Meant for each other?

-10-

The next morning is uneventful for most, students returning whilst Karlie is watched by the school nurse to make sure she doesn't go and take anything. Miss Aldridge found the remains of what she'd taken last night, luckily not the stash, so Karlie can take more if she feels the need. From now on, for the next couple of weeks, the brunette has to be watched by someone during all her free time until she goes to bed. What the staff don't know is that she'll just get high 'once she's gone to sleep' so all this effort isn't worth. Now all the teen can do is wait until she's finally allowed to go to lessons.

Back in her room, Taylor is on the phone. The call is an urgent one, possibly the most stressful she's had in a while, pacing the sunny room as she listens to the speaker on the other end talk urgently. "Someone posted a picture of you last night Taylor. On Instgram," the voice informs her.

"Crap," the teacher sighs, perching on the arm of a sofa next to her.

"We've had it taken down but it's been trending on Twitter, Tumblr and its flying around Facebook as well as Instagram. It's impossible to contain. I don't know why we didn't just kill you because then people wouldn't be suggesting that maybe you're still alive because you were never confirmed dead. Just don't go on any social media. I'll call you later." And then the woman in America hangs up, leaving the blonde to think through her next move. Who posted the picture?

Seated in the infirmary, the teen is on her fan account again, her feed containing no other pictures apart from the one she posted yesterday followed by captions in full capitals, swear words and excited emoticons. Her Twitter has blown up as well, she realises, seeing at least 500 notifications. Deciding to tweet on this whole situation, Karlie starts to type, nimble fingers smoothly tapping out what she wants to say.

@/Chanelswift: you're all going mad over this picture! It's just my teacher!!!

Inserting a laughing face, she posts the tweet. That should be cleaned up for now. So, finding her therapy app as it's the only game on her phone, the teen leans back and relaxes. Lessons today don't start until after lunch so she's got until then to chill.

Ten minutes later, a blur comes rushing into the room, that blur being the english girl that could be counted as Karlie's only friend, her face somewhere between relief and anger. Her arms wrap around the American, not letting go until her breathing has calmed down. Then she reads the riot act. "What the actual hell Karlie. Why the hell did you run away. That's not fair on me. I was worried and you just ran off. You could've at least told me. Do u even think of me as a friend or am I more someone to get pissed with and hang out with while you slowly kill yourself?"

"Well we won't be doing that for a while," the taller girl sulks, remembering how her alcohol stash had been found and confiscated.

"Whatever." The Brit sighs whilst surveying her friend. Her next move shocks the American. Leaning in subtly, before darting in Cara's lips are suddenly on Karlie's, the dirty blonde not waiting for permission and trying to kiss her friend. Too shocked to have any reaction at first, the brunette stays still, only pulling away when Cara stops. "What the actual hell," she demands, mimicking the words that came out of Cara's mouth when she came flying into the sunny room. "I'm your friend. Not anything more." And even though she's not supposed to, the brunette grabs her latest designer bag, a black Fendi bag, running from the hospital like room.

Tears stream down the Americans face as she barges through more crowds, not helped by the insults hurled her way by the refreshed students, most of whom have heard of her escapades. She has no one: she's just told Cara that she doesn't like her; Taylor is no longer an option; the teen has no other friends if she's honest. People are getting in her way, blocking her pathway through the crowd purposely. "Hey slut, how was Ibiza?" One boy questions.

"Did you sleep with anyone else?" His muscled friend then chimes in.

"Screw you," the brunette sneers, bringing her fist to his jaw with a satisfying crack. He groans in pain, scarpering with his friend, curse words spraying the stunned corridor. No one else dares to come near her after her impulsive display letting the teen walk silently to her room.

Once alone in her room, the brunette haired girl drops her bag, only keeping her phone and a small bottle of vodka that she'd brought a duty free (no questions asked by the employees there). Her window is an easy way to the roof: all the teen has to do is climb onto the ledge above the easily opened window and then jump over a stone wall that is probably waist height, an easy feat. 'I'm not even high,' the American smirks, unlatching the window and swinging out. Being truthful, the girl didn't accept she was five floors from the ground until she looked down, seeing a good 17 metres below her, scaring her into scampering up onto the ledge. A shout from below stops her.

It's Martha.

"Karlie," she hollers, holding a hand a over her eyes for protection from the winter sun that is sore to ones eyes even if it's weak. "Come down." Shaking her head, the teen manages to hook a leg over the barrier, using the strength in her arms to pull the rest of her lithe body over. Looking down, Karlie sees Martha has disappeared so takes her little vodka out of her Calvin Klein jeans and downs it in one. With the shock of the sour poison hitting her hard, the brunette finds that she hasn't thought this through at all. She's going to be drunk from the blue liquid in a few minutes and this roof isn't flat like the previous one she clambered up to. 'I'm becoming more like Kariann by the day,' the American thinks. 'But maybe she got if from me?'

No one came to find the runaway for about two hours. The brunette has skipped lunch and the first lesson of the half term: people should be wondering where she is by now. "Karlie," a voice from below calls. It's quiet, drifting up to her in the wind that's whipping around the curled up teen. At first the girl intends on ignoring the caller, curiosity overtaking her as she crawls down the sloping tiles towards the edge.

Beneath her, standing with a woollen coat wrapped around her slim frame, Taylor stands. Her eyes momentarily glow until she sees that her student is on the roof. "I'm sorry Karlie. Will you just come down?" The defiant student shakes her head,

"I can't," she tries to explain, "I've had vodka and I'll slip!" A note of urgency has slipped into the teens voice as she grips the wall, the only barrier between her and the cold, hard ground.

"Just stay where you are. I'm going to get help." The blonde rushes off, disappearing inside. But when was Karlie ever one to follow instructions, swinging her legs over the edge of building, reaching skilfully for the ledge. Her plan is to lower herself down the edge of the building, window ledge by window ledge. With her feet already on the sill of the window she'd climbed out of hours earlier, the brunette decides to carry on. Making it down to the first floor, a floor above ground level, without fault, the drunk girls foot slips. Karlie is holding on by her hands and the edge of her Vans. Using all the strength in her well maintained body, the teen tries to pull up, slacking her arms. That's when she falls.

It hurts for a second.

Then it goes black.

Authors note.
I thought wrapped-in-light might like this because Caylor but I don't know.
I hope you're liking this so far. Please leave your comments and votes to motivate me
Love love love Emi