Tattoos and Soul Mates

An Introduction to the One Who Ruins it All

Could my life get any worse? I'm adopted though I never see my "parents", I'm bullied, I have to start a new variety of Hell today, and I'm mute. Yes, mute. I haven't spoken a word since I was 6, when my parents passed on the anniversary of my grandfather's death. Add that to the bowl of sunshine that is my life. I was lying in bed, tracing the name branded on my wrist. Let me explain why it was there.

It wasn't a brand so much as a tattoo. Everyone, at some age before 18 or another, gets a name. I trust you've heard of soul mates. The name appears tattooed on their wrists, most often in black swirling letters. Mine was blood red and seemed to drip down my skin. It read "Ashley" , and had since the day I turned 12. There would usually be a small "F" or "M" near it, to show whether they were male or female. Most of the time, there was also an age that changed every year on their birthday.

Mine was void of both. Lucky me, right? I knew nothing about them, other than their name. Well, unless you count the reoccurring face that appears every night in my dreams. I know it sounds creepy, but it isn't that uncommon. I never saw a face, just warm brown eyes, tan skin, and raven hair that looked as though it was silk. That gives me nothing to go on; hell, for all I know, it could've been Jake, CC, or Jinxx! Okay, I knew it wasn't, because I think I would recognize them.

Besides, CC hadn't gotten his, Jake's read Ella, and Jinxx's read Sammi, and he had blue eyes and snow-coloured skin. Still, doesn't make in any easier. The feeling of my cool skin sliding over the always hot mark was comforting. Most covered theirs with a bracelet or watch or something. I, quite frankly, thought that was stupid. Why wouldn't you want to find your soul mate? Enough of my rambling. The story will start soon enough, you just have to be patient.