Symbol☀️Mike Nesmith

Chapter One

It all started with Tyler, as it usually does. He was just coming over to keep me company while Matthew was in the U.K, Liverpool I believe, on business. Tyler had, like I said, come to keep me company, but instead ended up dragging me to a pub. I count my lucky stars that it wasn't a nightclub like last time Matthew was gone- in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have invited him over if I didn't want to go out anyway.

When we first arrive at the pub, I notice a few things, like the guys in the corner with slicked back hair, leather jackets and- a Texas tradition- a bucket of beers. I also notice the couple making out in a corner booth, the dimmed lights and the coldness and humidity in the room. I'm not usually an observant person but for some reason, I want to remember everything about tonight.

My dress isn't warm enough for the temperature of the bar, its a sort of blue polka dotted off the shoulder dress with a fan folded skirt and white collar. The skirt is a little too short for my (and Matthews) liking, but Tyler bought it for me and wearing it is better than moths eating it away in my closet.

Matthew hated Tyler (Similarly to the way he hated the dress I currently wore), But then again he really didn't like any friends I had, but Tyler is gay. Really gay, and really open about it. He's not openly accepted for it, but the ones who do accept him stick by his side.

Tyler tugs at the sleeve of my dress and groans.

"Annaaaaaaa!" He pouts and I giggle, putting my hand over my mouth as I did so. "You're blocking the doorway." I blush and move out of the way.

"Sorry, Ty." He shakes his head, dismissing it and moving on. We walk a short distance to find seats at the bar. As we take our seats Tyler holds up two fingers to the bartender and mouths the magic word 'Whisky', winking as he did so. I don't usually drink, but I know that if I don't go along with it, Tyler will find some sort of way to get me to by the time the night is over.

It only takes a few minutes to get our drinks despite the pub being packed to the brim. It was a pleasant atmosphere, people chatting and an acoustic guitar and smooth voice amplified above it all. I cradle the whisky in my hand, staring at the two icecubes that bobbed in it. I pick out one of the icecubes with my fingers and pop it in my mouth. For a split second I can feel the burn of the whiskey, but that quickly melts away, soon to be replaced by the sting of the ice.

"Not to worry you, An, but someone's staring." Tyler tugs on my dress sleeve. I spin around to face him in response, but he only points to the small stage of the venue where the acoustic guitar I had heard before is pumping out of a small amp, provided by a man in a brown leather jacket His eyes were trained on me, for some odd reason. I turn my neck to see if anyone was behind me, but to my avail, no one was there. I raise an eyebrow and sigh, turning to Tyler. Nothing particularly stood out about him, But for whatever reason, I was drawn to him.

"You should talk to him when he's finished, he seems interested." Tyler's words ring in my ears for a second before I state my disheartened reply.

"No," I turn back to face the bar and sip my whisky. "I have... I have Matthew. He's my soulmate."

"Sometimes even I question you on that, Hun." Tyler swallows all of his whisky. "You need to leave that man."

"He's my soulmate, Tyler." I set my whisky down and hold up my right hand for him to see. Tattoed on it are the messily-written Initials R.M.N, which stands for Richard Matthew Newton. The initials are something everyone is born with.

When you're born, you receive a small tattoo-like birthmark on your wrist written in your soulmates handwriting. It's something everyone gets, something everyone obsesses over. From playing house with your 'soulmate' in grade school to sitting in a circle and creating your own made up stories with your soulmate in middle school.

Some people got calligraphy initials, some were messier then mine. I had always loved mine, I loved inconsistency of it. Mine was hastily written in thin lines, it was messy, easily compaired to chicken scratch. Most were, as I said, worse then mine, and I liked mine anyway.

I had always hoped my soulmate would be reckless and creative, the way the handwriting seemed to be. But instead I got a predictable and cliché partner. Matthew was the way he had always been. Stable, a bit of a dick, and predictable.

I love Matthew, and my parents actually approve of him, which is rare to say the least. But he hits me, and calls me slurs, and for some stupid reason I stay, because that's what my tattoo says I should do. It says he's my soulmate. I should be happy with him. One day he'll get better. I'm sure.

The man finishes up his set, and Tyler pushes my back gently in encouragement to go talk to him. I glare at Tyler, Down my glass of Whisky and stand up, only to find that he's walking over to me.