Grey Hearts Aren’t Normal, You Know

Chapter 1- What the Hell?

You know the saying "Don't wear your heart on your sleeve"?

Well, people are wearing their heart under their sleeve, in a hairpin, on an ankelet, and on necklaces. This was a trend that started out as a simple test back in 2008. Techies who made these little things gave them to convenience stores to sell for a little bargain of 3 bucks in a pack of ten. Little girls, especially, enjoyed the pretty colors of it, and women were enamored with the fact that they were inexpensive but made with real glass and silver. So, soon, little 10 year olds and 17 year olds with nothing better to spend their money on bought them.

These little trinkets exploded in the following 9 years, and soon, people figured out how to use them. These things were like crush indicators, and also showed how open people were. They all started out as a color of white, but once you used them enough, they changed to either a bright color, a soft color, or the dreaded grey. Grey was seen as someone who was closed off, and maybe a little hateful depending on how dark the grey was.

Another perk was the cracking glass feature. When a relationship ended, these tiny things could indicate something was off. It cracked, and the bright colors leaked out (thankfully, it never stained any clothes it leaked onto). Over time, the glass could be melded back together again, but the color was often a little bit more greytone.

That's where I come in. I'm Riley Laurens, and i'm what people call a "grey heart". Yes, yes, I know. It sounds stupid, but hell, what am I supposed to do? I could call myself heartbroken, but mine had mended up again after the last one. So, for now, guys were the last on my list. Anyway, as I said before, I'm what they call a "grey heart". Being a side chick for a guy who faked being in love with you hurt, but it hurts worse when it happens once more, and the last one ends up in you beating the snot out of the guy after finding him in YOUR bed with a pleasantly plump gal with four gorgeously brown eyes (Honestly, he was shit from the start so I don't know how I didn't see it). I told the girl I was his girlfriend- emphasis on was- and she gave me her number and left with a friendly smile. I'm not the type to be mean to people who are wronged- I don't blame. Well, I only blame myself. I'm the gal that sits in bed at night, thinking so much over it I lose my damn sleep. I'm too afraid to open back up again.

Ironically, I ended up having to. Especially with the circumstances of how we met again.

It was a slow day at Kleine Duivel, known as "The Little Devil" in Dutch. The owner of this bar was Irish, ironically, but that's not the point. I was sitting closest to the bathroom, depending on if I got piss drunk, and the person I didn't expect to see was my first ex. A narcissist at best, with a casanova smile and a track record of fucking girls a mile long, was sitting across the bar from me with a cigarette in hand (he adores Marlboro Red 100s Special Blend, but y'know, I don't care to remember that unless I get them myself) I'm sitting there, tired from the day at the bar (I work at Kleine Duivel, actually, and it's the best place to work in town) and David slides me a favorite drink of mine- August Moon. Zachry glanced at me from afar, giving a sweet smile. I couldn't trust this lecherous bastard, but hell, a drink is a drink. I didn't realize the four-eyed girl that was my latest ex's fuck buddy until I happened to notice her scent- soft and mellow, with a hint of flowers. Baby powder and rose, maybe? Either way, I took a drink, not even paying attention to how Zachry tucked a little vial into his jacket and ducked out without a word.

Then, I felt weird.

Once I was halfway done, I didn't realize how sleepy and woozy I felt. I was too busy mulling over that ex of mine. I fell asleep right then and there, spilling the drink all over me and not hearing the alarmed voice of David and the calm slight southern belle voice beside me.

Then, I was home in my soft bed, fluffy heart pillow in my arms and the feeling of vomit rising in my throat. The bathroom was my first priority, since I didn't want to ruin my favorite rug or my carpet floor. Tile could be cleaned, but good god, I hated the taste. From there, after heaving my guts free of alcohol and a roofie, I gargled and left my room, trudging down seriosuly tired. I ached all over, and I couldn't help ut let out a groan of annoyance as I flopped onto the couch-

and onto thick thighs.

I couldn't help but flop right off of the couch, as bright red as this girl's hair as she laughed heartily.

"Jesus christ, doll, you must still be out of it! It's okay, by the way. Need help, darlin'?" The girl said with her southern belle voice that struck a good nerve in me. Emphasis on good nerves. I hadn't felt that in awhile, but the only thing I could do was grab a fluffy hand and be heaved up by a strong arm. I sat down, and calmed down slowly. What I noticed was one thing-

she was a grey heart like me.

Grey hearts aren't normal, y'know, but what do you expect in a world like mine? I'm a chump, and a loser. Not someone who would go out and party. I'm an introvert, an alcoholic, and a nobody working at a bar as the bartender.

But hell.

Who knows what this grey heart could turn into?