My head is pounding, and there's an annoying beeping sound-making progressively worse.

The rest of my body feels numb. I'm half worried it's not even there anymore. That fear seems to be eased, though, as my eyes open and I'm greeted by darkness and numerous machines lighting up small portions of the room.

I move my head slowly and take in my surroundings. I can tell it's nighttime from the darkness outside the small window.

I can see my mother's silhouetted body slumped in the chair beside my bed, only now realizing that her hand is clutching mine. She's fast asleep, her breathing steady.

I can tell that the light is on in the bathroom, the small space underneath the door allowing a bit of light to shine through.

I notice the feeling of the cheap hospital gown fabric against my skin and needles poked into my arm for the IV.

There's shuffling coming from the bathroom now, and soon enough, the door swings open, the bright light momentarily blinding me.

I clench my eyes shut until I hear the click of the light switch. Zayn's tall figure stands in the doorway when I open my eyes, his body completely still.

It's too dark for me to see his face, and I can't tell if he's aware that I'm awake or not. After a minute or two of him standing there like slender man, he moves forward. He walks right to the edge of my bed, the light from the machine keeping track of my vitals shining on his face.

His eyes are bloodshot, and his dark circles make his usually bright green eyes a shade darker. He looks at me as if he can't believe what he's seeing, and before I can say hello, he's pulling me up gently and wrapping his arms around me.

I return the hug as best I can, barely able to move my arms as his muscular frame overpowers me.

The last thing I remember is driving home from work. Everything after that, including how the hell I ended up here, is a mystery to me.

"Z," I mumble, my mouth covered by his broad shoulder.

Zayn pulls away, slowly laying me back down. His eyes are brimmed with unshed tears, breaking my heart even more as I took in his broken expression.

"Don't cry," I say, putting my hand to his cheek as he sits on the edge of my bed. "I'm okay. I swear it." I try to give him an encouraging smile.

That only makes it worse. Zayn's hand clutches mine as his tears fall silently. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Stop it," I snapped angrily. "I may not remember what happened, but I know for damn sure it wasn't your fault, so stop it right now." I freaking hate it when he blames himself.

Zayn apologies with a weak laugh, tucking my loose strands of hair behind my ear. His thumb rubs soothing circles against the back of my hand as he recounts the events that took place on my birthday.

Apparently, Carlos is the one who shot me, and if it weren't for Rocky, the bullet would've ended up in my head rather than my stomach. Luckily the bullet missed any major organs, and the surgery went smoothly.

"Everyone keeps telling me how lucky you are, but it only makes me feel worse. You shouldn't have had to rely on luck in the first place. I promised to protect you, and I failed."

"You couldn't have known what he was going to do, Zayn. I don't expect you to be able to predict when a psychopath is going to attack me," I attempt to make a joke, but Zayn can only muster a slight twitch of the lip.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask.

"Only two days. The surgery took almost half the day yesterday, so they expected you'd be out for a while." He explains.

God, he looks exhausted. My heart aches, knowing the pain he must've felt watching his father nearly kill me and then having to sit by my bedside, waiting for me to wake up. That's the type of stuff you only hear about. You never expect to live it.

"I love you, Zayn," I say, surprising him.

Zayn looks at me with disbelief, which slowly morphs into what I think I've learned is the look of love. I noticed it after he told me he was in love with me. Sometimes he'll look at me with such emotion that I can feel it without even realizing it. His eyes carry so much emotion, and I love that about him.

"Fuck," he mutters, kissing my forehead gently. "I love you so much, baby."

I'm finally allowed to go back to work, and it feels good. My stomach isn't fully healed, but the doctors assured me that as long as I didn't do anything too strenuous, I'd be fine to go back to work.

Zayn's practically been my personal assistant, doing everything I needed and more, even when I am perfectly capable of doing it independently.

I decided to move into his apartment indefinitely, which Jordyn was fine with it anyway, considering she and Riley wanted to live together. This way, Jordyn doesn't lose the apartment, and Riley can get away from his shitty landlord

Considering I have no recollection of the day I got shot, moving in wasn't a hard decision. Zayn was worried it might bring back some trauma, but I've always loved his apartment, and I don't plan on letting his father ruin that for us.

Dr. Sweeney called me when she heard the news and practically begged me to make an appointment. I decided to hold off until now, but I did schedule a visit with her after work.

Honestly, though? My depression has been a lot easier to manage lately. Sure, it's still there. It'll always be there. I have bad days, and sometimes my thoughts go to the "dark side," as Rocky likes to call it, but I'm able to get through the tough days much easier now.

Maybe the medication is working, or maybe I'm finally starting to heal. I'm hoping it's the latter.

The days immediately after my hospital release were definitely the hardest, but with Zayn, Jordyn, and my mom by my side, I got through it.

My workday goes by quickly. Everyone kindly asked how I was, and I'm thankful no one overstepped and asked me how everything went down. Natalie gave me a big bear hug and assured me that I could take the next couple of weeks at my own pace, but I just assured her I was ready to get back to work. All I want is for some normalcy.

Carlos' trial isn't for another two weeks, but luckily he is not eligible for bail, so I feel much safer knowing he's behind bars. The man actually dared to plead not guilty. Seriously? As if I'm not going to testify and lock his ass in jail for the rest of his life.

Zayn assured me that I wouldn't even have to testify with all the evidence against him and the other witnesses, including my best friend and my mother. I'd prefer not to have to take the stand, but I will if I have to.

Once I walk into the familiar building and sit on the ugly green couch, I'm overwhelmed with emotions remembering how broken I was when I first sat on this couch.

I was so close to ending my life to the point that Jordyn practically forced me into therapy, and I'm so grateful she did because otherwise, I can't confidently say I would still be here.

Now, after nearly having my life stolen from me, I am finally feeling like me again. The version of Scarlett that looked forward to waking up in the morning. The girl with dreams and ambitions that she actually fights for. The girl that craved love and dreamed of finding the right person. It's as if all the pieces are finally falling into place, and it's strange because I just survived this huge trauma, and yet I feel like it's helped me rather than hurt me.

I explain all of these thoughts to Dr. Sweeney.

"I'm very proud of you, Scarlett. The first day I ever treated you, do you remember what you said?" She asks.

I shake my head, prompting her to continue. "You told me that nothing could change the way you feel. No amount of medication, no amount of love, nothing could help you. You said your brain was broken, and you just had to live with it."

I feel the familiar sting in my eyes as tears threaten to spill. It breaks my heart that I thought like that. Sometimes those thoughts still appear, but I find comfort knowing that I'm able to control them before they get out of hand.

"Look at you now. You're communicating your thoughts with me, and not only that, you're willing to hear my thoughts, too. That is tremendous growth, Scarlett."

Hearing those words alone is enough to bring what feels like endless amounts of happiness to my heart. I feel light as a feather as I walk out of Dr.Sweeney's office, practically speeding home to tell Zayn about my visit.

Of course, I still have to regularly take medication and see Dr. Sweeney, but I know now that it isn't an obligation; it's a want. I want to be better. To feel better.

I unlock the apartment and am greeted by the delicious scents of cooking coming from the kitchen.

I walk in and find my mother and Zayn chatting while they cook together, oblivious to my arrival. My heart swells as I watch my mother teach Zayn her magical cooking talents. He watches her intently and hangs on to her every word, making me smile like a creepy idiot as I watch them.

The dogs alert them to my presence, though, as they barrel over to me, showering me with love.

"Hi, babe." Zayn breaks away from the stove and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tightly. "How was therapy?"

"Honestly? Amazing." I tell them all about it as I help my mother with the salad.

Days like these are what make life worth living. Sure, life is going to throw you a lot of curveballs. Life is pain and misery and sadness, but it is also joy and love and kindness. It took me a while to realize that not all days are bad days, and I am so fucking grateful that I didn't let my depression take my life.

I feel perfectly content as I sit at the dinner table with my handsome boyfriend beside me and my beautiful mother across from me.

As the beautiful pastel colors outside mix into darkness and the stars peek through, I can finally say with my whole heart that I am excited for the sun to rise and a new day to begin.