liability [kaylor]

part 1

[karlie's pov]

It's December, a bitterly cold New York night. I'm in the back of an Uber with my brand new high heels on the floor, hugging my knees like a little kid. And I am crying. Ugly crying, mascara smudged wildly, a million miles away from the cool collected model the rest of the world sees.

 Tomorrow Team Klossy will tweet a picture of me holding a salad with some witty caption and I will make a birthday post for an ex-colleague I haven't spoken to in six months and maybe post an Instagram story of me staring lovingly at the blandest man in the universe. It's all so fake. She was the one real thing in my life. And now she doesn't even want to be seen with me, just to sell records to people who hate people like us. I called her calculated, she ripped the petals off the daisy from our first road trip and the conversation ended, along with, presumably, our relationship. 

So now I'm here. In this Uber. Feeling like I've just been bitten by a beloved pet, only it's 100 times worse than that. The person I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with doesn't even want to know me anymore. The last thing she said to me before I slammed the door was "This was a mistake on my part. It should've never happened to begin with". Dating me was a mistake to her. It doesn't really get more cutting than that. 

But I've gotten good at hiding things. I'll wipe away the tears, get out of the taxi, allow myself to break down again in the privacy of my own room and then put on an act. Pretend everything's completely normal and I'm not breaking inside because I just lost the person who means the most in the world to me.

The car stops. I fix a sunny smile to my face, pay quickly, and go into my house, which always seems so much bigger and emptier without her in it. I moan despairingly. When will everything stop reminding me of her? When will it stop hurting so much, like a throbbing, poisonous ache inside my brain? Joe runs over eagerly to me, wagging his tail in adoration. "Hey, at least I still have you, little guy" I say, looking down at his tiny furry face. I try to make a mental list of anyone else I still have. It isn't very long. My family, my friends... I love them but they're not the same. They're not her.

I have myself. The thought comes to me suddenly. I have always had myself. It might not be much, but it's something. I pad over to the mirror, my bare feet silent on the white fluffy carpet, and look at myself. Seriously look at myself.

Now, I'm a model. I see my face so much that I get sick of it sometimes. I know every curve, every blemish, every tiny wrinkle inside out. But i've never examined it so thoroughly. What do strangers think when they look at me, I wonder. 

Probably "She's hot". I laugh, and the sound surprises me. I'm hot. No, I'm stunning. I'm radiant- okay, not right now, with my makeup smeared like a clown made redundant from a circus they'd worked at all their life, but on a good day I could pass for a young Michelle Pfeiffer. That's what Taylor used to say anyway. I wince at the thought, and distract myself by swaying back and forth in the mirror, reaching up a hand to touch my own smooth cheek. It feels odd, but good. That's what the world needs more of, I decide. Self-love. Other people will hurt you and let you down and break your heart, but the girl in the mirror isn't going anywhere.

I am Karlie Kloss and I don't need someone else to complete me. I repeat it in my head like a mantra. the tears are welling up again, but this time I'm smiling a little too. We stay like that for a while, my reflection and I, gazing at each other curiously. 

I'm still a little uncertain about this self-affirmation stuff. Perhaps I'll need a while to heal first. Almost without thinking, I walk into the kitchen and push the heavy oak table to the left. Unsteady on my feet, I start to slow dance with an imaginary partner, swaying the way I had swayed a few minutes ago in front of the mirror. Not like how I used to dance with her. I was her favourite person to dance with. I guess that's over. I wonder when the realisations of things we'll never do as a couple again will stop coming at me unexpectedly, catching me off-guard every time. 

I let myself hurt. And it feels almost good to give in and collapse into the pain. The happiness will come, but for now I am cut up and raw and slow dancing with myself in a dark kitchen lit only by the refrigerator. And I dance- God do I dance- like I'm dancing for everything we've been through. But another realisation comes, softly creeping in the pit of my belly. I enjoy ballroom; I've always adored ballet; I'm fond of tap and jazz. But I don't want to dance without her as my partner.