Complementary

thirty seven

beautiful war - kings of leon

zayn

I begin pulling into the parking garage of our hotel when Carlie speaks up again, the certain sound of spontaneity in her tone.

"Zayn, wait," she begins. "Let's do something fun."

I inhale quickly and let the rental car idle. "Like what? It's Christmas Eve, everything closes early."

She shrugs. "We don't have to go to a store or anything of that sort. We're in San Diego, let's go to the beach."

"The beach," I repeat with confusion. "It's 9 o'clock at night and fifty degrees out."

"Have you ever been to the beach at night?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Can't say I've had the pleasure of doing so."

Carlie rolls her eyes. "It's cool. Let's go."

Despite the fact that I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and fall asleep, I turn the car around and drive in the direction of the closest beach. Whenever I come to San Diego, I go to this beach at least once, but I cannot seem to remember if it is private or not. If it is, then it will be closed by now.

I pull into the deserted lot of the beach and get out. The air is much colder now that we are by the water and I really begin to wonder why Carlie wants to be here, especially at night.

I round the car and take her hand as we begin walking the small pathway that leads to the sand. We move in silence though we are both very aware of each other's presence. We always are.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore grows closer as we finally reach the actual beach. It is very dark out with the exception of the natural lighting from the full moon hanging above us.

"Isn't it so peaceful?" Carlie suddenly murmurs.

I can't help but grimace, finding solace in the fact that she cannot see my facial expression. Yes, the beach at night is peaceful, but this is just another one of her quirks. It seems as though creative people find art in the most simple things, including myself. Right now, though, I am struggling to find art in walking on the sand in the dark.

"Yeah." I finally say.

"My mom used to take me to the beach at night," She tells me, and I immediately feel guilty for my previous thoughts. "It was sort of strange, but it was just something we did together. It didn't happen often - only when she was upset about my father or something. She would bring a blanket and I would sit down next to her while she wrote."

I hold her hand tighter. "I like when you tell me about your mother."

"Why?"

"Don't know," I mumble timidly. "Shows me you trust me."

"I've trusted you for a while now. I think I started trusting you before I even realized it." Carlie confesses.

"I agree," I sigh. "You still haven't read any of your mom's writing?"

"No," she replies shortly. "Thinking about my mother doesn't hurt as much as it used to, even though I tell you it doesn't hurt at all anymore. If I read her work, I feel like...I don't know. I feel like it will open up a can of worms, for lack of a better phrase."

I chuckle humorlessly. "I see what you mean."

"I've been thinking lately, though."

"About what?"

"Remember that day by the pond?"

Frowning, I say, "I try not to."

"Yeah, me too," Carlie pauses. "But I think I'm ready for you to read some of my writing - if you still want to, that is."