Groundhog Day

1.

            Newt groaned painfully when his screeching alarm pierced his eardrums, dejectedly swiping the phone off of its charger beside him and illuminating the screen.

6:30

Friday, February 02

... again.

"For christ's sake," the blonde boy muttered, letting the device fall onto the sheets beside him. He'd heard the stories, knew them like the back of his hand: everybody has a soulmate in this world, one person made just for them, blah, blah, blah. Their initials were inscribed on everybody's chest, just to the left of the sternum, directly over the heart. That he was fine with. The problem for him lay within the other condition, the one he used to disbelieve and had written off as an old-wives-tale: that if you came within close proximity of your soulmate, but failed to meet them, you would have to relive the day until you succeeded.

How he wished he had been right.

It was a nice idea, in theory. If you threw your shot with the person who would ultimately become the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the world gave you another chance. It was just that most people didn't tend to fuck it up this badly, seeing as this was Newt's seventh time reliving this goddamn day.

Rolling off the edge of the bed, the lanky boy let out a long and frustrated sigh, scooping up a t-shirt and jeans that were lying in a heap on his floor. Raising them to his nose, Newt gave them a quick sniff- eh, good enough for him. The first few recycles of the day, he'd dressed to the nines, wanting to dazzle his soulmate when they finally met. But now, he had reached the point of not caring- hell, the boy didn't even give a flying hoot who his soulmate was anymore. He'd take anyone just to have it be a new day.

"Newt!! We're gonna be late for school!"

Huffing to himself, the boy ran his fingers through his hair, not even bothering to brush it as he hustled down the stairs to keep from making his impatient younger sister wait any longer. He stepped into the kitchen, where she sat on a barstool with her golden hair cascading down her back, waiting. "Morning, Sonya," he mumbled gravelly, grogginess still laying its claim on his vocal chords. The boy snatched up the box of Frosted Flakes from the counter and stuffed his hand inside, sloppily grabbing a handful and shoveling it into his mouth as he crossed over to stand behind her. Normally Newt was a proper boy, well-mannered, dressed pretty nice, made himself presentable. But ceaseless repetition with no escape changed people.

"You're gross," the 14-year old jested, scrunching her nose as Newt's fingers dove into her hair. He began to section it apart, snickering to himself.

"Well if I'm so gross, why do you make me braid your hair every day?"

"Shut up," was all she said, tilting her head back a little and sticking her tongue out at him. The older boy smirked to himself, satisfied with his win. If there was anything that could still make him smile, every day, no matter how many times he relived it, it was Sonya.

After a few minutes he held out his hand to receive the ponytail holder from her, before using it to tie off the braid he'd crafted from her hair. Newt gave it the smallest of playful tugs, just hard enough to elicit an annoyed "hey!" from the girl, before grinning and grabbing his backpack off of the table.

"Just making sure it was secure enough," the boy lied, passing his sister her school books as well. The two wished their parents off, hopping into Newt's car and he driving them both to West Chambington school for Knowledge Development; or WCKD high, as everyone called it, since the real name was quite the mouthful. He waved at his sister once they went their separate ways, he to his classes and she to hers. Newt's face fell as soon as she was out of sight, utter dread seeping into his bones once more. He raised a hand to his chest absentmindedly and skimmed his fingertips across the fabric, hoping that whoever the hell TM was would finally show their face today.