Ink and Bruises (Heroes of Olympus Soulmates AU)

Calypso

It's Friday night.

It's Friday night and I'm alone. Like always.

There's a huge party tonight. Piper McLean is throwing it as her birthday party. Everybody is invited. Everybody is going.

Except me.

Instead I'm stuck here, all night, by myself. My father and mother are at an election rally, which I was told I was not to attend under any circumstances. I texted Zoë earlier, too see if she wanted to hang out. She's busy, she said, at a protest for some political issue or another.

I could go out with my friends, you say. What a great idea! Except for the fact that I don't have any. Sure there are people who will partner with me for group projects and sit with me at lunch occasionally, but it's not the same as actually being close to someone.

My soulmate hasn't written today. He's probably at the party. And despite him supposedly starting at Goode last week I haven't come any closer to finding out who he is.

I'm beginning to wonder if he actually wants to find me.

I sigh, rolling over, popping another handful of popcorn into my mouth, and turning up the tv.

Trying to drown out my thoughts.

Maybe no one will ever love me...

—————————————————

A few hours later I'm roused from my sleep by a familiar pain shooting through my palm. I shriek, but as suddenly as the pain started it stops. Breathing heavily I steel myself and flip over my hand to examine the injury.

It's another burn. This one is quite small, only a few small blisters, but it still hurts. I hate burns. Even more since the accident a few years ago. I guess this will give me another burn scar to add to my ever growing collection. It's a curious burn though. It's not uniform enough to be from an iron or cigarette, and it's area is to small to have been from touching a hot pan or oven. I wonder how he got it. What could he possibly be doing? After all, he despises fire, fears it. It's understandable, seeing as it's what killed his mother.

Sighing I roll out of bed, shivering as I walk to the bathroom. Wondering at the origin of this injury won't clean it up.

As I run the burn under cold water I can't help but be a little annoyed at my soulmate. Apart from the occasional bruise or scrape I generally keep him injury free. I'd appreciate if he'd make an effort to perform the same courtesy. And this burn is in such an inconvenient place, right on the palm of my hand, which is going to make it difficult to do anything with that hand until it's healed.

I pat my hand dry, put on some polysporin, and put a bandage around my hand, before crawling back into bed and promptly falling asleep.

—————————————————

When I wake up I find unfamiliar writing on my arm, definitely not written by my soulmate.

Sorry about the burn. It says. He does a lot of stupid shit when he's drunk. Including a dare that involved holding a lit match to his palm.

Idiot.

Seriously? A dare? What kind of absolute moron does a dare where they're guaranteed to get hurt.

You better not pull any stupid shit like that again! I write to him. Or have you forgotten that I share this burn with you?

I don't get a reply until late in the afternoon.