Paper Hearts By Tori Kelly Novels & Stories

Andy’ POV With every step I took, the pain in my heart grew. It was like a fire, burning and consuming me from the inside out. It made my chest ache and made it hard to breathe. The tears that had been pooling in my eyes began to spill over, running down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them; I couldn't even try. I was beyond caring, beyond feeling. I just wanted the pain to end; it seemed like I was swallowed up by the darkness that surrounded me.

The cards in front of us flipped themselves. Mine showed a dragon and a vampire embracing while the world burned behind them. The caption, in Thorne’s handwriting and my mother’s blood: Because love was never the safe choice. Thorne’s card mirrored it, but the caption was in my handwriting: Because I was tired of being afraid. Remy’s card: a coyote howling at a moon made of broken promises. Caption: Because someone had to keep laughing when the world ended. Celeste’s: a skateboard made of frozen blood, twin tails streaming like comet fire.

“He said something in the kitchen once. About my writing. It hurt. I know that. But the words are… gone. Like someone erased the caption and left the picture.” A weird, disorienting lightness had opened in my chest. Not relief. Not really. But a little less weight in one spot. The drowned woman’s eyes glittered. “In exchange,” she said, “a truth.” The cards spun once more, then arranged themselves in a neat line. Death. The Tower. The Magician. The Hanged Man. Her pale hand rose to touch the inside of the glass opposite my heart. “You are a Key Author,” she whispered. “Your stories built the bones of this Game. Your heart gives it blood. As long as you fear love, it will feed.”

I sneezed, rubbed m​y eyes, sighe‌d, and foll​owed after him. There he sat‌ in the living⁠ ro​om, legs s⁠wingin⁠g, holding up a piece of​ pa‌per prou​dly. Scribbles of b​ri‌ght pink, red, and yellow sh⁠aped a‍ butter‍fly tha‌t looked like it h​ad flown through a r‍ainbow thunder​storm. “Wow,” I said, smili⁠ng softly⁠.⁠ “You did so⁠ well, m⁠y love. I love it⁠. Give Mama a high five.”

Clearly visible, even with the skin around it an angry pink, was a red and black Celtic knot in the shape of a heart. She kissed the air a millimeter above the heart. "I love it." In one more drink, she drained her glass then climbed onto the bed, which someone had thoughtfully turned down. "Now for you to see." She spread her knees with her hands, giving him a view of the split crotch of her dinky panties. Peeking out of her neat little strip of curls was the ruby heart dangle. He couldn't resist bending in and tickling it with his tongue then pulled back. "Sorry. It probably hurts, doesn't it?"

I planned on what I'd do in Thailand and finding someone wasn't on my list at all. When I was at the airport I took the box she gave me and opened it. It was a gold watch, it was similar to the one she always have on. I took it to my face and it smelled like her. God it was it exactly. I turned it around and found that it was engraved with a heart and inside was written MY HEART.. "She has good taste.. I wanna see her when you come back." I laughed at Paris, "not happening.. I love you."

"You taught me that particular skill, alongside everything else." We exchanged small gifts that evening — nothing elaborate, simply thoughtful, tokens of an ordinary year of marriage rather than the extraordinary drama that had defined its beginning. Damien gave me a small framed photograph of my mother's garden, painstakingly restored from an old picture I hadn't even realised he'd found among my father's belongings. I gave him a simple leather notebook, understanding that a man who'd spent his entire life managing crisis through spreadsheets might eventually want somewhere to record the quieter, more personal thoughts he'd only recently learned to acknowledge having.

I exhaled. "I don't usually come to things like this," I admitted. Lorenzo looked at me quietly. Then he did something unexpected. He reached toward a nearby table. Picked up a folded place card. And handed it to me. I looked at it. It was blank. I looked back at him. "What is this?" I asked. Lorenzo picked up another blank card for himself. "An experiment." I blinked. "Should I be worried?" I asked. "No," Lorenzo said.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, trying to push back all the racing thoughts. “You don’t know me, Artemis.” I let out a big breath and sat down in the closest chair, resting my hands on my knees, and looking down. “I want to know everything about you, stop pushing me away.” When I finally looked up, I couldn't understand Artemis's expression. But her eyes looked soft and vulnerable, which made my heart hurt. She seated herself before me, clasping her hands firmly in her lap. With a sorrowful expression, I tightened my fists and turned my gaze. My voice trembled as I spoke, “I’ll hurt you, Artemis. I’m broken."