If Things Were Different

Chapter One

Y/N - Your Name
BFF/N - Best Friend's Name
B/N - Brother's Name
N/N - Nick Name
F/C - Favorite Color
Y/S - Your Street
Y/T - Your Town

Tomorrow is your twenty-first birthday. The day you can legally consume alcohol, the day you can work part-time at the creepiest antique store down by the crumbled walls of an old church.

The day you find out the names of your soulmate and your enemy.

Everyone waited impatiently for that day to come. One wrist showed the name of your soulmate, whilst the other showed the name of your enemy. No one ever knew which is which until they met them, and even then, it could take years before they realized who is who. That doesn’t always mean they loved their soulmate and hated their enemy, though. One of your friends from college is madly in love with his enemy, but hates his soulmate. You don’t know why, and you’d rather never find out. That’s his personal information, so why should you pry?

You glanced at the people around you: your parents, your grandmother, your younger brother, and your best friend. They were watching any clock they can find, desperately waiting for 11:59 to turn to midnight. The gifts they brought were opened and neatly put away, the cake was eaten with two or three slices left over, and the drinks, both alcoholic and non, were out, bubbles finding their way to the surface as the beverages waited to be drank. Nervous excitement squished around in your stomach, momentarily making you feel sick. What if it wasn’t as great as everyone hoped it would be?

“Happy twenty-first birthday, (Y/N),” (BFF/N) said, turning to grin at you. A chorus of ‘happy birthday!’s rang out, everyone looking at your wrists in excitement. You held your breath and stared at your wrists. At first, nothing happened. Then you noticed a dark teal ink begin to take shape on your right wrist.

Toby was written sloppily on your wrist, almost as if the male had jerked his hand while writing his own name. A squeal from your grandmother made you grin. Whilst being uptight and proper, often told she had a stick up her ass, she always showed her soft, caring, and childish side to you, (BFF/N), and (B/N).

“So, we have a Toby. Do you think he’s her soulmate or her enemy?” your mom asked. Your father shushes her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“We don’t know, honey, and neither does (N/N).” You laughed softly at your parents, turning your attention to your left wrist. A dark blue slowly appeared, along with what looks like splotches of black ink.

Jack almost had a feminine look to it, the lettering fancy. For a moment, you thought of a doctor’s chicken scratch. Perhaps this ‘Jack’ person was a doctor of some sorts?

“Toby and Jack,” (B/N) mumbles, testing the names on his tongue. You shoot him a smile before gently touching the names, avoiding the scars on your wrist. They weren’t from your doing, no. Definitely not.

If you had a strong connection with your soulmate, whether you knew them or not, every injury was reflected onto you. Say your soulmate accidentally cut his or her hand open while cutting vegetables. That wound would appear in the same spot on your same hand. It wasn’t rare for this to happen, but it wasn’t exactly uncommon, either.

Whoever your soulmate was, they must’ve taken quite a beating. You have cuts and scars all over your body from your soulmate. Sometimes they were scratches, like they accidentally scratched themselves too hard or someone grabbed them too tightly using their nails, some would be like a person took a whip to your back. Those wounds hurt the most when they showed up, and occasionally, they still did. Other times would be as if he was shot or stabbed, leaving you to be rushed to the ER. You felt bad for your soulmate, whoever he is. He must’ve gone through so much pain throughout his life.