words in the dark (all for the game soulmate au)

ch 1

Andrew had lived through hell. And he was still in it. his mind had turned dull and now he was nothing but an empty husk. Void of emotion. He wished he could feel something other than the phantom press of unwanted hands or the tingling sensation of a long since discarded razor against his skin. But he couldn't. everything was hazy.

People, Andrew had found, had a tendency to label things. Andrew had been called many things, And those names had been etched into his mind. Brother breathed into his neck pushing him down drowning him, the whisper of monster behind him, the mutter of crazy all around him, psychotic they said sadistic, drugged they said, hopeless but he had never once been been referred to as something safe, something warm, a home . But there it was written onto his skin home. Soulmarks were a normality. One word of what a person thought of another. His mark was on his chest right above his heart. Luckily, it was something that a shirt could hide. Anyway, he had long given up on soulmates. Homes were something that he dreamed of but never had and to him being called home was laughable especially since he had never had a good example of a home to refer to. He doubted anyone in his life would of thought of him as something to come back to, a reason to stay. Andrew quickly discarded his thoughts as soon as Nicky walked back into the room.

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Neil didn't have a soulmark, only the remainder of one. a scar on the back of his neck that was roughly the size of a battery and the tell-tale black of the unspeakable . His mother always despised the idea of a soulmate, hers long forgotten and his a forbidden subject, something that his father had burned and sliced away. Soulmarks were supposed to become visible sometime close to your 8th birthday and they were usually celebrated. He still remembered the day he got his.

He had just woken up to the sounds of his mother walking into his room , the remainders of his good dream already forgotten.

He felt unusually warm but the good kind, like the feeling of sunlight on your skin or lying on the heated pavement.

He distantly noted his mother sitting on the bed next to him and running her fingers through his hair, petting it. "Abram, time to get up"

he just buried his head in his pillow not wanting to get up and face his father's his cruel smile. His mother stopped. Something was wrong. He heard her mutter something under her breath. "mom?"

his mother immediately pulled his hair away from his neck. Something was very very wrong.