Complementary

forty

call it fate, call it karma - the strokes

zayn

Though the moon hangs high above me and the sky is dark, I pull my truck into the parking lot of the closest beach. I have come here nearly every night since I last saw Carlie about three months ago.

She had told me everything; who gave her the bruises, how it happened, and the reasoning behind her hesitance to tell someone about it.

It was Dean, her own father, who hurt her so badly that she was marked with black and blue. I remember the look on her face when she saw that I had discovered the colors on her wrists and ribs; sheer and utter dread etched into her features, creating a terrified expression that is impossible for me to forget. It is as if the memory of Carlie appearing so broken will be engraved in my mind forever.

It is unfortunate that this is the last visual memory I have of her.

There were so many things we had planned that we never did get around to. We were supposed to start the New Year together and help each other create and further our passions for the various forms of art. We were supposed to be together for a while - longer than we were. We were supposed to better each other. We were complementary.

I presume she had other plans in mind, though. I only find out what she is up to lately by pestering Louis to tell me what is going on with her. From what I know, she told the police about her father harming her. Her and Dean got into an argument about her accompanying me to California over the holidays. It seems as though she never told her father she was coming to meet my family at all, and he evidently got so frustrated and angry that he physically harmed his own daughter. Dean is in prison now, where he belongs.

I feel like I could have prevented the hurt Carlie experienced, but Louis and Harry and Niall all tell me that this was beyond my control. Maybe if I let Carlie stay home this would not have happened to her. Maybe if I had asked her to come to my studio with me instead of letting her return back to Johannah and Dean, she would be alright. Maybe if things occurred differently, she would still be here, sitting next to me in the sand on the beach in the dark. That would be wishful thinking, though.

I also know that Carlie transferred colleges after many visitations to court that I was not allowed to attend, due to the fact that she had sworn Louis to secrecy about the time and location of every date. She lives on campus at a small school in Connecticut and still continues to see a therapist twice a week. I hope she is doing well, and above all things I wish for her, I hope she is finding her own form of happiness.

The only thing I have heard directly from the girl I once loved, that I am still in love with, is in a letter. She gave it to Louis to pass along to me and I find myself reading it every single day. I carry it in my wallet and nearly have her words memorized. This could be slightly obsessive, but I also think it could be the only shred of sanity I have left.

I stretch my legs out on the sand in front of me and pull the note from my pocket, unfolding the wrinkled paper and staring at her messy handwriting. I nearly chuckle as I begin to read it; everything about Carlie was messy.

Zayn,

By the time you read this, I am already gone and starting over in Connecticut. If I even know you at all, I am sure you are blaming yourself for the unfortunate events that have happened to me. I will tell you something that you have probably been told more times than you can count: it is not your fault. It is wholly and completely Dean's responsibility to dwell on the guilt. Abuse in the way it was inflicted upon me is solely one person's fault; the person who hurt me. So, if you aren't intending to listen to my stepbrother or Niall or Henry, listen to me when I tell you to stop blaming yourself for things that truly are not your fault.

You are also probably wondering why I did not say good bye to you or let Louis tell you of my whereabouts. I could have been very wrong, but I thought it would make this complicated situation much easier. In order for me to achieve the happiness I have been searching for and begin again, I need no reminders of my past. Seeing you before leaving would have only made me want to stay with you, which would completely destroy every ounce of will power that I behold when it comes to attempting to start over. You were a wonderful, beautiful part of my past, Zayn, but maybe we will meet again someday and everything will be right. Blame it on the timing or my emotional state or even Dean - any of that - but deep down, we both know that things with us were never completely okay.

Just know that I love you. I always will, and it will never stop. I do not want it to. Every word you have ever spoken to me repeats in my head like a broken record that I do not mind listening to. I miss your presence and how you were the only constant in my life. I miss you, Zayn, and I can never thank you enough for everything you have taught me about myself and life in general.

If I ever return to the city when I finish out school, it is only because I wish to see you. You are the only remainder of my past that I would like to hold on to and remember. In the meantime, please do not come and find me, no matter how badly you would like to, or how much you feel like you need to check up on me. I need to recover, rebuild, and focus on living life the way I always should have lived it: full of friends, normal experiences, and seperate from the scars of my past. I need to be content with focusing on bettering myself, by myself. I am finally trying, Zayn, and that is all you have ever wanted for me.

Love always,
Carlie Rose

P.S. The new Strokes album has seemed to grow on me. Give it another listen and I bet you will think the same.
P.P.S. My favorite track is Call It Fate, Call It Karma.

When I finish reading her words for over the hundredth time, I stare at the note for a while. I find myself doing this whenever I am done reading it. Usually, I feel one emotion after the other. Anger, sadness, then some sort of happiness. Right now, I am at peace. I have finally gotten to read her writing, though it is not exactly how I pictured it would be.

Despite this, I look out at the ocean in front of me and I feel okay. I have not felt this way in a very long while and I do not know why it is suddenly happening for me. It could be that it has been months since I have last seen the blue of her eyes or felt the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, but I finally feel at peace.

With this new sensation settling over me, I get up. I stand and walk back to my old truck, picking up a CD that I keep on the floor of the cab. It is the latest album by The Strokes. I play Call It Fate, Call It Karma too loud as I drive out of the beach parking lot. I open my windows and feel the cold air on my skin, listen to the loud music, and then I think of Carlie. I think of what she had once said to me a long time ago, and I note the relevance of it.

"I think there's someone for everybody, though it may not always be the person you spend your life with. That is what's sad about it."

As her morbid words repeat in my head, I decide I still feel okay.

Maybe someday we will meet again and everything will be right.

the end