Complementary

seven

lucky ones - lana del rey

zayn

"So, tell me more about how you thought my article was shit."

I roll my eyes at the dark haired girl sat across from me, staring expectantly. "I didn't say your article was shit, Carlie."

She smiles for some reason, plucking a french fry off of my plate and taking a tiny bite of it. "How did you phrase it again? Oh, you said it was disappointing."

I chuckle, swatting her hand away when she reaches across the table to steal another fry. I savor the way her skin feels against mine, even if our hands only touched for a brief second.

"Come on, Zayn. Now you are just being harsh," she laughs. "Telling me my writing was disappointing and now banning me from taking any more french fries off your plate? I am truly hurt."

"Oh, shut up." I smile, shoving my plate toward her but keeping my burger in my hands.

She ordered her own plate of fries and finished the whole thing. Now she's onto mine.

"But I really am curious as to what you didn't like about it." She persists.

"There wasn't necessarily anything I didn't like. You just made such a big deal out of such a short piece," I decide on the honest route, seeing as she has a thing for that. "I feel like there could have been more to enjoy, you know?"

She dips a fry into the ketchup on my plate. Well, it technically isn't my plate anymore. "So you're saying I didn't write enough."

I hesitate, then nod.

"Okay. I can agree with that," she shrugs, glancing around the diner. "But when you're a writer, inspiration comes in spurts. Clearly I was inspired by our very first conversation, since I wrote about a topic that we spoke about, but there's only so much one can get out of that spark of inspiration. You know?"

I nod. And I do know.

"Photography isn't much different." I state my thoughts, feeling more at ease in her presence lately.

"How so?" She speaks with a mouth full of food. "Enlighten me, Mr. Malik."

I laugh. Ever since I told her my surname, she's been addressing me as Mr. Malik. I don't mind it.

"Well," I begin. "Say you're photographing a model. A person's beauty can only go so far; there are only so many poses and lighting and angle changes that can take place."

She gazes intently at me, absorbing my words and nodding after a moment. "Okay, I get that. But what if you're photographing...a landscape. Say it's the most beautiful image you can photograph. One of the seven wonders of the world."

I smile. "Well, I guess photographing a landscape is almost the same as photographing a model. There is a limited amount of pictures you can take. The landscape doesn't change, but the lighting does, I suppose."

"What is your favorite thing to take pictures of?" Carlie questions, propping her elbows up on the tabletop.

I take another bite of my burger, thinking long and hard. "I'd like to say I enjoy taking candids the most."

"Of people?"

"Yeah," I say. "You can capture someone in the most honest of moments when they're unaware you're taking a photo of them."

She leans back in the booth, shaking her head and smiling at me. "Damn it, Zayn, these things you say really strike me. Maybe your calling isn't photography or drawing or anything of that sort. Maybe it's philosophy."

"Please," I laugh. "Not everything I say is intellectual."

"A lot of what you say is."

"No one but you has ever told me this."

"You're also the only person to criticize me," she raises her eyebrows at me. "Maybe we're soulmates or something."

I chuckle bashfully. "How would the guy in your room yesterday feel about that?"

Her smile falters and I immediately regret saying that. Or, maybe I don't. Maybe now she'll tell me who he was or if she is dating him.

"He probably wouldn't care, like most of the men I sleep with."

I feel my eyebrows knit together at her answer. "That's not a very comforting feeling."

"No, it's not," she agrees, sighing. "Then again, I don't necessarily think I would like them to care. That takes all the fun out of sex, don't you think?"

I feel the perfect image of Carlie I had built up in my head slowly shatter, its pieces scattering all over my head.

"No, I don't necessarily agree with you on that one." I mumble.

"Caring makes things a bit more difficult." She counters.

"Yeah, maybe it does," I clear my throat. "But at the end of the day, I would rather be laying in bed next to someone who cares rather than a stranger who doesn't."

Her eyes flicker away from me for the first time, glancing at her hands in her lap. Suddenly, she doesn't appear as confident and sure of herself as she usually does. She looks a bit vulnerable, maybe even ashamed.

"But to each his own, right?" I mutter, managing a smile for the sake of her.

"Right." She lifts her head, looking anywhere but me.

The rest of our time together in the diner is silent. She checks her phone and I pay for our meal upfront, escorting her out to my truck. She climbs in and helps herself to the insides of my glovebox, pulling out that same album from the other day, Is This It.

I smile to myself and wonder how many times she's listened to these songs.

"Thanks for dinner," she says suddenly. I feel her glancing over at me. "Sorry for getting so...quiet. What you said just struck a nerve."

"Don't apologize. I should be saying sorry for being so brash." I begin driving back to my apartment so she can get her car.

"There's a fine line between being brash and honest, Zayn. You are on the honest side and I think that's what I need at the moment. I haven't had much honesty throughout my life."

I think about her words, wanting to know what she means. But I get that she's being vague for a reason, and that reason is because she doesn't want to tell me her life story at the moment. I'm perfectly fine with that. I'm a bit of a closed book myself.

"So does that mean you'll be keeping me around?" I joke, looking over at her.

"Even if you weren't honest I'd still keep you around. I'm feeling as if I should be writing a book full of your quotes. You'll make me filthy rich with that mind of yours."

I grin. "If you get filthy rich off of me, I expect at least half of the profit."

"You've got yourself a deal, my friend."