Complementary

twenty seven

overjoyed - bastille

zayn

"You love me?" Carlie asks, her eyes scanning my face for any implication of dishonesty.

"Yes, I love you."

She rolls over on her side, her touch tracing the ink on my arms. A slight smile rests on her face.

"I love you." She speaks the words slowly, solemnly, as if she is testing out how they feel on her tongue.

I would imagine the last time she has uttered these three words was when her mother was still alive. My whole body warms when I realize this, when I realize she has deemed me worthy of her love. It is bittersweet: I am the only person she truly loves.

"Say it again," I mumble, pressing my lips to her temple and letting them linger there. "I love you."

She giggles softly, the sound filling up the silence around us. "I love you, Zayn."

"Are you sure?" I ask, though I am only half-joking.

"Yes, I am very sure." She hesitates. "The writer in me wants to question this, though. I mean, what is love, Zayn? Though, I suppose the only way to explain how I feel when I think about you is love. I care about you more than I care about anyone else in my life."

"Are you unhappy about that?"

"About what?"

"That I am the only person you genuinely care about." I frown.

"If you asked me this about a month ago, I probably would say I'm unhappy about that," she pauses. "But now, I think that is kind of a wonderful thing. I would say it's special that you have drawn these feelings out of me."

I sigh. I am unsure whether it is a sigh of relief, or a sigh of content. I suppose it is a bit of both, though her answer makes me wonder a bit. Has that much really changed in a month?

She has changed, yes. I can easily see it.

"Can I ask you something, Carlie?"

"You just did, Zayn." She retorts, half of a smile on her face.

"You told me you've started speaking to someone professionally...are you taking medication?" I question timidly, hoping she will not take this the wrong way.

"Um, yes. I am." She breathes. It sounds as if she is afraid of my reaction. "I'm taking a daily pill called Zoloft. It's an antidepressant."

My face falls when I hear the last word she speaks. My heart skips a beat and my gaze on her freezes.

I have always known she is a deeply unhappy person, but I do not think it has ever occured to me that she is depressed. Now, hearing her say she is on antidepressants, I feel as though my heart hurts. Making her happy is something I like to do, something I try to do, but knowing now that there will always be that sadness in the back of her mind is upsetting. The last thing I want is for the person I love to feel hopeless and tired because of that lulling, lingering depression.

"Don't be scared, please," she whispers, wrapping her grasp around my wrist. "I'm okay."

"I have nothing to be scared of, Carlie. But you aren't okay." I tell her.

She shakes her head gently, her seaglass eyes glistening with tears. "I know I'm not. But I'm getting better. It's just a process."

I nod in agreeance. "It is a process, but I love you. I will always love you, no matter how bad you feel or how happy you feel. I'm here through it all."