Soulmates

by Holly Bourne

  It all seemed incredibly unsubtle but, as Lizzie said, Ruth’s determined charm had never failed her before.

  The only solace I could generate to ease my random anger was that Noah didn’t seem to have noticed her. His eyes were on his guitar and his blurring fingers. In fact, he hardly looked at the crowd at all.

  The band was playing an upbeat song now and everyone was dancing and flicking sweat over each other. The lead singer – a solidly built lad, attractive, but no Noah – obviously loved the crowd’s response. He was clapping his hands over his head, trying to encourage the audience to sing along.

  As the song reached its climax, Noah finally dragged his eyes away from his guitar and took in the swarming mass of people worshipping him. His face contorted into a breathtaking smile as he raised one hand in the air. The crowd went wild and all the girls started screaming. I could almost make out Ruth’s individual scream over the others. As I studied Noah’s face, I realized suddenly that he was staring back at me. My vision began to blur and the all-too-familiar feeling of faintness hit me. Bloody hell. Not again.

  It happened for less than a second. For a tiny moment we just stared at each other, and my belly flip-flopped and my heart pounded. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.

  There was a massive bang and the band came to a sudden halt. Confused silence replaced the upbeat song and the crowd searched for an explanation. They found one in the smoke pouring from Noah’s guitar amp, filling the stage with a foul-smelling fug. He ran to his amp like a mother running in front of a car to save her child. The rest of the band leaped across the stage and fought their way through the smoke to try and help.

  I turned to Lizzie and Amanda and gave them a questioning look. They shrugged their shoulders.

  “Drink?” I asked.

  They both nodded.

  I took a quick look behind me as I walked to the bar. Smoke was still rising from the amp. I had a feeling the gig was over.

  “Two dark rum and Diet Cokes, and a large glass of tap water,” I asked, leaning over the bar. The water was for me. I knew drinking after a panic attack wasn’t the smartest of plans.

  As I waited, the stocky singer approached the mike.

  “Umm, hi, guys,” he said to the crowd. He’d lost his onstage cockiness and looked a bit nervous. “I think we’re going to have to cut the gig short. This amp is well and truly annihilated.”

  The crowd groaned and booed.

  “Sorry, people, but there’s nothing we can do. Thanks for coming. We’ll be back here next month. Check out our website in the meantime.”

  Most of the crowd were exiting at this point and I felt sorry for him. Noah was at the side of the stage being comforted by a huge horde of girls. Ruth was at the front, touching his arm, and whispering in his ear. Again, I felt a surge of rage. I beckoned the bartender over.

  “Make that three rum and Cokes.”

  I grabbed the drinks off him aggressively and then tipped my drink down my throat in what I hoped was a melodramatic manner. Much as I knew jealousy was a pointless and destructive emotion, I couldn’t help but seethe with envy when it came to Ruth and her ability to talk to boys. She was like some sort of magical lust fairy, able to bewitch all mankind with a flirtatious wink or subtle innuendo. Men disintegrated into stumbling wrecks. Even the strongest-minded man couldn’t resist her charms – either of them. It didn’t bother me often, but then again, I’d never been interested in anyone before. I looked at the other two drinks, contemplating whether to drink Lizzie’s or Amanda’s. I decided against it, and turned back towards Ruth and Noah, who were now deep in conversation. I saw her whisper in his ear again before throwing her head back laughing. For just a second, I could have sworn I saw them look in my direction.

  Just paranoid, Poppy, just paranoid.

  It was easier to navigate my way back to my friends as the club emptied. Both Lizzie and Amanda were staring at Ruth too.

  “Lucky bitch,” Lizzie said, taking her drink and draining it in an equally melodramatic fashion. I raised an eyebrow. Obviously I wasn’t the only one who suffered from occasional Ruth-envy.

  Amanda nodded. “She does have a way, doesn’t she? I’ll never understand how—”

  “Look,” Lizzie interrupted, “they’re coming over.”

  Ruth was holding Noah’s hand, guiding him through the remaining dregs of the crowd. She had a self-satisfied grin plastered across her face. The three of us pretended not to notice them approaching. I rubbed the toe of my ballet pump across the floor and peeked out from behind my still-sweaty fringe. I couldn’t tell if it was just my wishful thinking, but Noah didn’t seem particularly happy to have his hand in Ruth’s. As they drew nearer, I became aware of my heart pounding against my ribs like a sledgehammer. Was this what really fancying someone felt like? The thought alone made me blush. As the two of them arrived, I decided it was best to keep my eyes on the floor.

  “Noah,” Ruth said, in a loud obnoxious voice, “meet my best friends in the whole wide world.” She gestured to each of us individually. “This is Lizzie, Amanda, and Poppy.” My head nodded instinctively as she mentioned my name. I was still fixating on the floorboards. Nodding was friendly enough, wasn’t it?

  “Hey, great to meet you,” Lizzie said. “Great gig. Well, it was before the amp exploded.”

  I heard him laugh. A gorgeous gravelly sound. The sledgehammer in my ribcage smashed harder. I played with my foot, hoping like mad no one would notice my mini nervous breakdown.

  “Yeah, that was weird.” His voice was deep, slightly husky. I tried to control my body’s strange reaction to it. “I would like to think it was my immense guitar shredding that destroyed it – you know, like the amp couldn’t keep up with my insane guitar solo abilities?” He paused for effect. “But it looks like it was just a technical fault.”

  The others laughed at his mock egotism. Well, I think it was only mock egotism. I, in the meantime, stayed rigid, like a socially-challenged idiot.

  “Well, I loved the show,” Ruth simpered. “But I didn’t have a physical reaction to it…like Poppy here.”

  At the mention of my name, my head snapped up and I looked at her in confusion.

  “Poppy’s the one I was telling you about,” she continued, her voice still sickly sweet. “She enjoyed your little performance so much she passed out.” Then she tossed back her hair and laughed as I stared at her in disbelief.

  A speedball mixture of humiliation, confusion, hurt, and rage surged through me. I started shaking, my cheeks blazing red, tears welling in my eyes.

  “Is that right, Poppy?” Noah asked. His voice sounded controlled, like he was trying not to laugh. “Did you pass out? Was I that good? Am I that gorgeous?”

  I took a deep breath, counting like I had been taught to, and slowly forced myself to look at him.

  Looking at him, it appears, was a mistake. He was just outstandingly…yum – like someone you would see on television. His eyes burned into mine and my lungs deserted me. I could feel the walls closing again and forced myself to breathe. I gulped for air as he eyed me curiously. I knew I was supposed to reply but I couldn’t. The world had turned hazy again. My heart was still thumping; a fresh wave of sweat broke out across my body. I couldn’t take my eyes off his. Oh my God, he was going to think I was a total freak. Why did Ruth do this to me? What was her problem? Then the anger arrived, like a late dinner party guest, and it pushed away any other emotion I was feeling.

  I opened my mouth to speak.

  “Actually,” I said, spitting the words out, full of aggression, “I didn’t pass out.” I fixed my eyes on his. “I suppose you’re used to girls losing consciousness whenever you even look at them, and therefore assume you’re responsible for my little…episode. But you’re wrong. And, to be honest, it’s weirdly cocky of you to even imagine you could be to blame. I suffer from panic attacks. It’s a common physiological problem I have no control over, keep very secret, and is, quite frankly, nobody’s business.”
I turned to face Ruth, who was staring at me all agog. “It’s not something I like to share with the world…just my dearest friends,” I said, imitating her sickly sweet voice.

  “Ruth, of course, knows about this. And when I was collapsing at the beginning of your set, she used it as an opportunity to take my place nearer the front row so she could hit on you. And, as my real friends held my hair back outside while I was sick,” I said, pointing towards an equally surprised Lizzie and Amanda, “she was elbowing her way to your side.”

  I took more breath, refusing to let my courage subside until I’d finished.

  “Anyway, I’m sure this is all very amusing to you both. Why don’t you just go off and enjoy how hilarious it is that Ruth’s stupid friend had a panic attack.”

  I was quite certain I sounded mad, but the anger kept the words tumbling out of my mouth like sick.

  “Anyway, on that note, I’m going to go home now. Ruth, in the future, can you please refrain from using my illness as a pulling method?”

  I turned on my heels and made for the door, forcing myself not to break into a run. In one last moment of courage or madness – whatever you want to call it – I turned back and examined the stunned looks on their faces.

  “Oh, and watch out,” I added. “She’s had chlamydia twice.”

  And I flicked my head round and walked out into the night.

  Dr. Anita Beaumont listened to her heels clacking on the polished floor as she made her way down the corridor to the laboratory. She was in a bad mood, a really bad mood. She’d already planned to take it out on her assistants. How dare they beep her on a Saturday? Didn’t they know how important she was? She’d given those idiots her beeper number for emergencies only. What could possibly be an emergency on a Saturday afternoon while she was having a manicure?

  The click of her shoes echoed loudly, bouncing off the clinical white walls. They only had a skeleton crew at weekends and most of the building was empty. She held her swipe card to a wall and a door appeared from nowhere. She turned left through it, looking down at her half-finished nails and cursing herself for hiring that new assistant. He was much too eager to impress, too earnest. He was straight out of college and excited to be working somewhere so secret, so important – a place where he could make his childhood superhero fantasies a reality. He would soon realize how hard it was. He’d probably only beeped her to show off some minor accomplishment so she could pat him on the head and praise him like a schoolkid. What was his name again? It was something ridiculous. River? No, that wasn’t it. Storm? Nope. Oh yes, she remembered with a wry grin. Rain. His name was Rain, poor guy. His parents used to be hippies apparently.

  Dr. Beaumont reached the end of the corridor and faced another security door. She held her card up again and a computer keyboard slid out from another hidden compartment. She quickly keyed in the password – smiling to herself as she tapped out the letters. S…O…U…L…M…A…T…E.

  A blue laser took a retina scan before the security door glided open. She walked briskly into the lab.

  “I hope this isn’t a huge waste of my time,” she called. “Now who the hell is going to get me a coffee?”

  Rain and another assistant appeared before her.

  “Hi, Anita.” Rain could barely contain the excitement in his voice.

  She glared at him. “My name’s Dr. Beaumont. Where’s the coffee?”

  The other assistant ran towards the kitchen while Anita approached the computer bank, with Rain trailing after her.

  “So what did you drag me here for?” She bent over the largest computer and typed another password in. “It’d better be good.”

  Rain grabbed a stool and sat next to her, encroaching too far into her personal space for her liking.

  “Oh, it’s good.” His smile stretched right from one side of his face to the other. “The reading came in less than an hour ago.”

  The other assistant arrived with coffee. Anita grabbed it out of her hands before batting her away.

  “What reading? On which machine?”

  “The matchmaker. What else?” Rain always delighted in calling it that. Although now was no time to enjoy a good pun.

  Anita was shocked. “You mean there’s been a…?”

  “A connection between two matches.” Rain nodded. “Quite a big one.”

  Her manicure was instantly forgotten. “Show me.”

  Rain started jabbing coordinates into the keyboard and brought up a graph on the monitor. To the uninformed eye it looked like a seismogram, showing the impact of an earthquake. A green line travelled steadily across the screen before exploding into a flurry of ups and downs, like a toddler’s scribble.

  Anita felt a slight stab of guilt for doubting Rain’s ability. He was right to have beeped her.

  “Wow.” She stared at the screen. “It’s huge.”

  Rain looked delighted at her response.

  “Have you been able to pinpoint the location?”

  “Not exactly. Looking at the coordinates, I think it’s definitely in Europe. At a guess I would say France, maybe Germany or the UK.”

  Anita traced the green line on the screen with her finger.

  “It starts and stops so violently. Whoever they were, they obviously didn’t stay in the same place for long…thank God,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  “I thought that too. I don’t think they met each other. They might’ve just ridden the same bus or something.”

  Anita thought about it. “How…romantic.” Her lip curled slightly.

  “So what do we do?”

  She stood up and drained her cup of coffee.

  “You were right to beep me. I think we’ve narrowly avoided something potentially catastrophic. What’s important though, is that we avoided it. I’m quite sure it’s a one-off. Fate just messing with us.”

  Rain nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  He was annoying her again. Smug jerk.

  “Just keep an eye on all possible locations for the next week or so. Let me know if another reading comes up. I doubt it will.” She tried to ignore the instinctive shiver rippling down her spine. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t.”

  Then she turned on her heels and walked out of the lab.

  It didn’t take long for the tears to come. As I stormed home I could feel them streaming down my cheeks. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of rage or humiliation. What had I been thinking? Normal people don’t have emotional outbursts like that. It wasn’t like I lived in a movie where the hero makes evil people recognize their wrongs just by delivering a dramatic monologue. This was real life. Reality. Mean people never worry about their misgivings and generally flourish. Whereas people like me keep their mouths shut, take the abuse, and waste their lives waiting for karma to arrive before sorrowfully realizing that it doesn’t exist.

  What a night. I started to shiver, ignoring the looks I was getting from passers-by. I guess a sobbing teenager running alone in the dark isn’t something you see often. My phone was beeping manically in my bag but I chose to ignore it. I would deal with tonight’s fallout tomorrow, when I had the strength. I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Ruth’s face when I mentioned her chlamydia. And I had promised her so reverently I would never tell anyone. Oops.

  As I got closer to home the streets got quieter and darker. The houses got further apart until, eventually, they all had their own moat of perfectly manicured lawn. My tears were beginning to subside, and the crying had calmed me.

  You can’t change the past, I told myself. Another little lesson from therapy. So there’s no point in obsessing over it.

  I tried not to think about Noah, but it proved difficult. I’d not reacted like that to a boy before. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and my mind flashed to the first moment our eyes met. Maybe I was delusional but I was sure his eyes had found mine through the crowd. Like he was searching for me. Okay, definitely delusional, but it had felt that way. My heart began thumping like a nightclub b
ass beat just from thinking about it. So I did have a crush then. Well, that wouldn’t do. Especially as it had taken less than five minutes for him to reveal himself as a complete asshole. Imagine laughing at someone’s mental illness. Especially as Lizzie said he’d suffered from depression himself.

  I turned the familiar corner into my road and dug in my bag for my keys. As I walked up the drive, I forbade myself to think about any of it until I was a tad more sober, less sweaty, and less emotional.

  Dad was waiting for me in his usual spot. I dumped my bag on the living room coffee table, and he peered at me through his half-moon spectacles, lowering his newspaper.

  “Good night, hon?”

  “It was…” I paused for a moment. “…Okay.”

  He coughed and folded his newspaper up neatly. Then he tapped the arm of his chair in invitation. “That bad, eh? Come on, tell me all about it.”

  I kicked off my smelly ballet pumps and curled up next to him.

  “Well,” I began, “I had another panic attack. That was pretty embarrassing.”

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. If my news upset him, he kept it to himself.

  “And then Ruth told this guy I had passed out because I thought he was so good-looking. I think she was trying to impress him by making fun of me.”

  Dad’s face didn’t register surprise. “Sounds like Ruth.”

  “Yep, that’s her alright.”

  He picked up the paper again. I squinted to see his page.

  “So what’s going on in the world?” I asked, more out of habit than real curiosity.

  Dad shook out the pages. “Oh, you know, the world is ending, etc., etc.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “Just another normal day then? Complete misery?”

  He smiled. “Indeed.”

  I watched him read, snuggling into the maroon woolly jumper Mum kept trying to put in the charity shop but he kept buying back because apparently Paul McCartney once wore the exact same one. Is it weird to say I loved the way my dad smelled? It was so comforting. So well known.