2.5 - Soulmates

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

2.5 - Soulmates

Sativa
A string of harshly spat profanities sprung out of his lips before his collapsed on the chair that I had previously sat on. Laying his head on the wall behind it, he grunted as his eyes fluttered shut, not before giving me a perilous stare.

The sound of my heartbeat could be well heard over the sound of his heavy breaths, the thick, oozing substance of blood was running down and dripping unto the newly scrubbed floors. And, the putrid smell of Rogues and blood radiating from the man. However, that wasn't the only scent. If I breathed in deep, I could catch the faint scent of musk, forest and most of all, coffee. The odd scents mixed and matched together, sending me into a joyous heaven.

I stood there watching for a full minute, his breathing had become more labored, it was then I realized how terribly useless I was being.

The sound of the quick flurries of my footsteps resounded around the room as I dashed into the back kitchen. I didn't bother to flip the light switch, as I knew the place by heart. I reach up into the familiar cabinet, the creaking of it the least of my worries. It was a flimsy First Aid kit, and most of the alcohol in it had long expired. And, I knew I couldn't ask him to go to a hospital, for that would be plain foolishness.

Holding the white and red box close to my chest, I race back into the diner, half-afraid that I was coming back to meet a corpse. Without another word, I pulled out a chair to sit directly opposite him, and ignoring the warning bells and shivers that ran through me, I leaned closer.

"I won't bite," my hand jerked in surprise as his accentuated voice filled the room once more. "Not unless you want me to," the corners of his lips turned up slightly in amusement as my face heated up profusely.

I murmur something non-understandable even to myself; I was lost in a man.

I carefully pull the cotton wool from the wad and dip it into the alcohol. His eyes were trained on me as my arm inched closer and closer to his. Goosebumps rising, clearly not because of the cold weather. For a second, I hesitate. I knew there wasn't a possible way to get this done. One that, although obviously used to pain, wouldn't like this a lot.

"Do it," the man grunted out, the boots pressing against the side of my plastic chair.

"Do what?" I curse myself at the way that I sounded - so pathetical, that I had to clear my throat thrice, before I trusted myself to speak once again. "I mean, what do you mean?" I sigh internally at my childish elocution - I was miserably, weirdly pathetic.

Chuckling, his eyes cornered mine. "You know what I am taking about."

True.

"Ok," I agree quietly.

I didn't know whether it was because of my long day, or the fact that I completely mesmerized by his form - but, I willingly obliged with all of his commands.

It was something, that I have never done before - to anyone regardless of who you are and where you come from. He was different, I did not know how, but he just partly was.

Picking up the entire bottle, I hold it over the gash. I count down from five, before emptying half the bottle into his injured arm.

"Nothing," I mutter as the room stays silent. The strange man hadn't even acknowledged that something had been poured onto his arm, talk less of it being an alcohol of such intense nature.

"Nothing."

"Did you expect something?"

I let his question fade, as I continue concentrating on the numerous gashes and open wounds that he had plastered on his arm, "I think you'll need to go to the hospital," I sigh, dropping the blood soaked cotton-wool into the box. Trying to wipe my bloody fingers on the small, white napkins.

"No."

"Then, it looks like you'll have to go somewhere else."

"No."

"I can't clean this up, I only have basic training - for cuts, and minor openings."

"That's what I have," his voice comes out raspy, almost non-too harsh. "A cut - a minor opening."

"That's not a cut," I frown, motioning to his bloody arm. "It's a gash, you need bandages. I don't have that."

"You can make one."

I pull out another chair and sit directly opposite him, I lean my head into my arms and sigh, "I can't make one."

"Why not?"

"I don't have the materials."

"Why not?"

"I work in a diner, I haven't finished high-school, and I don't exactly know who you are," I snap, frustrated at the man's stubbornness, and the fact that Ana decided that she wasn't going to come.

"I am not sure that you would be so keen to help me once you know who I am."

"A Lycanthrope?"

"No," his eyes suddenly blackened, his lips turning into a snarl. "Not that, I am sure that you already knew that I was not human, yes?"

"Yes," I admit, raising my head to meet his eyes. It holds me in a for a moment, but I break the contact.

"Try." He bit out, narrowing his eyes at me. "Try a little harder - it's not impossible."

"I haven't even got stitches," I complain, avoiding all causes to complete the task.

"I just need the bleeding to stop, I will heal on my own."

Gulping inaudibly, I pick up the rest of the cotton-wool, drowning it in the alcohol, I carefully begin the task of slowly swiping the wool over the slight cuts. Feeling successful after I had gotten them to stop bleeding. I couldn't help the slight smile that met my lips. I could feel my last ounce of my strength dwindling as my eyes forced themselves to droop in tiredness. But, the jerk of his left foot against my chair never failed to keep me widely conscious.

"Name." He simple commanded, I didn't bother raising my head as I replied.

"Sativa-Vienna Carter." I said, not fully sure as I why I had told him my name.

"The little girl that murdered her parents," he snarled, a little humorless laugh escaping his lips.

"I didn't kill them - and I am not a little girl," I whisper, barely growling out the last part as tears stinging my eyes. It would only be another week before the entirety of the Lycanthrope community knew about me.

"So, why did you do it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter harshly, glaring at the one of many cuts that lined his otherwise perfect arm. "I didn't murder my parents."

"Was it to follow a lover that they didn't approve of?" I raised a brow at his words.

"No," I sneer.

He didn't reply as I continued my work of cleaning his wounds and gashes. I didn't know if it was an hour or more, but I the bleeding had stopped.

"I would appreciate if you would mind your own business," I snarl, discarding the rest of the bloody tissues. "Who are you anyway? I don't think I've ever a man quite like you."

"Trust me, you haven't."

I raise my head at his words, "Are you a wanted criminal on the run, then?"

He chuckled, "Try again."

"You lost control of your inner-Wolf?" I ask, it isn't rare if you are Lycanthrope.

Something flashed in his eyes, I cannot help but think that, I've finally hit home.

"Let go," he spat, his pulled his arm away and rolled his sleeves down - I hadn't realized his shirt was back on. Abruptly getting off his chair, he slipped his thin shirt on and strode confidently towards the door, his boots clicking against the tiled floor. I was worried for the gash still dripping on his chest, but I refrained from telling him.

"Wait," I call out, grabbing the leather jacket that he had come in with, but left on the table. "You left this."

He only grunted and stopped for a moment, allowing me enough time to deliver his jacket into his hand. I carefully hand it over to him, brushing the underside of his palm as I did. It was predictable what happened after the touch.

Not a spark; or a flame. It was more of a scorching feeling running itself up my arm. He snarled something in a foreign tongue and snatched the jacket away from my arms. Five seconds pass as I try to grip at my surroundings. Raising my head, I meet his eyes, the once-evil green, now a soft, radiant forest green. My lips parted as the same word uttered from both our lips.

"Yours."

"We're mates," I say, letting a little smile reach the corners of my lip as my heart eradicates with joy.

"We are not mates."

My smile never falters as I grip unto the hem of his shirt tightly, "I can feel it," I tell him, as his eyes narrow wickedly at mine. I flinch at the I intensity of his stare, but I don't try looking away.

"Get the fuck off me," he snarled, ripping my hands away from his shirt. "I don't need you, the faster you understand that, you faster you can move on with life."

"But, we're mates," I kept repeating over and over again. It became the story of me trying to convince myself, rather than trying convince the strange man.

"I would reject you - but I am not that thoughtless," he said, frowning regretfully.

I just looked him.

"I am far from sorry," he snapped, although he looked sympathetic for a second, but before I could confirm my anthology, his mask reappeared again. "But I am afraid that I don't want you."

I drop to my knees as all the past frustration lets out with just one trigger. My parents, my bondage, the fact that I might spend the rest of my life in jail - everything contributed to the tears that spilled out of my eyes a liter a minute. I blink away the tears, and look up, determined to accept the rejection of my ill soulmate.

But, he was gone.

Soulmate.

A word that I have never failed to hear every minute of my existence on this earth. Yet, it still fails to have even the slightest meaning to my knowledge.

"Tick, tock," my father would normally laugh, motioning to the old watch that hung loosely onto his wrist. "You are not getting any younger, my child, a mate is for the terrible best."

I would reply, "God has a time for everything," rolling my eyes at his playful jab, still knowing the seriously meaning that lay monitored.

Years ago, when I was only ten. I used to have a dream, that one day, I would find a man - not a mate, a man. I didn't believe in mates,
something that traumatized my mother they day she heard the very words I said.

I can tell you, if she was alive to witness what my so-called 'soulmate', did to me, she would never make me utter the wretched word ever again.

But, she didn't need to be alive to tell me to do that.

-

Luna Queen (2015)
© Victoria Leslie Khan

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net