The Avenger's soulmate

Chapter one: The break up

Shattered glass sprayed across the marble, the crimson remnants of his wine pooling on the white surface. It stained his mind, recalling the night he'd wished to forget as its subject, his girlfriend, hissed a fresh insult, "You prick."
"I know, I'm sorry," he repeated, wiping the wine she'd thrown upon him, from his eyes, "I wasn't thinking."
A scoff, the woman tipped her head back, the lamplights playing across her delicate features.
"You met a woman, organized a date and time to meet, booked a reservation, and paid the money but you were not thinking." Now that she said it like that, his excuse seemed rather dumb.
"Well..."
"Well what, Jackson?"
"I-it is your fault." he snapped, puffing out his chest. People had begun to stare, an audience to this performance but his girlfriend didn't notice, she was busy raving while his date slumped into her seat, head in hands. He should apologize to her after this.
"My fault?" Ophelia's voice sank, her entire spirit sinking back into her chest.
"Your fault." he echoed.
"How?"
"You pushed me to do this–"
"I did? I didn't realize I was there, goading you on, I heard that was your brother."
"I didn't mean...when I met her,"
"Oh–" her hands clapped together, he flinched at the sound, "I screwed up our relationship?"

Jackson paused, feeling the walls close around him, the shadows dancing in the corner of his eye. Either it was nerves, or his supernatural girlfriend was beginning to contribute to the show. "Ophelia–"
"I screwed it up, okay, after I helped you pay off your debt after I put up with your antics, and dealt with your continuous affairs?" Murmurs erupted around them, their audience's attention fixing on him now, waiting for a response but he had none. No words. A silent response to that. It was the truth, he'd cheated various times and played with her feelings, and yet he refused to feel guilt for her. A woman with powers, a pile of them all burning through her veins, she was blessed. A goddess amongst men, so in a way, he had to bring her down a few notches. With her blessed life, she could afford one bad relationship, It's the worst thing that's happened to her.

His silence had been her answer. Her posture straightened, her expression of anguish steeling back to its statue form. This was how he lost. The calm facade passed over her face again, her heart locked back in its prison. Her reaction was gone. The fuel of this audience's intrigue was extinguished.

"We are done."

Jackson's heart fell. It was odd, this was new to him, she'd never said it before, and she'd always clung to strands of the relationship and attempted to knot them back together. Maybe it was due to her love for him or maybe it was just her fear of being alone. But she'd finally said it.

The woman without a single soulmate. The man without one either. The toxic cycle was finally broken. It was odd, he felt sad.

"Alright," he muttered, turning back to his date. The seat was empty; Not impressed by him. Embarrassment washed over him as he stared at his half-eaten meal, knowing he'd have to finish it alone, "Have you had dinner?" he met his ex's gaze for the first time since the breakup.
"Don't worry," she patted him on the shoulder, "you'll get used to eating alone." then she was gone, strolling from the restaurant. As he sank into his seat, he watched her go. So did his audience.

Get used to eating alone. A jab at knowing he had no soulmate to eat with at the end of the day. Ophelia smiled at herself, was it a good ending sentence? Most likely not. Tears burned the corner of her eyes, they'd been waiting to fall since the Restaurant scene. Yes, he'd cheated many times. But he'd always stayed. Always there in the morning to hold her after the nightmares. That's why she'd stayed, how could she live alone, now? They could knock her door down at any moment, trample it down, seize her–She crouched on the floor, cupping her face as the tears fell. Cold air whipped at her hair, toying the hem of her coat. Darkness was beginning to fall on the horizon, the sun started its fall to that thin line in the distance, illuminating the sky in its soft lilac. It was winter when the days were shorter and the nights were long. Ophelia shivered, glancing up and down the deserted street. A clump of boyish chavs were beginning to strut up the street, towards her, plumes of smoke drifting in their wake. Vapes hanging off their lips, clutched in battered hands. She watched their silhouettes, clad in black, hands in pockets, some odd ones wore balaclavas, and the others had their hoods up. Their hidden faces spread a familiar fear through her. Their images, a troop walking towards her, hands hidden. In a split second, guns could be firing, bullets cracking the air. Ophelia scrambled to her feet. They weren't them, she told herself as she hurried up the street, just teenagers. She should call a taxi. But in Britain? They never come on time.

There would be waiting around. Waiting around is what got her taken before, lying silent, sleeping out till the next morning. Waiting for a new day–No, she couldn't do this. Sharpened breaths ripped from her breath. Dump the ex then get kidnapped? Two horrible events in quick succession. She refused for that to be the case, so she shouldered her bag, slowed her pace, and crossed the road.

A bench leaned against a garden fence. Ophelia smoothed down the creases in her coat and plopped herself down. Retrieving a box from the depths of her pocket, she slid out a cigarette and lit it. Bustling the box back into her pocket, she took a drag. Bitter tastes plunged down her airways filling her entire body with a dull sense of calm.

The lilac sky began to dim. Darkness thrashed at the end of the streets, shadows began to play restlessly. Those were hers. They glued to her: Writhed with her anger; Sank with her sadness; Acted at her paranoia. Today they were energetic, itching for a fight she didn't want. Mastering the breaths tearing from her airway, fighting the lightheadedness, she watched the parade of boys sidle past. Then another drag of her cigarette. She watched the grey whisps dance towards the sky as she exhaled. Cigarettes were toxic, that was one of the first things she learned in this world. Nicotine kills. She knew that but she'd run out of options last year. Over her time walking without their shackles bound to her feet, she'd dabbled in various outlets for her shadow's rage, for her rage and paranoia. Painting was her first try, three years ago, you'd most likely find her paintings strewn up in galleries somewhere, but they only fed her paranoia, and her shadows till she gave up. Then it was yoga. It reminded her too much of her training. Boxing: she'd been too scared of killing someone if she tried. This day, her shadows began to dull. They were cowering into the pavement cracks, slinking back to her. A final exhale of shaking air and she felt the shadows dive beneath her skin, pulse through her veins, throb in her head. Cigarettes kept her curse subdued, dragged her shadows, slithering-hissing back to the cracks of her mind, where she let them sit. Silent. Sulking. They writhed indignantly now, getting as comfortable as possible. Whispers trickled in her ears, subtle, almost unnoticeable among the night's breeze but they were there.

In a few minutes, there was silence. Quiet. The shadows stopped their movements. The night sky corrupted the light one. And Ophelia Mikalin relaxed into the metal's cold arms. Her cigarette relaxed between her fingers. Its lit end glowed softly in the dark. "Maybe it's time to move country," she whispered, pulling out her phone. It was impossible to stay here, she had only sheltered here for Jackson, he had the apartment, and he had the warmth that she'd lost. So, she'd lingered with him but now she was alone.

No house.

No boyfriend.

No home.