Scar(r)ed

Grey, White, Gold

(Feel free to vote and comment :-)

Grey. That's my colour. Sometimes it's silver, but recently it's been grey.

It's not necessarily a boring colour, but definitely one forgotten. It's quite unfortunate too, because we're surrounded by grey.

The grey in the clouds, in a twenty-something's eyes, in a dog's dreams, in cigarette smoke, in me. It's everywhere. Grey is everything.

However, my fate is not decided in Grey. As I flip the paper, white and black blur along the pages, flittering with the movement of my surprisingly (not grey) but green eyes.

Nathalie Warner, my best friend, partner in crime, and insignificant other is chatting about the trifles of the day next to me. I typically try to tune her out and I'm sure you'll understand why.

"So Jeremy Glade told Jenny [Nathalie's third cousin] that Cecelia Daryl has decided to quit drinking. Talon [I'm pretty sure that's Nathalie's newest boyfriend this week, but he could be the guy she's texting in preparation for next week] thinks she's totally pregnant. Simone Harris thinks she might just be anorexic though. I guess we'll find out if we watch her weight gain or loss close enough. My money's on the baby bump though. Maybe Dennis Farrin is the father. One can only hope." She says this within what seems like five seconds then ever so gracefully takes a sip of her something or other Starbucks drink.

Oh how ignorance truly is bliss.

I look up from my book intending to nod to Nathalie so she'll hop off my dick and just let me read, but instead meet someone's gaze.

I'm transfixed. His colour is white. Or gold. Both. Yeah, both. It's eclectic. Mesmerizing. Beautiful. Violent. Tragic. He is white and gold.

I blink. Or at least I think I blink. Is he blinking? I can't tell. I'm too hypnotized by his eyes. They are passion encompassed by rings of brown and amber. They are light and darkness. They are a new definition of perfect, an illusion.

Nathalie follows my flame of interest. He smiles at me. A toothless smirk. My stare flickers from his eyes for a curt eternity just to see the smile I'm almost certain is directed at me. The moment I see it, I see life for the first time. I drop my book in a moment of vulnerability, but I don't care about losing the page, I don't care about Nathalie's current affairs, I care about him.

This can only be trouble.