What's a Soulmate?

by Lindsey Ouimet

  I hear the ding of the elevator behind me, but ignore it, because for Christ’s sake, I’m so worked up I think I’m actually going to start shaking. The angry red flush working its way up my neck from my chest isn’t something that happens to me often but, it is very different from any other blush he’s seen from me. Very different.

  “People aren’t things you get to deserve, Drew.” I take a step forward, my voice rising and not caring how I’m probably going to start drawing a crowd. In fact, I fully expect to have a library worker telling me how I need to leave any second now. “You don’t earn the right to someone else, just like they don’t earn the right to you. Who even says I’d let you ‘have me’ anyway? You barely tolerate me, and I hardly like you on a good day.”

  Don’t ask me how we got so close. God, how did we get so close? All I know is my chest is heaving and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them before, and I’ve got one hand up, index finger out, ready to poke him in the chest to get my point across. My breath comes out in heavy pants and his gaze darts from my eyes, down to where my chest brushes against his with every exhale, and then flicker back up, at my lips this time.

  Yeah, he’s definitely looking at my mouth. There’s no doubt in my mind.

  Looking, leaning in, completely and absolutely going for it.

  I feel his hand wrap itself around my waist, but I barely register the way he brings me in close—my palms flattening out along the broad expanse of his chest, because his lips touch mine and… And I swear, it’s like the universe collapses in on itself, zeroing in on the exact spot where our mouths are suddenly melded together.

  I thought I had been kissed before, but no. Not if this is the standard to which all other kisses are to be held up to. It’s intense at first, his lips pressed hard against mine and moving with more purpose than possibly anything else I’ve ever felt or been a part of. And I’m kissing him back. I’m curling my fingers into the soft shirt covering his chest and actually lifting onto my tiptoes in an effort to get closer.

  It feels like something has opened up inside of me, cracking my ribcage wide and leaving it gaping. I don’t know what to do with it other than lean forward.

  He shifts the hand on my waist, splaying it across the width of my lower back as he presses me closer still. I’m vaguely aware of being airborne—actually being airborne—for a split second as he spins me around. The toe of my shoe catches on the carpet as he lowers me back to the ground, but it’s the strain of my back against the shelves he’s spun me into that grabs my attention. Actually, I take that back. It’s the way his other hand cradles the back of my head, fingers burrowing deep into my hair, to keep it from hitting the shelves behind me that really stands out.

  But he’s sucking my bottom lip in between his and I get lost in the feeling of his mouth all over again. I surge forward, craning my face upward and trying to stamp down the urge to show how giddy it makes me to have to tilt my chin up. For a girl who’s never in her life felt dainty, it’s a hard thing to hide. So I try my best to cover up the need I feel to actually giggle with the trace of my tongue along the seam of his lips. He parts them with a small gasp and I feel his fingers on the small of my back flex, along with a shiver that runs up my spine.

  We kiss until my lungs feel like they may burst and my chest is on fire. And when it’s over, I don’t want to move my face from his. I’m more than content in letting his warm breath wash over my cheeks and eyelids while I try to calm my own.

  I finally give in, opening my eyes to catch the briefest glimpse of Beth over Drew’s shoulder. She’s standing, mouth and eyes almost comically wide in front of the elevator doors. Then Drew tilts his forehead down, resting it against mine, and I’m sucked right back into a world in which only the two of us exist.

  So, of course, it’s all ruined with his next words.

  “I tolerate you, okay?”

  I snap. I don’t know why I snap exactly because I should be stuck in such a lust-filled haze where he could tell me he’d really prefer if I wore a clown suit and flicked my tongue like a lizard and I would simply nod and mumble some pathetic ‘uh huh, okay’. And I know I used that word first—tolerate—but I don’t like the way it sounds on his lips. And I don’t like how he chose to use it.

  I don’t like my initial reaction either, but there’s no changing how instantaneously angry I get.

  My hands are still wound tightly into his shirt, and I loosen my fingers as calmly as I can. I can tell he’s confused with how I push myself off his chest and put a few feet of space between us. He keeps his head tilted down, eyes level with mine, but I refuse to look at them.

  I slowly turn my head to the side, half convinced I’m mad enough to go full Exorcist, and nod to my best friend. She stays where she’s standing, but I know I have her full attention.

  “You hear that, Beth? He tolerates me.” I turn back to face him and don’t blink as I spit out my last words. “How romantic.”

  He raises his hand as if to reach for me, but lets it fall when he sees me stiffen and take another half-step back.

  “At least let me explain. I … I owe you that much.”

  And oh how I want that explanation. I feel how much I want it down in my bones.

  He starts to run a hand through his hair again, but stuffs both of them deep inside his pants pockets instead. I can see where they ball into fists through the faded black denim and know he’s upset, but I’m upset too. And I can’t… I just can’t.

  “You know what? You don’t owe me anything.” My voice starts off tired and dejected and a whole list of other adjectives with the same sad definition. “I didn’t… I don’t base my actions on what people will end up owing me for them. And another thing. I’m going to do myself a favor and stop assuming you’re pushing me away on purpose. Because if that’s true… It’s not something I deserve.”

  God, I wish I knew whatever it is that I do deserve.

  I pause for a second, feeling the agitation build up inside me as I wait to see if he’s going to even attempt a response. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity goes by before he opens his mouth. By the time he does, I don’t think I have the patience or even the want to hear him out. I’m breathing too heavily and my heart’s beating too loudly in my ears for me to hear him anyway.

  “So, instead of telling myself that’s what you’re doing, I’m going to hold onto the idea you really are just an asshole.”

  Because, if he’s an asshole, that means it’s not personal. Maybe that means it’s not because my efforts haven’t proved to be enough. Maybe it doesn’t mean that I’m not enough.

  I square my shoulders and get ready to turn, my fists clenched at my sides and my voice hard.

  “And that’s fine. Because you not loving me or whatever? It won’t be the end of my world.”

  I don’t wait for the elevator. But I do wait until I’m in the parking lot before I collapse in on myself. I wrap my arms around my waist and lean heavily on the steering wheel, not quite crying, but not dry-eyed either.

  My phone vibrates from where I left it on the center console.

  Beth: Girl. Wow. Just wow.

  I hit reply and tap out a message.

  I don’t know if half of what I said up there even made sense, but Jesus Christ did it feel good to say.

  Beth: I was talking about the kiss, but that too… I guess.

  I let out a laugh that threatens to turn into a sob and put the car in drive.

  Chapter Nineteen

  One pending friend request from…

  …Andrew McCormack (0 friends in common)

  It’s been five days since the library disaster, and three days that these words have haunted my every move on FriendSpace. Not that I normally have very many moves on the site, but since the notification popped up on my phone late Saturday night, I’ve probably paid it a visit once every twenty minutes or so. Only to look at the message. To stare at it like it will offer me the secrets of the universe,
and then navigate away from it, hitting neither ‘accept’ or ‘ignore’.

  I drag the tip of my index finger over his tiny, pixelated face. Not pressing down enough to actually be taken to his profile page of course, but over it nonetheless.

  “Libby, are you listening to me?”

  Why only a friend request though? He could have sent me a message if he wanted to. Maybe explaining what, I can admit now, I didn’t give him an opportunity to the other night? Maybe to say ‘Hey, I didn’t realize you were a crazy person. Glad I know that now! Bullet dodged—phew!’ Because, let’s face it, I maybe did come off a bit … unhinged. Justified? Yes, I think so. But yeah, a little much perhaps.

  A little too passionate.

  There. That’s better. A better word anyway.

  “Libby!”

  “What?”

  I yelp and nearly jump from my seat as what I think might be a black bean hits me in the forehead. It bounces onto my skirt, but I can’t even be bothered to worry about any possible staining because what’s going on in my hand is so much worse. I blink down at the screen and stare at the words in abject horror.

  Friend request confirmed. Visit Andrew’s profile now?

  The bad part? Or sad part, I guess? I really, really want to click ‘yes’. And I almost want to thank Beth for her accidental intrusion.

  Then she more or less yells in my ear again.

  Like I said, I almost want to thank her.

  “I’ve been talking to you for five minutes.” She holds up her hand, fingers spread as far apart as possible. She tucks her thumb against her palm. “Four of those consisted of telling you how I was taking Ryan to prom, but only if he agreed to riding in a magical pumpkin-turned-carriage.”

  I glance up at the clock over the cafeteria entrance.

  “Beth, there’s no way I could have even sat down more than three minutes ago.”

  She tilts her head to the side and I hold up my hands before backing down.

  Whatever. She knows it’s true.

  I also get the sneaking suspicion from how her nostrils flare as she takes what she calls a ‘calming breath’ she’s probably about three seconds away from asking what’s crawled up my butt and died. I mean, she knows what’s wrong, but I’m sure my sulking is hardly appreciated regardless of current everything-having-been-flushed-down-the-toilet status. At least it feels like everything has been.

  “You just made me accept Drew’s friend request,” I blurt out because I don’t know what else to say and have a steady habit of making myself sound like a dummy.

  She smirks and settles back into her seat.

  “Worse things have happened.”

  I’m failing to come up with a decent reply, and a voice from my left—when did someone even sit down there?—rings out.

  “Who’s Drew?”

  I shoot a nervous look in Taryn’s direction, because what else am I supposed to do?

  “Just”—I clear my throat—“just this guy.”

  “Oh.” She nods. I can’t help but feel a little bad at the discouraged look that crosses her face. As uneasy as I felt around her at first, Taryn really isn’t so bad. I’d actually go as far as saying we’ve become friends. Her next words ease any guilt felt though. “Is this guy going to be your date to prom? Or are you still insisting on going solo?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek and see Beth stifle a laugh from the corner of my eye. Aiming a successful kick at her shin has her mumbling something about not signing up as a punching bag from the other side of the table.

  I tell Taryn that, yes, I’m still planning on attending prom by myself and it really doesn’t bother me. And it doesn’t. Especially considering I hadn’t even planned on going in the first place. She nods and I find out she’s like any other girl our age and really is only waiting for her turn to talk—what? like everyone doesn’t do it—when she starts in about her dress and where she and her date are going for dinner beforehand.

  I’m surprised when Beth chimes in with details about her own dress. Not so surprised when she feels the need to mention I haven’t even gotten mine yet. I figure the two of them can entertain each other well enough for me to slip off into my own little world again unnoticed.

  Or I try to at least.

  I pick up the phone from my lap and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it. I turn my body, trying to angle my screen away from any potential prying eyes, and I see her. Audrey McMannis. The very same Audrey McMannis I haven’t so much as given a second thought to since the waitresses at the Bluebird wanted to see if I had any dirt on her ‘unfortunate situation’. Yes, they actually called it that. Like a crew of old biddies from a movie taking place in the South, back before the Civil Rights Movement.

  She’s sitting with a group of what I guess is her usual crew—two girls who I don’t know and a boy I vaguely recognize for some reason or another. They’re talking about something, hand gestures, laughing, the whole nine yards, but she’s sitting back in her seat, her arms wrapped around her waist and slightly slumped. She looks miserable.

  Like I said, I haven’t thought of her, much less seen her, since that day all those months ago. Since the day I met Drew. But that’s not important in respect to her story I suppose. And I refuse to chart my life’s happenings in reference to him. She could very well be having a bad day. Maybe her dog died, or she has really bad cramps, or totally bombed a test in second period.

  I can’t help but wonder if this is what she always looks like these days though. If that’s what I’m going to be stuck looking like.

  She starts to turn in my direction and I whip around so fast I nearly send my entire tray flying across the table. Beth side eyes me, but doesn’t miss a beat with whatever she’s saying. I take a deep breath, look back down at my phone, and tap out a quick message to my mom.

  I wait until the bell’s rung and Taryn and the rest of our table are up and out of the way before grabbing Beth by the crook of her elbow. She turns and looks up at me without a word.

  “I’m going to go with my mom sometime this week to pick out my dress for prom. You want to join us?”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” she says, and then narrows her eyes a little, tilting her head to the side. “But why do I get the feeling there’s something more to this plan than just that?”

  ****

  Four days later, I’m still thinking about the girl in the cafeteria. The girl who could so easily be me. The girl who can still be me unless I choose to stop it from happening.

  So that’s what I’m doing. Or it’s what I think I’m doing… It’s what I’m trying to do, okay?

  Because I’ve decided.

  I can stick with the black and white. I can let that be my world. I can live the rest of my life swathed in shades of gray because he didn’t decide to give me his heart, or whatever. Or I can choose to take advantage of the one thing he did give me.

  My mom is in the driver’s seat, and I look back to Beth, talking a mile a minute in the spot behind her. It seems silly, but I smile anyway as we pass the entrance to Clarkesville Mills Mall. While she parks, my mother glances at me from the corner of her eye and catches the grin on my face. She smiles back because, let’s face it, she’s probably even more over my sullen, sulky mood than Beth is. She grabs my hand from where it rests on the armrest between us, and gives it a squeeze.

  “Ready?” she asks, looking over at me, one hand on the door handle.

  I nod, this foreign, giddy feeling bubbling up inside me.

  “Ready.”

  What feels like one hundred years, but is really only around three hours later, the hunt has been called off. The Dress has been acquired. The Perfect Dress according to Beth, but we’ll have to agree to disagree on this. The Perfect Dress would not require undergarments quite so … stifling.

  However once I told my mom and best friend my intentions, they were more than willing to help. And by ‘more than willing’, I really mean they wouldn’t let me talk myself out of the idea I was so excit
ed about this morning. Even after the thirteenth store turned up with absolutely no possibilities and I was ready to throw in the towel. Because I know it’s only a dress, and they know it too. And it’s not going to change anything in the long run. But it will signify my willingness to.

  Granted, it’ll still look gray to pretty much every single one of my classmates, but I’m not doing it for them. Nope, this dress, in a shade the salesperson—and my mother respectively—told me is called midnight blue, is all for me. And maybe a little bit for someone like Audrey to see, and then note that no, I don’t have a date in the form of my Soulmate, and that yes, I am okay with it. That life does go on, and I can have all the color in it I want even if the reason behind it isn’t exactly present.

  It’s mostly for me though. If Audrey sees me and suddenly decides to go out and buy a full, technicolor wardrobe because of it? That would only be an added bonus.

  Halfway through lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant, I notice it. The beaded bracelet I more or less stole from her months back hangs from my mother’s wrist. If she thinks the way I’m staring at her arm while she bites into her burrito, my own spoonful of refried beans hanging in the air in front of my mouth, is odd, she doesn’t say anything.

  I place the spoon back on my plate and have to, almost forcibly, rip my eyes away.

  “Libby?”

  I look up and my mom’s looking back, her forehead pinched with concern. She wipes her hands on her napkin and returns it to her lap. I recognize the gesture for what it’s worth. She’s always been good about giving me time to decide if I want to say something before she asks me about it.

  “It’s nothing really,” I start, secretly hoping I can stop with these words as well. But of course she continues to look at me with the exact same look on her face, and waits for me to go on. “Your bracelet, that’s all. I … I kind of borrowed it a couple of months ago?”

  “Is that a question?” She grins, glancing down and turning her wrist from one side to the other.