Casey Anderson isn't expecting much from her Mark - but when her soulmate turns out to be Prince August, the boy next in line for the throne, everything changes.
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In a world much like our own, Casey Anderson is trying to navigate her senior...
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It isn't until that evening, when Leah and I are summoned for dinner, that I see our parents again.
I'd thought we'd had some awkward dinners before, but this one definitely takes the cake: I have no idea how to ask the questions I want to ask, Leah looks ready to jump down the throat of anyone who tries to blame me, and our parents are both worried-looking and pale, as dishevelled as I've ever seen them.
I take a spoonful of soup and try to think of something polite to say, something like, 'I'm sorry your trip was interrupted,' or even, 'so how are we planning to deal with this situation?' but instead, what comes out is -
"Why didn't I know my actual birthday?"
My father chokes on his soup, Mother nearly drops her spoon and Leah looks like she's ready to cheer me on.
My hands are shaking, and the skin around my Mark feels like it's burning all over again, but I force myself to meet my parent's gazes.
"August," my father says, his voice stern and uncompromising. "I don't think this is the best time for this, son."
Leah opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but I beat her to it. "I think that this is pretty damn important, Father, and that I should have known my own bloody birthday, don't you?"
You could hear a pin drop in here. Leah's eyes have gone wide as saucers, and she's squeezing my leg under the table.
I take a deep breath and stiffen my shoulders, refusing to back down.
My father is looking at me like he's never quite seen me before, jaw clenching. "Mistakes happen, August," he says. "We weren't in the country when you were born, someone got the time wrong, these things happen. Now, if we could return to our meal, we can talk in the morning about how we, as a family, will deal with this fiasco."
I've come too far to back down now. "I think I deserve a better explanation than that," I say, then turn my gaze to the other side of the table, to where my mother's gaze is firmly affixed on her plate.
"Your father is telling the truth," she says. "We were on a trip to America, you were born in a different time zone, and at the time, a couple of hours wouldn't have made a difference."
I don't think they're lying. They don't really lie to Leah and I, so we've gotten pretty good at telling when they are. "Except, in this case, a couple of hours made a day's - and a Marks - difference."
"I'm sorry," she says. "This shouldn't have been on you. You shouldn't have been exposed like that, August, but we will deal with this. We promise."
It makes sense. It does. That's the worst part.
They really aren't lying; they'd just had my birthday wrong. They just hadn't been bothered enough to actually, properly record my birth.
It's possible that I'm spiralling, that this revelation is finally the last straw in what has been a truly shitty day.
I nod in understanding, because Mother is still looking at me like she requires an answer, and spend the rest of dinner staring down at my plate.
After dinner, Leah tries to grab my arm, tries to pull me to the side, but I can't talk anymore.
I don't have any words left in me.
I go to my room, and I lay back down on my bed - face up, this time - and I think about all of the things I don't want to think about.
I don't look at my phone, because I know what's waiting for me there - the notifications, the memes, the general shock and awe of what will feel like the entire word, even if it (probably) actually isn't.
It hurts, and I keep telling myself that it shouldn't. That I knew that my parents always had important responsibilities, responsibilities that came before Leah and I.
But still.
Pain and hurt aren't rational. All of the things I'm angry about - all of the things I'm anxious about - aren't rational.
Tomorrow, I'm going to have to get up and face a world that has seen the most private part of me against my will, my parents who no doubt are ready to stick me in front of a dozen cameras in an attempt to make this all go away, and - somewhere out there - a girl whose Mark matches mine.
A girl who my parents don't even want me to meet.
It's an awful lot to think about, and I'd really just rather go to bed and hide under my covers. So I do.
I don't fall asleep right away - I don't fall asleep for a long time - but my last thought is something I hadn't even really thought about yet.
Today was my birthday.
I'm eighteen.
Happy Birthday to me, I think, shoving my head further under my pillow.
Happy birthday indeed.
A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter this week. I started college on Monday, which has been so exciting so far, but I've been rather busy as you can imagine!
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