Soulmates|Mileven

Chapter one

Dear Elena Ives,
You have been invited to the 76th annual matching ceremony. On January first, you will be expected to go to the community hall, and wait till midnight for your match to appear.
Many regards,
Dr Hawkins.
___________________________
I sigh, looking at the dress in the mirror. The pale blue accents my too-skin, making me almost look sick.  It was meant to be designed perfectly for me, but I've put on weight since the fitting. Comfort eating, my mom calls it. She doesn't believe in anxiety. My hips stick out at strange angles, and the designer tried to exaggerate my bust, meaning I just look like I'm wearing a dress too big at the top and too small at the bottom. I try to cover it up by putting on a crystal necklace that I loathe, on the account that it could potentially withdraw attention from the ill-fitting dress.
My mother also bought me a brown wig. I went behind her back and had it cropped so short it was nearly a buzz-cut. Nearly. The wig has dark brown roots, delving into an ombré blonde that is supposedly in fashion. I loathe it. It makes me look like every other girl available on the market, which is not what I want. While I want to be invisible, I also don't want to be the kind of person who follows a crowd. That's why I got the number 11 tattooed on my collarbone. It's against the rules to get a tattoo before 15. I live in the small town of Hawkins, population 3000, where the only things that don't fit into the 'American Dream' are the people talking behind each other's back. Oh, and me. I sound so much like a typical ordinary rich bitch, but I promise there's more to me. You should know.
So on January 1st, that's why I was walking down the street to the community hall. That's why I met you. You were running from an unknown entity, and you looked so petrified and small. I couldn't move though, I felt rooted to the spot. I was meant to watch what happened. You looked behind you, then at me, and then behind you again. Run, you mouthed. I ignored you. I continued to walk to the community hall, and watched you get chased by the guards. I heard them screaming about you being a non-matchable, and you were running away from the ceremony.
I walked into the hall, eyes squinting due to the bright lights that were glaring directly at me. I scan the room, looking for the short ginger I call my best friend. To my amusement, she is standing by the champagne, downing glasses and talking to boys. She had a social stature to her, like this was where she was meant to be. Clearly, it was. I ran over to her and picked her up for a hug. She's small, but feisty, like her hair suggests. She was lucky, as she got big boobs and a small waist. I can guarantee no boy would be unhappy to be her match. She doesn't want any boy though. Max has always pined after a boy named Dustin, who has the kind of hair they used to have in 20-, 2010. From the photos I've seen, he looks a bit like an old pop star called Harry Styles. I don't get what she sees in him. I'm more than prepared to comfort her after the ceremony when she doesn't get him.
I know exactly what's going to happen. I'm going to get my arranged matches name, Troy, and I'm going to get a number in the area of 21,000 and live a happy live with many children. I can see Troy over the end of the room, talking to his friends, being inappropriate and hitting on the girls wearing short dresses. He disgusts me. I only have the tiniest amount of hope I won't get matched to him.

Matching is based on categories;
The current relationship people have,
The age they will live until,
And the characteristics of the person.

I sit down at the girls table, surrounded by people I grew up with but never formally knew. Everyone removes the patched from their arms that hide the space they will become inked, and begins to buzz with excited chatter. I just want it to be over.
The two girls next to me hush as soon as I sit down. I am the equivalent of a bad luck omen here. My grandfather, James Hawkins was the very person who created the system. Meaning whenever people get mad at the system, they get mad at me.
I check my watch, which reads 11:56, and I begin to tap. I have four minutes left of freedom. I grab my glass and drink. I need to be wasted to survive this. I look over at max, who is sitting on Dustin's lap, her hands playing with his curly hair. I hope she gets him.
10:59. It's happening. Every heads outside, ready to watch the fireworks show with their other half.
10...9...8...7...6
I am mildly aware of Max grabbing my hand, but all I can think of is how I have to spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage. About how I will have to convince my children that the system works and is amazing, while I sit here at home, with a husband who will probably beat me when I don't clean a pan spotless.
5..4..3..2...
Deep breaths Elena. Breathe in, and out.
1....0
Slowly, I gain the courage to look at my arm,

I haven't got a name, just a number.

The number zero.
I am as good as dead.