The One With Whisky Eyes

Prologue

Soulmates were common, but not everyone had one. The first words ever spoken between two people destined to be together were forever etched into the skin. Everyone's varied, depending on the people and the chance encounter that would be their first meeting. Some had a simple 'hello' or 'nice to meet you' while others could have more complexity to them, like 'well, it took you long enough' or the unfortunate 'how much of an idiot do you have to be?'

There were even people who had more than one soulmate, usually receiving a bitter encounter with those who lacked a soulmark; more often than not, those with soulmarks were hated by the un-marked, but those with more than one were absolutely despised.

It was for that reason that Iris Mayfair kept herself covered from head to toe in her oversized clothing for as long as she could remember. Since she was a child, every few years one or more soulmarks would appear on her body. By the time she was in her twenties, she had twenty-three soulmarks along her skin. Some were simple, others were complicated, many were downright confusion; Look, look! We have matching socks! and Finally, I get the light!

Only recently did another mark begin to appear, still foggy and unreadable, along a bare patch on her right forearm. It was short, probably nothing more than one word, and it made her curious since no other marks were quite that simple for her. Though, one on the inside of her arm was hello my dear.

It was due to her soulmarks that she had led such a rough life; not many outsiders knew of her marks, but her parents believed her to be a monster, a freak of nature that wasn't meant to be. They were unmarked, having met and fallen in love through the connection of their empty bodies. For as long as she could remember her body was covered and she was forbidden to show her skin. There was one mark that was shown on the back of her left hand unless she wore gloves, in small, neat writing that looked meticulous and practiced-Sh, sh, shh, quiet now.

This mark, as well as a few others, were still readable but now bore burns or scars from her parents' attempts as removing them from her skin. If they couldn't be taken off, they attempted to try to cover them up.

Iris had fled home when she was still young, lying low and scrounging by until she was eighteen and legally capable of renting a tiny apartment that she afforded with a meagre job. It wasn't often she went out, opting instead to stay home and out of sight. Running away before she was able finish school, Iris taught herself what she could through her love of reading.

She read as much as she could find about soulmarks, and as far as she could tell the most ever recorded on a person was three. Her twenty-four made that record pale in comparison.

It was through her readings that she learned about Dr. Fletcher, who had had been researching Dissociative Identity Disorder and the effect it had on those with soulmarks. For months, Iris debated on whether or not to contact this doctor, worried that she would either have to expose her greatest secret-and therefore her scars-or if she would have to pay her.

Lacking in money as she was, holding down a management position as best she could, it wasn't as though she could afford a therapist of any kind.

However, she finally worked up the courage to call the woman and was relieved to know that she was willing to speak with her in complete confidence and no charge. So, trying to find the same courage she had to make that phone call, Iris made her way to Dr. Fletcher's office in the early afternoon between two of the woman's appointments.

It took several flights of stairs to get up to her floor, making Iris regret wearing so many layers when she left her apartment. It was still early spring so it hadn't gotten warm yet, but even in the summer her sleeves were long so she'd become mostly accustomed to it. However, with a shirt, sweater and coat on she was sweating by the time she reached the designated floor.