Saving My Soulmate

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Hear me out: if curses are real, I definitely have one. But don’t worry, you can’t catch it.

I don’t think.

I pace while staring at my phone, looking at the contact photo of the most delicious, grumpy man I’ve ever seen. Logan. My coworker and my most recent obsession. Ex obsession. Have I mentioned he also has a delicious dick? Long and thick and the look he gives when he’s shoving it down my throat…

Lost in thoughts about said penis, I miss the creature that comes flying at my socked feet. I trip over its soft body and try to catch myself, but then suddenly, I’m within kissing distance of the floor.

“Fluffer nutter!”

My hands and knees tingle with the sting, and I glare at what I tripped over–my pet skunk with his tail all fluffed up in the air. He looks at me with outrage, ears flattened to the side. Correction, looking at my feet.

“Princess Cupcake Sprinkles," I splutter. It’s been a while since he’s gotten the best of me.

Princess’ full name–he’s a boy, long story–gets no desired effect. Instead, he starts stamping his front feet, throwing his tail in the air, and advancing on my socked feet like they stole his afternoon celery stick.

“Hey!” Scrambling up, I scan my messy bedroom. Dirty clothes, butterfly habitat, and ah hah! Shoes!

The threats behind me continue until I slide my feet into my sneakers, hiding their offensive presence from view.

The stamping stops.

“Now.” I blow out a breath, running my hand through my hair, spotting my phone on the floor from which Logan’s picture is now staring up at me.

I turn the phone off. Because Logan is now in love with someone else.

Two someones, to be exact. And I should be happy for them.

I am. In a let-me-sit-them-down-and-figure-out-exactly-what-they-have-that-I-don’t kinda way.

Because this always happens. I always get with someone, and then they find their forever person.

It’s a curse I’m trying to shake. Surely there’s something I don’t have that everyone else does.

I can just figure it out, and I’ll be golden.

That sounds crazy, I’m aware. I’m a self-aware king. But don’t worry, I don’t use my powers for good; I use them to watch my life crash and burn around me. And now you can too! Grab a bag of popcorn, the flames are great for 95% poppage.

Moving to the bathroom, I get started on brushing my teeth. I have a client coming in today who has a great tattoo idea of a goat climbing out of Satan’s asshole, and I don’t want to blow my garlic aioli french fry breath all over him. Or all over Logan and his new boyfriends.

His sexy, hot boyfriends.

No! Stop thinking about them. Distraction! As I brush, I scroll social media. A headline catches my eye: Reverend Accused of Sexual Assault. At Least 11 Minors Involved. There’s a picture of an old man that looks ugly–like a dog chewing a wasp.

My stomach twists, and suddenly the toothpaste tastes like warm, wet foam.

I spit it out. If there’s one thing that chaps my ass, it’s people preying on the vulnerable–people or animals.

For a second, I’m caught in that disgusting feeling, like a bug in a spider’s web.

Then, with a bump and muted beep, my robot vacuum kicks on downstairs.

Must be six already. I throw a clean t-shirt on and rush down the stairs of my townhouse, passing Princess, who’s chewing on the corner of my bed.

“You lint licker! Stop! That'll make you sick!”

Princess merely gives me a look.

“Shoo.” I stomp toward him, and he fluffs his tail, giving me a stamp. But I’ve accomplished my mission; he’s no longer eating fiberglass, or whatever they make that crap out of.

Princess takes his remodeling job very seriously. I’m grateful I don’t have a landlord breathing down my neck to bitch about it, but Princess’ habit of turning non-food items into a buffet scares me. Scares me enough to do the horrendous thing I’m about to do.

“Want some dinner?”

Princess’ response is a reckless weave through my legs as I enter the kitchen and a scrabbling at my knees as I pull out his prepared meal of spaghetti with a sauce of blended carrots, pumpkin, and tomatoes on a bed of wheat noodles and chicken.

Princess scarfs that down with enough enthusiasm to miss the look of apology I’m giving him.

When he’s done, I grab him, and he lets out a grunt of argument.

But when he sees that we’re headed to the large crate, his arms and legs activate at once, swimming around trying to get traction on anything.

“I’m sorry,” I moan.

Princess starfishes, each leg out to the side, making it harder to stuff him in the door. With each attempt to spin him to his smallest side, I feel worse and worse.

“I know you hate it, but I won’t be gone long.”

‘Meeps’ of protest fill the air, and my chest gets tight. The meeps turn to grunts as I finally get him in and shut the door, locking my best friend away.

“Please, you have toys, and I won’t be long.

” Discomfort is hot in my chest as I check to make sure Princess has enough safe things to chew.

His crate is large, six by five, fully enclosed.

I had to enclose it after I found him tangled in my curtains one day, his leg stuck and cold to the touch. I almost went postal that day.

“I love you, tooty fruity.” I don’t look at Princess’ face. I can’t face the betrayal. My schedule isn’t routine enough for Princess to anticipate my comings and goings, and he gets upset every time. Probably because he thinks I’m abandoning him. Forever.

The thought makes my throat get tight, like the muscles are stretched over something bigger than my throat, like a baseball bat.

Just one treat. I can get him a treat.

Princess hasn’t always had to be alone. Usually, whoever I’m dating is around for my appointments, but I’ve been single since earlier this year. For like, the first time in my life.

It sucks. There’s so much empty space for…everything. It makes it quiet enough to hear the skeletons in my closet dancing with their clickety-clack-you’re-a-failure, snap-pop-lock-no-one-will-love-you.

But even when I was with someone, leaving Princess with my old boyfriends never felt good. They usually ignored him, including the last guy who let Princess get tangled up in the curtains. That’s when we broke up, and I became single.

I grab a meatball from the fridge, but when I go to put it in his cage, Princess hops up and down like I’m letting him out, and the baseball bat gets bigger.

“I promise I’ll be back.”

He scrabbles at the bars and then lets out an angry sniff.

I walk away.

I swore I’d never let anyone else feel alone.

Being alone sucks. Surrounded by people, but never a part of them.

Invisible in a sea of people who found their someone, smiling at holidays, sharing favorite recipes, wearing matching PJs, and whispering secrets once the lights have gone off. Happy. Safe. Together.

And now I leave my best friend, surrounded by a sea of inanimate objects just like I am.