When Harry was four the first sign of his soulmate appeared.
He sat with his friend Liam in the sandbox, both competing about who could build the higher tower without the sand figure tipping over, when his forehead began to itch.
"Stop it," he moaned at the strange feeling and started to rub the spot until it stopped, "Liam, do my forehead look silly?" he turned towards the small boy in the overalls, who had been his best friend since birth, and pulled back the wayward curls on his forehead.
"Your forehead is always silly," the older boy giggled and put the finishing touches on his tower, which was in fact a lot taller than the younger's. But after a whined Liam! he turned to his friend and looked at the small spot just below Harry's small hand holding the unruly strands away and gasped, "You got your wifey mark!"
The youngest boy frowned. "What?"
"You know, until you meet your wife, you get all her bumps and boo-boos; just like your parents!" Liam explained eagerly and moved closer to scrutinize the small, white dent on his friend's face. "I wish it was me,"
"that's silly, Lee, and so is your stupid tower," Harry said with a frown and gave the tall sand figure a hard push making it crumble to the ground.
"Hey, that's not nice, Haz!"
When Harry got home he still wondered about what his friend had said.
Surely it didn't work like that, look at his parents, they still had all their scars without them matching up, and that time mummy broke her arm from that fall, daddy didn't even get a scratch.
"Mummy, Liam said something funny today." Harry called when Anne had begun dinner and crawled to one of the chairs placed around the kitchen island.
"What now Sweetie, did he say a naughty word? You know, you have to stop repeating everything you learn from the other children," Anne lightly scolded her son. If Harry had to name the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, his mum would always come first. Her hair was effortless shiny and the way her eyes shone with love and everything good when she looked at her children made Harry think that no girl could ever quite compare to his mum; maybe Gemma, but she was just a stupid head with good genes.
"No, Liam would never say bad words mum." Harry quickly denied with a shake of his head. "He said that I got a wifey mark on my forehead," he, with a bit of doubt, removed his hair for a second time that day and showed the small mark off to his smiling mother. "He told me that she was hurting and that when I see her it will disappear again." He rambled off in a drawling voice; his mum watching the small dent with a growing smile and proud eyes. "But that's not true, is it? Because you still have yours and daddy has none, so Liam is lying, isn't he?"
"No baby, he's not." Anne smiled apologetic and leant down to kiss the scar. "Liam's right, if you meet the right one, all of the small white scars you get will disappear." She moved back to the stove and put the broccoli into the boiling water; young Harry had just recently discovered a love of green vegetables and as a healthy living mother Anne always encouraged her children to eat good and proper.
"That is silly, mummy, you still have yours and you met daddy long before you had Gemma." Harry replied stubbornly and stomped his small feet. "You're just as dumb as Liam!" And with that the small boy, who almost never offended his mother, stormed out of the kitchen.
*
It was six years later when he came home from Liam's because of the pain in his right arm. They had been playing with some of Liam's older cousin's thing he had let him have when the painful sensation started in his wrist. But since Liam now was in a year above Harry and obviously much cooler than him - it was really a miracle he had not dumbed Harry when he had started in a grade below him and kept bringing him around, even introducing him to some of his friends - he kept the pain to himself just trying to keep playing the game Liam had wanted to play.
But when his entire forearm began hurting as hell and marks that obviously came from surgery appeared on his wrist and in the crook of his elbow, he had to tell Karen with tears in his eyes that he needed to go home.
But the worst hadn't even happened yet.
When Karen dropped him off with a kind pat on his head and sped down the road, Harry turned towards his house and frowned at the open door. Since when did his mother forget something so simple as that?
He went into the hallway and shut the door behind him with a silent thud, "Mummy?" he called out, "Is something wrong?" with a lazy scratch to his - not so hurting anymore - arm he went into the nearly empty sitting room previously adorned by the luxurious leather sofa, the flat screen television and the exquisite paintings bought from all over the world, but now the only things filling up the room was his mum's old university books and the small futon pushed up against the window. "Where are you, mummy? Did we get robbed?"
"Shut it Harry! Mum is hurting right now, so could you please show some respect and not say such foolish things?!" Gemma screeched, coming around the corner, the tie from her uniform hanging loosely around her throat and the otherwise neatly bun she always wore on Thursdays was now messy.
"Don't scream at your brother, love, it's not his fault." Their mother called out from the master bedroom, her voice cracking at the end and was followed by a soft cry of pain. Harry was already on his feet to go rescue his mother from whatever pain she was being put through, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him at bay.
"The last thing she needs right now is another Styles man looking at her with those judging green eyes, so just stay out here until she comes to you, yeah?" Gemma sighed irritated and finally let go of the tight grip she had on him. "She just needs some time to herself right now, and you can't do anything to help her,"
"Can you please just tell me what happened? All you keep saying is that mum doesn't wanna look at me right now; and it's weird, Gemma! I don't understand anything." The small boy cried out in frustration. He was not used to life not going the way he wanted it to. He never really was in pain, only when his wifey decided to do something silly to hurt herself, and getting yelled at by his sister was something only bad brother got; but his mother not wanting to talk to him or even see him was so hurtful that he did not know how to comprehend it causing frustration and anger curse through his veins.
"He left her, okay?! Dad fucking left mum because he found his stupid soulmate and thought he could do better than the shitty life he had right now. Dad's not coming back Harry, and mum's gunna be alone for the rest of her bloody life just because of those shitty soulmates," Cursing was a bad thing, Harry knew that, and when they said a bad word they had to put a pound in the swear jar. But Gemma was doing it so effortlessly and without even flinched when the naughty words left her mouth teaching Harry one thing; nothing good came out of those stupid wifey marks.
*
In his last year of secondary school Harry already knew this would be the worst year of his life. Liam had officially been accepted to study physical education at London University and was no longer within reaching distance day and night if Harry needed him. Gemma had taken off years prior and ever since Anne started working regularly, he felt all alone in the world.
Sure he had his friends from school and the garage band he played in on the weekends - Leave without me was a really popular indie rock band in the small town of Holmes Chapel and had gotten him to third base with the school's most popular girl, Vicky Stevens, though her hands had felt weirdly dainty and almost too female when they jerked him off to the bad quality recording of Harry's pre-puberty voice - but none of them knew what was going on in his life.
None of them knew of his father leaving them to search for his 'true love', they were all too consumed with finding their soulmate and nursing their wounds back to health while Harry sat with a sour smile and hoped that he would not find his 'one true love' because who the hell had the power to decide who he should be with? Nobody but himself he thought.
So when the pains of his 'future wife' began to come back he decided that he didn't need to be the only one hurting; and who was she to be causing him so much pain when he did not contribute to hers?
Thereby he decided that for every white mark or dent he got, he would light a cigarette take maybe one or two drags before pressing the scorching tip to his hip and keeping it there until the pain go too much for him to bear. She needed to know how it felt to be hurt this way.
Nobody knew of his hate to the system but then again no one really cared about whether or not Harry found the right girl to spend the rest of his life with; so no one could tell him to stop with the self-destructing ways he was flirting with.
But when Gemma brought home this guy, Stupid Head Silly-Fart - Harry was pretty sure that was what Gemma introduced him as when the blonde lad stepped into their childhood home - her eyes was full of love and adore whenever she glance at him; they gravitated towards each other and kept moving in synch; Stupid Head always keeping a hand on her lower back or Gemma twirling a piece of his blonde curls.
Gemma's arms were suddenly clean of the marks she had gotten from Stupid Head's weird falls and bumps caused by his clumsiness; and he did not see even a trace on his arms of the old measles scars that Gemma had gotten when she was seven.
So maybe soulmates were not that bad, he thought. And maybe he did not need to punish his wifey the next time his knees hurt.
*
It was a year later when Harry had graduated and been accepted to the same school as Liam that his life made a complete U-turn.
Over the summer his mum had begun to wear a lot of long sleeved shirts, or letting her hair hang loose instead of styling it into a neat bun; so when she, one week before Harry was taking off, at him and Gemma down in the new living room couch and peeled off the cardigan to reveal her spotless arms, Harry did not quite understand the big deal. He did not know if she was fishing for a complement for her excellent ability to stay in shape at her age or if she wanted to show off the new tan.
But apparently Gemma did.
"Oh my god, mum! Is he here? Can we meet him, have we already met him? Please just tell us!" Gemma screeched with a proud grin and pulled her mother into her arms, squeezing her like her life depended on it.
"Could you women just, please, tell me what the fudge you're on about? I'm sitting here complete clueless." Harry whined; he wanted to be in on the hugging too; especially knowing that he soon would be gone and not seeing them for a while. He had had enough of times being kept out of private conversations about girly stuff and the newest chick flick.
Gemma rolled her eyes, "She finally found her soulmate dumbass, get your head out of your arse."
"Gemma, please keep that bad language away from my boy," Anne scolded with a kind smile and accepted the hand Harry was offering her to pull her into his arms.
And yeah, maybe things were getting better.
