Our Chemical Hearts

“I’m thinking of a four-letter word that starts with an s and ends with a t and has an l in it,” La announced, spilling her contraband across my bed.
“Salt?” I said.
“Slut, you miserable addict. Slut.”

I attempted some math homework. I didn’t necessarily understand any of it, but there was an attempt nonetheless.

I ALWAYS THOUGHT the moment you met the great love of your life would be more like the movies. Not exactly like the movies, obviously, with the slow-mo and the hair blowing in the breeze and the swelling instrumental soundtrack. But I at least thought there would be something, you know? A skipped beat of the heart. A tug at your soul where something inside you goes, “Holy shit. There she is. Finally, after all this time, there she is.”

We’re all just chemical hearts.

Who hurt you, Taylor?!” I yelled, gesturing at the ceiling.

This is the second straight hour I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift. She’s the only one who understands me.”

“I killed their son, and as a reward, they’re paying my medical bills and letting me live in their house. That’s part of the reason why I can’t be with you. I can’t . . . spit in their faces like that. I can’t watch their son die next to me and then let myself fall in love with someone else a few months later. You understand?”

nd in the moment that it thumped shut, I felt my heart tear a little bit more. The last thread that had been holding me together ripped away.

“Do a little turn for me, sugar tits.”

“Dude, it’s She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Murray said. “Christ. Get it right.”