2024 Story Collection

Best Friends to Enemies to Arranged Marriage to Soulmates to Lovers

Amy bites back a cry of pain. She practically tears her clothes off. The hot, searing pain coming from the skin on her hip was almost overwhelming. She grits her teeth so hard it feels like they might crumble under the pressure of her bite. Her vision is blurring with tears.

She dares a glance at her hip, her eyes widen at the sight.

Thorny vines pierce through her skin. From her hip, they crawl up and down the whole left side of her body. It felt as if each thorn is dredging its way through her skin as they move over her body. The vines grow up from her hip, past her waist and bust, over her shoulder ending at her neck. Another few vines slit off at her shoulder and wound their way around her arm all the way down to the tips of her fingers. They also travel down from her hip, wrapping and weaving around her leg, covering her foot.

Her head spins in agony. She feels the pull of her unconscious mind wanting to take over, but she forces herself awake.

From the vines, something begins to grow. She blinks past the tears in her eyes and the dizziness in her mind and is finally able to make out the deep green leaves growing from the dark vines. She also notices something else, it looks almost like buds of a flower. She watches as the small green buds transform into red roses.

A moment later, the roses began to bloom. They were the most vibrant, blood-red roses she's ever seen. They were beautiful but looked deadly, as if the morning dew they'd collect would turn to poison as soon as it touches the petals. It looked as if the syrup that would come from the vines when cut would be an acid strong enough to melt through anything. It looks as if the petals, when dried and ground up, would make a paint or dye so vibrant and strong that it would permanently stain anything it touched to be covered in its bloody hue. It looked as if one brush of its leaves would rot the skin of the person in a way that could not be mended by man or magic. It looked as if the vines would wind around their prey like a snake, slowly tightening their grip, their surface like sandpaper. It looked as if the thorns had a mind of their own and, when pricked by one, would decide your fate, whether it be an agonizing death or insanity. It looked as if the sweet scent of the roses would cause drug like hallucinations, euphoria and visions but too much of it would slowly drain the youth from one's body until there was nothing left. It looks like something from a fairytale that was cursed to be as deadly as it was beautiful.

Her thoughts are cut off by a scream that tries to ripple through her throat. She claps a hand over her mouth to stop it from escaping. Tears fall from her eyes from the burning, searing pain. It feels like someone took a branding iron to her skin.

Her flesh begins to smoke in the few large gaps between the flowers. One just above her waist, another on her hip, the last one on her thigh. All areas where her skin is naturally sensitive. She breathes rapidly, biting her right arm hard, to the point of drawing blood, just to keep herself from screaming.

She forces herself to look back as the initials of her soulmate are burned into her skin. She gags at the smell of her own burning flesh. There is no doubt in her mind that if she had anything in her stomach, it would be gone by now. Between the smell and the pain, she was at her limit.

As if fate had heart her, and decided to show her mercy, the pain begins to subside. She watches as the initials slowly darken so black it looks as if it is a hole in the fabric of time and space itself.

The letters are in a sharp, jagged font. All sharp lines and edges, not an ounce of softness in them.

After a minute, she is finally able to make out what it says:

H.E.F.

She would've fallen over in shock if it wasn't for the fact that she was already on the ground.

This can't be happening. This whole thing was not normal. It shouldn't be this painful. It shouldn't-

When her coworkers had gotten their marks, they said it itched, or that it tickled.

The color, flower, font, etc would show the relationship between the soulmates. So, what the hell did it mean to have this?

For most people, the flowers were just a light blush, smudge or small discolored mark on the person's skin around the initials of their soulmate. Most were small, usually the size of one's palm or smaller. They were mostly light colors, some almost unnoticeable if not looked for, but her flowers were deep, vibrant red roses, some the size of her hand and there were so many of them. They covered almost the whole of the left side of her body.

So, why did hers cover so much of her body? Why was the color so deathly vibrant? Why were the initials, normally light and elegant, burned into her skin in such an intensely painful way? What did this all mean? She'd never heard or seen anything like it before.

Even if she was confused about the rest, she could get over it, live her life normally. But there was one thing she couldn't live with, the person whom shares those initials. She knew him and she hated him.

Hugh Elliot Finch

"How the hell am I supposed to make sense of all this?" she whisper-yells into the moonlit bedroom.

"Amy?" a voice says, followed by a soft knock on the door. "I heard some weird sounds. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she manages to get out. "I just tripped and landed funny. I'm okay," she lies.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I was just half asleep and stumbled. It's no big deal," she lies again.

"Okay, goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

She listens to his footsteps as he walks back to his room. She lets herself fall back onto the floor.

Why does it have to be him?

To be continued...

March 6, 2024