"Evie, you're on antidepressants?"

Logan asks again when I just stand there, no words leaving my lips because no words were currently forming in my mind. It is completely blank, I am completely blank.

"How long have you been taking them?" Logan questions, this time rising to his feet. There is a bit of a gap between us but I feel like I'm suffocating, like his imposing form is standing a little too close for comfort. It's the first time I'm feeling that way around him.

"I haven't-- haven't been taking... any."

Logan's eyebrows furrow and I can't tell whether he believes me or not. "But you have plans to buy them. You've clearly written down their names too."

He lifts the paper to my face but I avoid looking at it, my gaze remains on my hands which are now tapping at the sides of my legs in a distorted rhythm.

"Yes, I do, but that doesn't mean I take any. The last time I took them was four months ago, Logan, four months." When I start speaking now, however, the words don't fail to flow out of me. The dams are down, the floodgates are open.

"Do you seriously think I like having to take drugs that mess with my brain?" I ask him too, even though my voice has a shaky edge. "Medicine that makes me drowsy-- and makes my vision blurry, and makes me tired all the time? No. The answer is no. I'm only buying them now because everything is just so piled up on me and-- and it's all getting worse and I can't handle it anymore, Logan. I just can't."

My hands fall limp at my sides after I end my rant. My head is already beginning to ache, my heart is aching even more.

Logan had only stared at me when I was speaking and now he's licking his lips which are pursed. "The dreams. Is it because of Matteo? Is it because of him you have them?"

For a moment, I am speechless again. I'm not sure whether it's my ears deceiving me or if he had just said his name. Matteo. With tear-filled eyes I look at him again and I'm sure I wasn't mistaken, he had really said it.

My mouth has gone dry as I contemplate what to do, what to say. In a situation like this, I would normally lie. Without any form of hesitation or even the subtle blink of an eye. I'd have lied and said no. Or I'd have asked who Matteo was. Or I'd have faked a laugh and pretended Matteo was the name of a fictional character and then I'd have laughed even harder that he was questioning me about it.

But not today. Not to him. With a small voice I say, "yes."

Logan's face still remains expressionless even as he asks me who he was.

Here, I could also provide another blatant lie. A friend from work, is what I could have said. A cousin. An uncle. The name of a person in one of those YouTube ads which appear so much I unconsciously catched it in my head. The possibilities are endless. But I don't say any of that.

"Matteo was... my ex."

Logan is more observant than I ever was, than I still am even now. I had used the past tense and he was smart enough to establish that something was off.

"What happened to him?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it..." My eyes fall and focus on a small piece of thread that hangs loose from the end of my top.

"Evie, look at me. Please, baby." Logan takes my hands in his. They are warm. A contrast with mine that have turned so very cold.

"It's just so hard... I'm.. I'm really trying but-- it's physically hurting me and I can't," I say in a croaky voice, already beginning to cry.

Just as Logan brings his hand up to my face his phone vibrates noisily on the table, making his suspended hand recede. He picks it up, looks at the screen and groans aloud. But he ignores the call and the phone goes face-down on the table.

"Talk to me," he coaxes.

"I helped-"

The phone starts vibrating again, more aggressive than the first time the sound cut through the air. Logan is clearly agitated and he's about to brush a hand through his hair. He catches himself just before his fingers touch the dark brown locks and he slumps his shoulders.

"Evie, I have to go. I'm sorry."

"It- it's fine. I guess."

He picks up his phone, then his suit jacket that hung on the back of the chair, then his car keys, before he spins around.

"I'll see you soon," he says as he hugs me. I hug him back and close my eyes, just letting myself drown in him. It's not enough for me and even as he begins to pull away, I still hold onto him.

He kisses my forehead, then my nose, then he whispers an "I love you," an "I'll call you."

I want to whisper back but he's already moving out the kitchen, out the door, out the house and he doesn't hear my hoarse voice whisper the ghost of an "I love you too" and an "I'll pick up."

All through the day I dread Logan's call, his coming home.

I can't concentrate on eating, but that doesn't really bother me because nothing I struggle to get past my throat stays inside for long anyway. I can't concentrate on finishing up the article I'm writing for my column in the magazine I work for.

Basically, my job is to write pieces centred on general well-being of people. Physical health, mental health, emotional stability, relationships-- that kind of thing. But how am I supposed to give a write-up that encourages people to live their best lives when I myself am down in the dumps?

After I take a shower and nibble on a banana, it hits me that my articles don't always have to be peachy and bright. Despondency is normal, everyone has bad moments. Be it bad hair days or downright shitty ones; it's all a part of general well-being too.

With my laptop and the remnants of my banana, I shuffle to the balcony and plop down on the loveseat swing. The sun is out but heavy clouds are abundant in the sky, leaving their dark gray presence in the usually bright blue sky.

Flipping the laptop open, I launch the word application and begin to write whatever comes to mind. I pour out everything I have to say because at my fingertips, the words flow freely. There are no thick bubbles blocking me, no barriers. And with every tap of a key I feel lighter. The sound as my fingers connect with the keyboard and thoughts I have a hard time saying, accepting-- are translated into actual decipherable words-- is the most satisfying sound.

"...we've all heard someone tell us to "get over it" or simply not to "make such a big deal of things" when we let out our feelings to them. I, personally, have gone through such experiences countless times. Your opinions are disregarded. You're told you're too emotional, too weak. Well, lemme just tell you this, that weakness carries so much strength. It takes a lot of strength to let your walls down, to let yourself be vulnerable in front of someone else. It's not easy to confront your shortcomings and let someone take a peak above that wall you've built so high. I'm not gonna tell you it's necessary to do so-- no way-- but what I want you to know is that it's okay. It's okay to cry. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be confused, undecided. At this point in my life I'm having a midlife crisis and I'm barely twenty-three. It's part of growth. It's only human, afterall. So today, my parting words involve a quote (that I saw from a board on Pinterest by someone named Parth): Sometimes I feel like I'm in the middle of who I want to be and who I am. Between who I'm trying to love and who I'm trying to run away from. Between my past and my future and between the life I dream about and the life I know I'll never have... So remember one thing, being strong is a necessity in all your endeavours, but so is being weak. Till the next time my boss yells at me through the phone at five am on a Sunday to finish up work that's due on Monday, it's goodbye♡"

As soon as I email my boss the article, my phone starts ringing from inside the house. I find it under a cushion in one of the living room couches. "Hubby" is displayed on the screen and my insides squeeze. It's a different kind of feeling-- there's no pain and all the dread is replaced with unfounded excitement.

I pick up and Logan's voice is the sweetest serenade when he asks how I am. I tell him I'm a lot better. He asks if I've eaten, I tell him I ate a banana and some greek yoghurt. He tells me to try and eat something heavier, I tell him I'll try. He goes quiet for a while and I know it's because he wants to ask something about Matteo or the dreams or the antidepressants. He only holds back because he doesn't want to press too much.

I decide to break the tension that begins to rise. "I miss you, a lot."

"I miss you too. I just have a couple more hours to go and I'll be home," he says, tone warm and toasty. Even through the phone, his deep voice is still as imposing, yet, just as musical.

"I'm so in love with you," I say absentmindedly.

"Hold on, I just need to hear you say that one more time and then give me a copy of those exact words in writing," his tone is laced with unhidden amusement.

"That was a one time thing, next time you hear it we'll be old and gray," I tease.

From his end, an intercom buzzes and his secretary's monotone voice says another client is on the way up.

"Aw, you want us to grow old together, how about that?" He says with a laugh.

I tease him. "I never said together."

"But you'll tell me you're in love with me, that's enough proof that we'll be still hung up on each other," he says with a click of his tongue.

With caution I say, "You can bet on that. But I wanna know how you... know about Matteo?"

"You mumbled that name a few times last night, right before you started to scream." There is the screeching of a chair being pushed back. "I have to go now, make sure you eat well."

"I will," I assure him.

The line goes dead and so does my initial fear. Now, there's no crippling dread; there's just eager anticipation. I'll tell Logan anything he wants to be told about what happened last summer. He deserves to know.

~~

So here's another chapter for you to be obsessed over. To all who have stuck by this book so far, I wanna say thanks for all your support!!  :)

Thoughts on this one?

Vote  if Evie and Logan just had a salsa dance with your emotions :,)

See you in the next one. Don't forget to vote and comment!♡♡