“It’s hard, Grace. I know it’s hard,” the lady says, reaching out to pat the younger girl’s shoulder. “But you can power through it.”
Grace glares at the far-too-optimistic blonde. She knows she can power through it. She doesn’t need any shrink to tell her that. This is just a formality.
“I’m fine, Ms. Sheryl,” the teen insists. “I’m okay. It’s over now and I’m fine.”
Ms. Sheryl sends her a skeptical look. “Grace, it’s okay to feel injured and oppressed. You don’t have to stay strong for anyone. You can let it out.”
Let what out? Grace thinks. There’s nothing left inside me.
Out loud, she simply says, “I’m good now, Ms. Sheryl. I just want this to be over so that things can go back to normal.”
The guidance counselor bares her teeth in a condescending, pity-filled smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. But you know that’s not the right answer.” She scribbles something down on the pad of legal paper in front of her, then rips off the sheet. Grace barely hides her wince at the grating sound of the fibers being torn apart as Ms. Sheryl holds out the piece of paper. “Here. This is the name of a psychiatrist I know. Don’t worry; she’s very good.”
Grace sighs in a put-upon manner, but she accepts the paper. It not like she has any other choice.

-_-_-

Colin smiles at her. It’s a warm smile, sweet and caring.
“It’s okay, Grace,” he says, reaching for her hand. “As long as you’re careful, you won’t get stung.”
Grace shivers, wincing as he dunks her hand into the cold water. The rays circle beneath the surface, skimming the bottom of the sandy habitat.
A slimy, fluid thing touches her hand. Grace jumps, letting out a small shriek.
“Hey, it’s okay!” Colin repeats, using his free hand to steady her shoulders. “See? You didn’t get stung. You’re fine.”
Grace nods, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
Not like she wouldn’t have been perfectly all right. Colin never told her that something was true when it wasn’t. She could trust him.

-_-_-

It’s all around school by now. People whisper in the halls. Is she the girl whose boyfriend… y’know.
Yeah. She is.
One younger student even goes as far to ask.
“Excuse me, but are you Grace Foster?”
Grace nods.
“Oh. Okay. Sorry to bother you.”
The boy walks away, blushing furiously at his audacity as his friends berate him. How dare he ask the girl if she was Grace Foster, the girl with the boyfriend. For shame!
Grace finds that she doesn’t care. Not about school, or the gossip, or the prying eyes. It doesn’t matter.
She’s not heartbroken. Whoever she is, whatever she is, it is not heartbroken.
After all, that state requires having a heart, and hers got torn out long before now.

-_-_-

It’s not the first time he’s done this. Had a girlfriend. Been “in love.” Grace knows that, knows that Colin is experienced in the nuances of dating. That’s why she likes being with him. It’s not an experiment. He knows. It’s easier when one half of the couple knows.
He knows all the romantic gestures. He can coax a smile out of her with his antics. He brings her a gift two or three times a month (usually chocolates or flowers, but once it was that book she really wanted). He is the perfect boyfriend.
Best of all, he doesn’t lie. When she wants to know something, he tells her. He is honest, and he doesn’t expect her to be, too. He just is what he is.
It’s easy to fall for him. Cute, smart, funny, athletic, easy-going- what’s not to like? He’s friendly and quick-witted and faithful, so faithful-
Until he isn’t.

-_-_-

“Hello, Grace. I’m Kaitlyn Stanton. Kim Sheryl sent you, didn’t she?”
Grace shrugs. “Yeah.”
Kaitlyn Stanton nods, having expected this response. “Good, good. Now, how are you today?”
“I’m fine, Ms. Stanton.”
“Please, call me Kaitlyn.”
“I think I’ll stick with Ms. Stanton.” Grace doesn’t look up from her hands as she says this, focusing on the way they lie limp in her lap. She will not let Ms. Stanton play games in her mind. She’s okay. She doesn’t need help. There is no pain.
There’s not much of anything.
“Well, if you insist.” Ms. Stanton replies, shifting to get herself more comfortable in her chair.
Grace waits for the next question, but there is nothing, just breathing.
That’s all right. There’s no need for questions she knows she wouldn’t answer anyway.
The quiet is heavy, but not suffocating. The two inhabitants of the room pay each other almost no mind. Ms. Stanton shifts through her papers, letting the rustling permeate the stillness. Grace continues to stare at her curled palms. Maybe if she looks hard enough, she’ll see the blood everyone seems to think is there, somewhere. If she keeps boring holes into her hands with her eyes, she’ll eventually find the guilt others are convinced she harbors, deep within her.
But there is nothing.

-_-_-

Grace had known that something was wrong.
She told everyone that she had no idea, but Grace told lies; she wasn’t like Colin. She knew, had known for a long while, that something was different about her boyfriend. He was getting less sleep, he snapped at her, his eyes were bloodshot, he got twitchy, and he didn’t remember things very well. He forgot her birthday altogether.
But the biggest tell was deceptively simple: he was secretive. He evaded her, not telling her everything (or anything) or fabricating a quick, meager cover story. When she questioned the sincerity of these tales, he’d just smile that beautiful smile (but a strained, emptier version) and say, “Would I ever lie to you?”
That was how she knew for sure. He’d never felt the need to assure her that he wouldn’t fib. That, and he was a godawful liar. All that truthfulness from his lifetime of honesty made him uncertain when he spoke falsehoods. They were easy to catch.
The lying went on. She never called him out on it. She just swallowed it all, lie after lie after g------ lie, because she hoped that he would stop doing whatever it was that he was doing.
He didn’t.
She saw him with her one Saturday night. A gorgeous girl with cool grey-blue eyes and a mane of honey blonde hair. She had a high laugh, musical and entrancing, and her voice was melodious and even. She looked perfect and she wasn’t even trying.
Her name was Jezebel Peora, and her brother sold drugs. Jezebel had pulled Colin in, giving him a taste, getting him hooked. He was addicted, and Jezebel, clever wench that she was, gave them to him, free of charge, in return for… favors.
She ended it right there, in that grimy diner, in front of the girl who had wrecked their relationship. He didn’t accept it immediately and ran out after her when she left, but she managed to leave him behind.
She just forgot to reclaim the heart she’d so willingly loaned him, the way teenagers do, like letting someone borrow a pen and forgetting to get it back.

-_-_-

“Do you blame yourself?”
Grace is startled by the sudden question. She and Ms. Stanton have spent half an hour in companionable silence, and now she is suddenly being asked a question.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you blame yourself for what happened to Colin?” Ms. Stanton reiterates.
“No,” Grace replies instinctively, knowing that if she says anything else, the therapist will grab it with both hands and use it as reasoning for why Grace would need more therapy in the future. Besides, she feels nothing. No blame, no guilt, no sadness. Nothing.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
They lapse back into silence.
No blame, no guilt, no sadness. Nothing.
Something moves in her, but Grace doesn’t pay it any mind, too busy ducking her head to hide her face and wondering why there are tears in her eyes.

-_-_-

Colin hadn’t intended to cheat on her. He cared for her, he truly did. He just got caught in something too big for him to handle.
Grace knows this. She also knows she doesn’t care.
“Grace, please!” Colin says, catching her hand in his, just like he did all those months ago at the aquarium. But there are no stingrays this time, and Colin lied. He lied and lied, and she let it go on for too long.
“Let go, Colin,” Grace says, voice serene.
“No,” he whispers desperately. “Please, Grace.”
She shakes her head, her face a mask of calm.
Colin continues tremulously. “I’ll stop. I promise I’ll stop. I’ll get help, I’ll go to rehab, I’ll tell the police, anything! Just… Grace…” His voice breaks. “Don’t leave me, Gracie. Not like this. Please.”
For a brief moment, Grace almost considers it. She almost walks right back into his arms, back to his comforting embrace and warm smile.
But she doesn’t. Her hand slips out of his grasp, and she walks away, not looking back.
She isn’t there, an hour later, to hear the gunshot.

-_-_-

Grace leaves therapy without another word to Ms. Stanton. Her eyes are dry now, if a bit red, and her face is concealed in shadow under her hood. It’s warm for fall, with just a slight chill in the air, the kind that creeps up on people slowly, carefully, making them shiver. Grace doesn’t feel it.
“Do you blame yourself?”
No. No she doesn’t. She didn’t pull the trigger. Colin didn’t die because of her.
It was drugs. Drugs did this to Colin. Drugs changed him until he was just a shadow of the boy she gave her heart to for safekeeping, and when he tried to get out, drugs killed him. And he still had her heart when they did.
Maybe that’s it, Grace realizes with a sort of detached interest. He had my heart, even after everything, and when he died, it died with him. It makes a perverse sort of sense, the kind that is stupid and unrealistic but somehow perfectly reasonable.
Her heart is with Colin in his grave.
Perhaps some would have found that romantic, or at least comforting. Not Grace. She just keeps walking.
Colin is dead and buried and her heart is beating safely in her chest. The sky is blue and the clouds are white. Trees stand tall and strong even as their leaves are blown away. The earth keeps on turning.
That doesn’t matter. Everything is numb.
And that’s okay.
Who needs a heart, anyway?