(A/N: Okay, so this chapter feels, to me, heavily contrived, but hey, I like the song, and somehow I had to set it up for the next chapter to work! Don't hit me?)

9. Heavily Broken

After the dramatic finale to the talent show the school was in uproar once again. Rumours abounded and the twins were making a roaring trade out of betting on who'd be the first to appear in public: Kelly or Annabelle. For neither had been seen since that night. Over the first couple of days everyone assumed they'd be out soon enough. "Just give them time," was the general feeling. But after four days and no sightings of either, everybody was beginning to get a little more serious, a little more worried, and a little closer to taking matters into their own hands.

Kelly, for her part, had barricaded herself into her room, pushing a chest of drawers across the door and for added measure wedging a large chair under the door handle. So far no-one had tried a battering ram, but it was only a matter of time. In her present state, she didn't really care.

I'm heavily broken

And I don't know what to do

Can't you see that I'm choking?

And I can't even move

When there's nothing left to say

What can you do?

I'm heavily broken

And there's nothing I can do

Food had stopped being an issue. She no longer felt like eating; hadn't, in fact, since watching Annabelle's exit from the hall. All she had done since then was drink anything she could lay her hands on; and her room being what it was, a veritable stockpile of alcoholic beverages, she had a lot of choice. So far she had got through six bottles of wine, one of vodka (not made on the premises), countless tequila shots (without salt or lime), two six-packs of beer and a bottle of something concocted by Matron that had provoked a violent reaction upon drinking. This dangerous cocktail had been accompanied by long alternate bouts of sleeping, groaning, headaches and leaning over the toilet, throwing it all up again, and consequently she was feeling rather the worse for wear.

Almost given up on trying

Almost heading for a fall

And now my mind is screaming out

I've got to keep on fighting

But then again

It doesn't end

Annabelle was dealing with things in a similar fashion, although being rather more straight-laced than Kelly, she was sticking to wine as her toxin of choice. She felt like gas in a canister, pressurised and being squeezed out bit by bit until there was nothing left.

After Kelly's recital and subsequent speech she'd had to get out, get some air, get some space in which to thin. Her mind was reeling, hit by revelations all at once that she just couldn't deal with. And as soon as she'd gotten out, she'd found that after all, she didn't want to think. She wanted to drink so hard she stopped thinking about anything, and put all her energy into becoming completely and utterly pissed so she simply wouldn't care any more.

Now she was lying on her bed, having exhausted her alcohol supply, with a pounding headache, and was wondering what an earth she should do next. She knew she couldn't stay locked up much longer; as little as she felt like eating, her body was crying out for some kind of nourishment other than alcohol, which hardly counted.

Besides that, she had gradually come to realise that she was acting like a child, running away at the slightest upset, instead of staying to face the (literal) music. And it wasn't only the fact that she'd have to face her problems sooner or later. She'd found that she missed Kelly. Really missed her. Not in the way she had missed toys going missing, or friends who'd gone away on holiday. It was deeper than that. It was an aching, a longing, something she couldn't quite put her finger on but had a very good idea of what it should be called.

Sighing, she got off her bed and padded over to the door. Her aunt had kindly provided her with a room should she ever need it, and this time it had really come in handy – especially the peephole in the door. She peered out at the gaggle of small girls hanging around outside, some camped there with provisions and all obviously waiting for her exit. She couldn't get out that way, then.

Carefully she picked her way over to the sash window on tiptoe, creeping around the wine bottles, corks and occasional fragments of broken glass. Opening the window, she climbed gingerly out onto the (thankfully wide) ledge and sent a silent thankyou to her aunt that the room was right next to the fire escape that ran round the corner of the building. She inched her way along the ledge and grabbed hold of the rickety staircase, sliding in sideways between the bars. Mounting the steps with increasing ease and surety, she breathed in the fresh air, glad to get out of her stuffy, hazy room.

Finding her way onto the roof was much easier and far less scary than she had expected. She clambered over the parapet onto the long balcony that conveniently stretched right around this part of the roof, all the way over to Kelly's room.

As she rounded a corner she stopped in her tracks. Kelly was standing right in front of her. Her black hair was tousled and uncombed, her lipstick smudged, her eyeliner streaked down her face.

Without saying a word she stepped forward and put her arms around Kelly's waist, holding her tightly. After a second's hesitation she felt arms around her shoulder, drawing her closer to the taller girl, and she smiled. This was right. This was good. This was what she'd been afraid of all along, and she could have kicked herself for fighting it now.

She reached up on her toes and whispered into Kelly's ear.

"I love you."