Thank you Miss Kloss, we'll have an ambulance with you as soon as possible."

The ambulance can't come soon enough. When it does eventually come, I've counted 57 drips of blood, which for normal people is 8 minutes and 23 seconds. I've opened the apartment door, but I'm sitting, watching Taylor. She's too pale, the only red comes from her lips, her signature look. "Hello?" I hear a man call from the hall. They're finally here.
"Down here," I shout, waving. Three men appear, one carrying a first aid kit, all rushing to get to her. "Can you step away Ma'am?" One of them requests and I do even though all I want is to hold Taylor's hand and tell her it's going to be fine. They all rush around for a minute, 7 drips if you were wondering and I watch it despair. "Okay, we're going to need to take her to hospital," one man shouts. I'm crying for the first time as they life lifeless Taylor into a stretcher. Breathe, I remind myself, grabbing some of Taylor's things as instructed and then jumping into the waiting ambulance.

I've paced this room 313 times when a doctor, wearing a white coat, walks in and tells me to have seat. He looks professional, not at all bothered by the fact he's looking after Taylor Swift and that if she dies, his life won't be worth living. "Miss Kloss, friends with Miss Swift?" He confirms, looking at his notes.
"Uh huh," I nod.
"I'm sorry to say that Taylor lost a lot of blood," he starts.
"203 drops," I cut him off accidentally.
"Yes, she hit her and is mildly concussed, the blood is being replaced as we speak but Taylor still hasn't woken up."

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Cliffhanger. Heeheehee.

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