may the wolves [ kaylor ]

IV.

This chapter is totally just filler, but the next two are already written, and they're where shit really starts to get interesting. So hopefully you all can deal with a little bit more filler, because I promise the exciting parts are going to get here soon.

Karlie rolls over in bed, the comforter catching around her hips. Her spine buzzes as she stretches and twists her muscles. There's a soft groan as she tugs one of the extra pillows over her face, smothering herself with the scent of detergent and her own shampoo. She can feel in her body that it's early, and that she's barely slept, but the exhaustion in her muscles hasn't transferred to her mind, and she's wide awake.

With a soft sigh, she throws the pillow to the side and kicks the blankets away from her legs, feeling around for her phone. She brings it to her face, squinting as the screen lights up. 7:30 a.m.. Another groan, but she forces herself to sit up, deciding that the whining of her bladder and the growling in her stomach can probably be attended to.

Even Taylor Swift's guest bathroom is well decorated. The rugs and the shower curtains match. The faucets are immaculate. Karlie feels a little strange about using the toilet. She feels even stranger when she realizes there's a picture of Ed Sheeran on the wall staring at her. Maybe Taylor didn't think through every placement very well. It's enough to make her laugh and shake her cluttered thoughts a little bit, though.

There's a toothbrush from the night before, and Karlie scrubs her teeth extra well, because for some reason she feels like she owes Taylor Swift minty-smelling breath. She splashes cold water on her face to make her skin feel less heavy, rubbing her palms along her cheekbones. She's lost a few pounds, she realizes, because the bones in her face are a little more prominent than they should be. Considering how thin she is anyway, that's not necessarily a good thing, and as she lifts up her (no, Taylor's) shirt, she can see the edges of her ribs like tiny mountains.

At the thought of being thin, her stomach rumbles like thunder, vibrating, and she makes the trek to the kitchen. Be a good guest, Karlie. Make her breakfast.

She stops to pet the cats, scratching their ears and attempting to purr back at them. Meredith even licks her toes. It makes Karlie feel good, to know that this so called diva of a cat likes her enough to lick her feet. She makes sure to spend an extra moment stroking Meredith's soft, furry back, then steps into the kitchen.

It's bigger when it's just her inside of it, and Karlie wipes her hand over her mouth, like always. It aches, and she remembers her lip. Thankfully, it just throbs and protests a little bit but doesn't decide to split back open. She's gotten tired of the way that blood tastes in her mouth, and besides, it probably wouldn't merge well with the cool, crisp spearmint of the toothpaste she'd just used.

The cats' food dishes sit neatly in the corner, and Karlie debates for a moment if it would be too familiar for her to fill them up. But Olivia is whining and headbutting the muscles in Karlie's calves, and she decides that even if it's too familiar, she can blame the kitten for whining and guilting her into feeding them rather than waiting for Taylor to wake up. So she pours them food, washes her hands in the sink, and then makes an adventure into Taylor Swift's pantry.

It's quite an adventure, too. It's probably the Mount Everest of pantries, stocked high and full with endless ingredients for endless purposes. There's probably a pretty good chance of surviving the zombie apocalypse for a few months just with the food in the pantry, and it's so overwhelming Karlie feels like it backhanded her. It takes a few moments to gather herself and think through breakfast recipes she knows how to cook well, but finally she decides on one that she can only hope the pop star will enjoy.

Karlie isn't particularly organized about anything, ever, so when she finally has all of the ingredients out, they scatter haphazardly over the countertop in a whirlwind of apparently impossible-to-distinguish chaos. She knows exactly where everything is, but an innocent bystander would likely be helpless in their attempt at figuring it out.