• t w e n t y •
"So, tomorrow as soon as we land, you have a meeting with Vogue Paris, the next day, Couture- Miss Kloss?"
The now blonde model was awoken from her thoughts, she had been lost staring at the beautiful view from the jet, staring down at the blue dark ocean.
Waves so ever calm, like her blood through her veins. The lights of the small city nearby illuminating the waters like glass through sunrise.
She had been thinking about her again, she swallowed.
"Huh?"
The old woman chuckled.
"Lost in the world of pretty blue eyes again, aren't we?"
Karlie's hand gripped the leather of her seat, out of nerves, she brought one of her nails to her teeth.
"Florence, you know how much I hate blue eyes now. Tell me the schedule again. I'm simply hungry."
It had been a week.
Exactly.
She had counted down the days since her occurrence with, her.
The image of the girl she despised the most caused her to be nauseated.
Her mind liked to confuse it with fear.
As she listened to the older woman talk, she resembled her mother. Already felt like it as well.
Florence was her right hand, and would accompany her duties as a model for the next year. It hadn't taken her long to grow attached to the woman.
Dirty blonde hair, with streaks of grey, green eyes like hers. The perfect smile that almost assured you cookies and warm milk after a hard day. Karlie had wished this woman was her mother.
Her maternal essence filled Karlie with warmth.
She had only mentioned Taylor once. After the model had woken from a nightmare, gripping sheets and cursing her name, anger flowed through her veins like fire through dry earth.
Crying against Florence's chest, holding on to dear hope for her own sanity, she was sort of obliged to tell her about the girl.
Later asking the woman not to mention her, for there was nothing more she wished not to do.
Damn her. Damn her and everything that had to do with her.
Of course during the day she was glamour, walking desire and elegance.
When alone, everything was contrast.
She would look in the mirror, and instantly her throat tightened. She hated Taylor. Hated.
Karlie hated how she could still feel her touch in her body, and sometimes screamed in desperation, she hurried her nails to scratch the feeling away, peeling her skin away along with it.
To scar away the traces of this woman she regretted so much meeting.
Only to be left more of a mess afterwards, her skin stinging under the hot shower water, like hot rocks under silk.
Her light complexion, with roads of red, peeled skin, delicate traces of blood.
To her advantage, by morning they were simply pink, and faded almost.
Nighttime bringing her nightmares again.
In those moments she wished to slash through pictures of Taylor with a knife of her own sorrow.
