Sketchmates {Emerson Barrett AU}

Chapter One

LACEY

When I woke up this morning, they were there. I never know what the marks will be; it's been everything from "Dr. D...1130am May 15th" to today's sketchings...a lady, her face covered in a light shawl and a snarl upon her face.

I reach for the felt-tip black marker at my bedside table and draw a single black heart on my wrist, in hopes it will make them smile. Every time one of their drawings appears on my skin it makes my day. I only hope I can do the same for them, whoever they may be.

Only seconds pass before my heart is filled in with purple. I smile looking at the work that covers my arms. Whoever and wherever my soulmate is, they know how to make my day.

Reluctantly, I roll out of bed. The sun is just starting to shine through the white curtains of my dorm room, the birds haven't begun their annoying song yet. The stupid Cardinals that live in the campus trees wake us all up before ten a.m., whether we want to be up or not.

My roommate Saarah is already at her Mathematics lecture for the morning. She's 21; studying astrophysics. One day, she hopes to escape Cardiff and work for NASA. Saarah is the smarter of the two of us. Her soulmate doesn't draw much, and all they get from her end are formulas and test reminders. Maybe the occasional penis from me. But I feel privileged almost. I have a fucking talented artist drawing on my skin.

I'm a Adolescent Psychology major. For as long as I can remember I've been intrigued with how the human brain works and why it processes emotions the way it does. And considering I've been seeing a psychotherapist for the majority of my life, I wanted to be able to help people like I'm being helped.

The Cardinals start to sing outside, and I groan. It was peaceful the first few days, but after two years it gets really annoying really quick. I quickly change into an Audioslave t-shirt, white skinny jeans, and my comfiest pair of black Adidas sneakers. Fancy, I know. Without a second of hesitation, I shove earbuds in and blare Prince and the Revolution so loud that I can't hear the cursed song of the birds outside. In the hall, I lock the dorm room and head to my first lecture this morning; serotonin medication.

EMERSON

"Dude," Remington's urgent voice pulls my head back down from the clouds. I raise an eyebrow and continue to mindlessly stir the coffee in front of me.

I feel it before he can say it. The scratching is deeper, harsher. It hurts, burns. Panic rushes through my body. It's not supposed to hurt. Maybe it'll tickle, or you'll get the sensation of lightly running your nails down your arms at most. I look down hastily, and quickly realize what's happening.

Shaky, but deep red lines run in an ordered pattern down my right arm. They take up nearly the whole width, and as they progress get shakier and shakier.

My left arm is next. Short, quick, tiny lines slice through the design I made earlier today with ballpoint pen. Every mark feels like a razorblade, progressively worsening as my soulmate continues the assault to their own skin.

"W-What i-is this?" My voice shakes with fear and confusion. Remington sighs and takes a sip of the herbal tea in front of him.

"It's self-harm." My eyes go wide and my head snaps up to him. "I didn't know those marks transfered, but apparently they do. It happens to me, too. You'll learn to get used to it."

I can't help letting tears fall as my gaze stays locked with my left arm. The small marks continue forming for what seems like forever. I'm grateful at this moment that marks don't last for more than twelve hours at a time. When they fade from my skin, they will leave theirs, and I'll have to draw up something new and gorgeous. I get made fun of for putting so much effort into it. But I just hope my drawings, as terrible as they may be, make my soulmate smile. Even though I know absolutely nothing about them, I still care.

As soon as the marks cease, I grab the emergency Sharpie from my pocket and draw hearts in any free space I can find. Then it's flowers over the back of my left hand. And across a cut on my right wrist: it's okay xx.

I finish my coffee and almost instantly leave the café. Today's been emotional. And as much as I'd like to just go home and sleep, we have a gig on the other side of Cleveland tonight.

"Get it together, Barrett." I mutter to myself. If it were up to me, I'd go straight to the government and find out who they are. I just want to meet them. And they could be anywhere in this world. What if I never meet them? I'll go my whole life knowing I have a soulmate but nothing about them. I don't even know their motherfucking gender.

I take a deep breath. I need to take my focus off of them, whoever they may be, and put it on tonight's show. The last thing I need is to be fucking up on stage because I'm distracted.

I buy a beer from a stand on the street and take a big swig. I need to relax and this is the only way I know how to do it. I grimace as it goes down, but stay at the stand nonetheless and down four more, slamming dollars on the table as I down more. Shots are next. I'm gonna be regretting this. My liver and I already aren't on great terms already, what does it matter at this point.

I put a ten on the stand. "Vodka. Strongest one you've got."