2. This Chapter is Sponsored by Bad Decisions
This Chapter is Sponsored by Bad Decisions
B right light shines through the window, hitting me directly in the face. I squint and groan before rolling over. A sharp pain shoots through my wrist, and I scramble up, only to realize the tether to my cuff has wrapped around me in the night.
I press my hand to the smooth part of the bracelet, instructing it to retract the needle from my skin before ripping the cuff free. This time, I shove the blood-filled tubing, the pen, and the cuff into my drawer and slam it closed.
My head is pounding, and I cradle it as I look down at the floor.
I really need to slow down my drinking.
A mark on my arm catches my attention, and I look closer. A single word is written in black ink on my right forearm.
Name
I stare at the letters, blinking several times, waiting for them to disappear, but they stay. My fingertips caress them, flush with my skin, but tingling lightly under my touch. I lick the pad of my thumb and run it down the middle of the “N” and watch with fascination as the black washes free.
It’s a message from my soulmate.
I scramble to grab the kit from the drawer, my hands shaking as I detangle the pen from the long, thin tube. The tip presses against my skin, and it feels like I am watching from above as I send back my first reply.
Kira Blackwell
I watch the blood-inked words sink into my skin and my head pounds in time with my heart. The hangover can wait. Black letters form in response immediately, as if lurking apprehensively under my skin.
No. His name
My stomach bottoms out, my hangover intensifying while I struggle to understand. I stare at the words as I get up and head for the bathroom to take a painkiller and grab a wet washcloth. Settling back in the middle of my bed, I wipe away the black lines.
Whispers of the words I had sent to my soulmate last night float through my mind, disjointed. I know whose name he wants.
Alexander
I stop. It’s best not to give a last name.
Just because this is my soulmate doesn’t mean I know the first thing about him, including why it took him so long to respond. Hopefully, he isn’t a fifteen-year-old.
Name?
The question sinks into my skin, and the buzzing thrill feels more potent than ever before. It’s almost like I can feel his blood inside me, waiting to show me his response. Minutes tick by as I wait. Eventually, I strip down to my bra and underwear in case he replies elsewhere.
The minutes turn into an hour, and then more pass. All I can do is sit on my bed while my imagination runs wild. He’s either uncomfortably young, or has purposely ignored me. I can’t decide which is worse.
I stay inside my house all day. The last thing I need is to go outside and have a neighbor catch me receiving a message from my soulmate. Everyone living here is supposed to be mateless. Things are too fucking complicated for me to explain.
By night’s fall, I’m eying the nearly empty bottle of vodka. There isn’t enough left to make me forget about my problems, besides it would just lead to me sending another message. I had settled on ‘he purposely ignored me,’ and the longer I wait for a response, the angrier I get.
I decide to pretend he doesn’t exist until I get some answers. See how he likes it.
Chimes sound, and I open my eyes in search of the noise. Blinding morning light peeks around the edges of the curtains, and I realize it’s my phone. When I finally find it, I see Cathy is calling.
“What?” I ask, my voice thick and low.
“I didn’t care for him, but I’m so fucking sorry, Kira,” Cathy breathes on the other end, her tone full of sympathy.
I take a moment to figure out who she’s talking about.
“Alexander?” I ask, sitting up. With my elbows resting on my knees, one hand holds my phone while the other holds my head.
I don’t even remember telling Cathy that I had broken up with him.
Then again, I was wasted. “It’s for the best,” I say passively.
In truth, he hadn’t crossed my mind since I found out I had a soulmate.
“That he’s dead?” Cathy’s confused tone hits me before her words process fully.
“What?”
“Alexander’s dead, Kira.”
The world goes numb, and I return to feeling like a ghost observing my actions. “We broke up,” I whisper.
“You need to call the Captain,” Cathy says, her tone clipped and serious. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Friday night,” I respond as if on autopilot.
“Where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”
“I’ve been,” I pause, trying to separate the days to figure out what day it is today. “I’ve been home.”
“Good,” Cathy breathes. “Call the Captain and explain everything to him. I don’t know if I should tell you this, but Alexander was murdered, Kira.”
Cathy hangs up, and I look at the screen in shock.
My fingers move to call Captain Mitchell and explain everything that happened at the club on Friday night.
The fifty-year-old man likely doesn’t need to know I was choking on cock when I discovered Alexander was cheating, but considering the alternative is a murder charge, I don’t hold back on the details.
“I’ll take care of you, Kira,” Captain says, his tone bleeding sympathy when I finish. “Between cab records and video from the club, it should be easy to rule you out.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me.
“I need you to take a bereavement leave.”
My stomach bottoms out. “Fuck.” I look up at the ceiling like it might have a better answer. I do not want to be stuck inside these four walls for the next two weeks.
“It’s standard protocol,” he adds, before I can voice a word of protest.
“I didn’t wish him dead, but come on, Captain,” I plead. “We just broke up. I don’t have two weeks of tears to get out.”
“I get it, Kira. I do. But we need time to investigate, and I don’t want you around for it. Based on the photos, someone really hated him.”
The sudden, overwhelming feeling of despair hits me like a physical blow, leaving me gasping for air. “Oh,” I breathe as all the air rushes from my lungs. “Thanks.”
I hang up the phone and place it on the table beside my bed. A dark thought twists through my mind, curling around my soul and wrapping tightly to squeeze at my heart.
Fuck waiting. I need answers.
I grab the kit from the drawer, my hands shaking as I draw distressed letters on my arm.
Did you kill him?
The answer comes immediately, as if his blood inside me merely awaits the right question.
Yes
I stare at the letters, frozen in place. My soulmate murdered my ex. More black words form beneath the confirmation.
Give me a name and I’ll take the life.
The words look at me as an accusation. I had written Alexander’s name in blood. My soulmate killed him for me.
A million ways to respond jumble through my mind, but I take a deep breath to calm myself. It takes effort to slow the merry-go-round, but eventually, I come to a single line of thinking.
My soulmate is a psychopath.
I head for the bathroom and get into the shower, turning the scalding water on full blast. My skin is red from washing his writing from it, and I keep scrubbing long after the letters disappear. It feels like his blood is inside me, simmering beneath the surface with a low rumble of laughter.
If I look down at my hands, I can feel Alexander’s blood on them.
My tears blend in with the water as it pours down my face, streaming down my cheeks. I curl into a ball on the floor and allow the water to pound against my back. My knees curl up against my chest as I hold myself while my body rocks.
I’m not sure what is worse, not having a soulmate or finding out he’s a psychopath.