I've managed to go through three therapy sessions altogether. The first two, I had gone to meet Claire on my own. The most recent one, however, Logan went with me.

Claire had brought up a suggestion that Logan could come with me to the next consultation and I had been more than happy to agree. We had talked a lot of things out and I hadn't ever realized Logan cared such a great deal about me before.

After I got home from my first session I expected him to meet and bombard me with thousands of questions about what had happened: whether I had talked about him, what Claire said was the problem, whether we had discussed what happens at home. He asked none of that. The only questions I remember that left his pouted lips were whether I was hungry and later, whether I wanted tacos or enchiladas.

My fourth visit to Claire's session is over and done with, and my initial fear that she was only doing her job flitted out the big French windows in her office. She speaks to me like a friend who genuinely wants to help and that makes me more than happy.

My car is in the parking lot behind the large duplexes and as soon as I get inside, I step on the gas with an intention to go straight home. There is a traffic jam that extends from the overpasses at Tom Moreland Interchange so I use another route to get home. I don't realise the impact of going through the back roads till I find myself in the neighbourhood I grew up in. Nostalgia floods me as I see my old highschool building-- where I started my writing as the sports columnist for the school paper. I see the front yard of my old house as I make a right turn, the swing my dad built still in it, rusted seat squealing with every push from the wind.

It's all so therapeutic until it's suddenly not. I can't recognise any more of the buildings on each side of the street until I suddenly can. And when I do, it's already too late because it seems they recognise me too.

"Evie. Evie, dear, is that you?"

That voice. No no no. Please tell me this is a bad dream.

But it is not. Matteo's mother is really calling out to me and I can't pretend I don't see or hear her because I have already spun around and I'm currently staring right at her.

I don't know what force lifted my foot from the accelerator and I can't tell which one dragged me to stand outside the car. But I am standing, and staring. And everything stares back.

"Oh my, it really is you..." she gasps before encasing me in a hug.

"You've changed so much," she whispers before pulling back. Her hands are clasping my arms while she looks at me from the braids that hang from my head to the sandals my feet are clad in. "Look at you, more beautiful than ever."

"Tha- thank you, Mrs. Sanders."

She feigns irritation as she says, "Since when did you start calling me that? I'm still the same old Lucia."

I nod with a small smile.

"I haven't seen you in forever. I had even been planning on calling you for a couple of weeks now," she starts with a chirp but her tone falls, "but then again I've been so busy these days." She looks behind her, at the building I had visited so many times. From the times Matteo had me sneak in with him to the times the doors themselves opened up to me, welcoming me into the warmth of the family in that household.

But as I follow the gaze of my ex's mother, I don't see that toasty warmth anymore. All I see is gloom. There's no light that beckons me with a promise of security and care, just darkness. Even the lovely people are now mere shells of their former selves as they work on decorating. Like robots who are just carrying out programmed instructions: gather the chairs, call the florist, remember to send family members a text.

"We're holding a service for him tomorrow, to mark one year." Lucia's almond-shaped eyes look up at me in earnest. "Would you like to speak at it, Evie?"

I shake my head and she visibly saddens, despite trying to hide her disappointment with a closed-lipped smile. I assure her I will try and come-- to the memorial service... no, celebration of life-- if I can. She hugs me again and expresses her joy, disregarding the fact that tears are streaming down her heart-shaped face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Tell your parents I said hi." Lucia waves as I get into my car, the flesh of her underarms jiggling with every movement.

I can't wait to get home and soon as I do, I take a dose of the antidepressants and down them with a glass of water, after gobbling some Cheerios that I eat right out of the box. And then I lay in bed and cry. I cry not because I'm reminded of events I would rather forget, but because the happy-go-lucky persona I had adopted the past two weeks is gone. The facade I put up has been crushed even before it was completely built.

I was the sun. Bright, glowing, happy. I still am the sun but dark clouds, thick and heavy, have engulfed me. The light has dimmed and only appears as a flicker, a small shimmer.

Outside, the metaphorical dark clouds have manifested and the day grows bleak and gray. I shut the windows and draw the blinds before my body succumbs to the call of the bed. This time when I weep, the sky weeps with me. Loud and insistent, it pounds hard against the window the same way my fists connect with the mattress under layers of bedsheets. Thunder blows with my cries and lightning flashes with every wipe of my face. But I know, even if it doesn't happen today, even if it doesn't happen for a long time, it still will. The sun will always come out.

Hours pass and the storm also passes and Logan comes home. I'm still in bed when he enters and from the corner of my eyes, without moving a muscle, I watch as he strips out of his wet clothes. His hair is still damp when he crawls into bed and drop of water trickle from the ends onto the back of my neck.

"Baby..."

I have to bite down on my lip to hold back a small sigh. I have never been more glad to suppress a sound than now because of what Logan asks next.

"...How many pills did you take today?"

I fight the urge to move, even when I feel an itch on my thigh. My breaths still and my eyes clamp shut, closing out the world and Logan's question.

I took two pills more than was recommended. It wasn't my intention to do so, but the tension and headache that formed after my encounter with Mrs. Sanders had me crack.

"Evie, I know you're awake. Just answer the question, I won't get mad."

I know you won't. I'm just scared because you're asking something you already know the answer to. You want me to say it when you know I can't.

Sheets ruffle when Logan props himself up on his elbows and bends over me. I can feel his eyes move over the slight rise of my cheek to my eyelashes before he whispers an "Oh, you're asleep."

He kisses my forehead and his head falls on the pillow, while his palms rub my arms the same way Mrs. Sanders had done. Unconsciously, Logan is marking me in his own way, brushing away the happenings of the years before I had met him, and tailoring his own path with each drag of his deft fingers.

I wish I can sleep forever, that the sun never comes up so I'll never have to discuss taking an overdose. For once, I want to be one with the night and the darkness, I want it to claim me as its own. One and the same even though we're never really one. After all, white lies are the ultimate lie. Day and night do not mix. Light and darkness have never been one since primordial times. Light goes with truth. Darkness goes with lies. And yet, they can't stay away from each other.

And as I will sleep to take me in its arms and hold me just as Logan does, I know tomorrow is unavoidable.

The sun will always come out.

~~

We have approximately one more chapter to go and the story had taken a twist with Evie running into Matteo's mom... yikes.

This part is dedicated to chaoticminds-
you're absolutely amazing and are such an inspiration.
Also emmaeverafter thanks for being my unofficial editor by pointing out the errors I miss XD <3

As most of you know, I started this book as an entry for a competition but it has come to mean so much more to me that I couldn't resist the urge to tell Evie's story. To me, this book is for anyone battling with their mental health. Whether it's over their past or depression or over what the future holds for them.

I wrote it to tell the story of someone who goes through such things. I added a love interest, but managed to avoid portaying it as some type of drug that automatically heals the character. Mental health shouldn't be romanticized, sure love helps forget the problem, but it should never be used as an end! For this reason, the character seeks help. Here, I also try to show that healing doesn't come at once and is a process. You may feel better for a while but it doesn't guarantee that you're okay after a few days of talking it out.

It takes time but nothing also says it's impossible. So to all the readers going through some sort of mental struggle, I want you to know that you're doing amazing and you are valued! :)

Don't forget to vote and comment!

If you could also share this book and recommend it to others, that'd be great!!