Complementary

seventeen

don't save me - haim

zayn

It has been two days since I have last heard from Carlie.

It has also been two days since the night she invited me to dinner, which resulted in a lot of tears on her end.

She had also asked to spend the night at my apartment. Naturally, I did not decline, but I slept out on the couch while she claimed my bed. Not much was said about anything when we got home, but I did not push her to talk about it, for once. She left early the next morning, before I woke, without a good bye.

I feel as though I should call her, or text her, at least. I am not quite sure what has stopped me from doing so. It is not the fact that I have been busy at all, really. I haven't done much but smoke and sketch a bit. I also haven't answered any of Lou, Niall, or Harry's phone calls.

I hate how she makes me like this, but I love it at the same time.

And now, I am sat at my laptop, clicking through every image of her I have taken. Most are from the park a few days ago, when I had first told her about my project. It is due in three days and I find every photo of her to be just as beautiful as the next.

My decision for my project will most likely be very difficult, but I have already found myself drawn to one certain image. I had actually taken it in the coffee shop by accident, just a few moments after Carlie had told me she really likes me. There is a smile on her lips but not in her eyes. I think that is both beautiful and sad, and that is probably the reason why I have been staring at the photo for so long.

I shut my laptop with a long, lethargic sigh. I really am in some sort of slump.

-

I am woken up from my nap by the loud buzzing of my doorbell. For some reason, I am dreading to see who has come to visit me. My house stinks of weed, my hair is a dirty mess, as well as my whole apartment. I have also been ignoring every person I associate myself with, so it really could be anyone at my door.

I look through the peephole and my stomach drops. It is Carlie.

I do not even bother with fixing up my hair or quickly making an effort to tidy up the living room before swinging open the door. I simply brace myself, feeling as if I have done something wrong, oddly.

"I thought I'd drop by since your phone seems to be off, or dead." Carlie says as an introduction.

"Yeah," I mumble. "Sorry, um, about that."

"Did I scare you off?" She blurts.

I grimace. "What? No."

She shakes her head. "Can I come in?"

I step out of the doorway to let her pass by, not bothering to give her an answer. She seems as if she wants to have some sort of talk with me, but I am not sure about what.

She sits down on my couch and invites me to sit beside her. "You know, judging by the stench, you have probably locked yourself in here for the past two days, smoking out your lungs."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I blink. "I, uh - I don't know. I think I just felt bad."

"For me?" Carlie questions.

"No, no. Well, yeah, actually. I felt bad for both you and myself." I manage the words.

"Why for yourself, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You let me in and then pushed me away, Carlie."