Soulmates. The very word was taboo. Heads turned and whispers swallowed the room every time somebody dared to say it out loud. Distrustful glances were thrown around; prying eyes tried to see the cracks in others' public facade. Cold sweat dripped down the backs of those with a guilty conscience. Cursed with a tattoo on his hand, Jughead resented, absolutely loathed, everything it stood for. Because of the black ink on his skin, he had to keep up a perfect front, stay away from everything that painted him in a curious light. Never had the words on his wrist brought anything besides heartbreak and misery, and his situation wasn't going to get any better. He was a freak, an outcast. He was the reason his family fell apart.

Ainult tema käte vahel tunnen end terviklikuna, armastatuna. Väärtuslikuna. Ja ma tean, et tema tunneb täpselt samamoodi. Osaleb kirjandusvõistlusel "11 päeva ja õhtupoolik".