The Lucky Ones

You've heard it all before. Patches, Raccoon, Bulls-eye...

People have made fun of the black mark staining the skin surrounding your right eye ever since it appeared the day you turned twelve. Everyone got their soulmate mark around that time. Some late bloomers received theirs when they were just a bit older than others but everyone got one, the mark signifying where their soulmate would touch them for the first time. Most people woke up in the morning with a black palm or a patch on their arm or their shoulder, maybe a small spot on their cheek. But you've never seen another person with one covering their eye.

Middle school was cruel to you. You went to school the first morning after you got your mark with your hair covering half of your face. Of course, that didn't hide it well enough and by the end of the day, there was a rumor circulating that you were going to end up with someone abusive, your first physical touch from them being a punch to the face. Naturally, the thought terrified you and you came home that day and locked yourself in your room, refusing to come back out for a week.

The taunting followed you into high school and by the time you hit senior year, you'd developed a thick skin. The names, the rumors, the fake pitying looks at your unfortunate mark placement no longer bothered you. You became comfortable in your own skin again. You always wore your bangs back, your mark on display like a badge of honor. You tried not to think about the way your soulmate would someday touch you for the first time, instead focusing on the here and now. Living in the moment. Loving yourself.

Sure, you had your moments of weakness. Moments when the shield would come down and you'd notice the whispers, the curious looks, the laughter of little children that had no filter. But you tried not to let the world see. You tried to keep it in until you were alone. Only then did you let the tears spill.

You told yourself college would be different. You were going to one several states away and you hadn't heard about any of your classmates getting an acceptance letter from them. This was going to be the new start you needed. Sure, you'd been pretending to be brave for the last several years, but now you were actually going to be. You were going to have a fresh start. Meet new people. And these people were going to know you as the girl that isn't ashamed of her mark. Actually proud of who she is, not just someone who pretends to be in public then breaks down once she's alone. In fact, you could be whoever you wanted to be at your new school. Were you going to be the mysterious artsy student? The vibrant, loud laughing, dance-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drum student? The dark and mysterious one that always wears black lipstick and headphones? Probably not that last one, but at a new school, the sky's the limit.

But after going through your closet and deciding you don't have the wardrobe to reinvent yourself just yet, you decide that the idea of becoming a whole new person is a bit overwhelming and more something that needs to be done gradually.

*

You didn't want your parents to help you move into your dorm for fear of either of them saying anything to your new roommate that might give away any part of the life you're trying to leave behind. You did let them help load your car, though, and gave them tight hugs, making sure they knew that you not wanting them to help you move had nothing to do with how you feel about them but rather their strange need to embarrass the crap out of you.

Now, you kind of wish you had accepted their help as you lug the first of many boxes up the two flights of stairs to your assigned dorm. The hall looks pretty nondescript and you figure they probably all look similar. If you weren't so directionally challenged, this wouldn't be an issue. Hopefully you won't get confused too many times throughout the year.

Now your eyes scan the room numbers for the one that matches the number printed on the paper you clutch in your hand. You reach the end of the hall before reaching your room and when you turn the corner at the end, you freeze, almost dropping the box in your hands in the process. There's 215, there's 216 and then you can't see the numbers on the next door because it's already open.