Our future's in our blood. Literally.
I'm not talking about some genealogy bullshit; the colour of our blood lets us know who it is we're destined to spend the rest of our lives with. It's kinda scary, really.
We're all born with transparent blood. Just as clear as water, slightly thicker in consistence. I remember seeing bags of them in the hospital as a child, and wondering how nurses didn't confuse them with the saline solutions that looked oh-so similar. I'm still not sure to this day, but then there's no way I'll ever step into a hospital again.
At some point in life, the blood turns red; that happens once you meet that one person you're destined to be with. There's really no telling when that'll happen, though. When I was in elementary school, some kid had fallen down a tree he was climbing —fucking idiot— and torn his knee open. He cried until he realised that the blood trickling down his leg wasn't, in fact, as limpid as everyone expected, but a deep, rich red, like the gemstones my father never let my mother indulge in. He'd paraded around the playground, wincing each time he had to take a step but too proud to sit down in a corner. All the other kids had ooh'ed and aah'ed at his performance. I don't remember if I cared. Probably. The prospect of true love must've sounded good to a nine-year-old who'd never really experienced love at all. I've learned to give up on that idea, tough.
My blood turned black when I was fifteen.
No one wants to see their blood turn black. Black blood means loneliness, means being forsaken. A reject, a pariah. Blood turns black when your soulmate dies.
It wouldn't be so bad if no one knew, but, contrary to transparent and red blood that are virtually indistinguishable through the skin, black blood shows. The biggest veins are visible, a faded grey, reminding their owner of their loveless future and announcing it to anyone who lay eyes upon them. I try not to think of that each time I catch sight of my hands and arms.
I don't know who my soulmate is. Was.
I can't bring myself to think of them in the past tense; I never even knew them. My blood went from transparent to black; not even a spot of red. I went from innocence to despondency in one day.
I used to wonder how they died; not because it made me feel better, but because it reminded me that it was real, that there was a reason why the blood coursing through my veins wasn't clear nor crimson. I'd found myself hoping that they'd died in an accident, and they hadn't suffered. It was better than any alternative. I can't even remember how many sleepless nights fifteen-year-old Ryan went through, pillow pressed in front of his mouth to smother the sobs that wouldn't stop. It was harsh, at first. Imagine having all hope of love and affection and home torn away from you as you watch your veins go dark. It was tough. I made it through. I still don't know how, but I did.
The normal-blooded ones call us the Ashens. I guess that's fair enough. We're the ones who'll never love, or the ones who've lost. We can pair off together, us black-blooded ones, but what little affection we can muster is nothing compared to the passion true love instils. I consider myself lucky; I've never known it, so I can't miss it. It's not quite the same for those who have had a taste of it, who can remember every feature of their other half and yet never be able to see them again.
Tyler's one of those. One who's lost.
Josh had been the centre of his world, the pillar that held up the sky. Two years ago, Tyler's blood had turned pitch black as Josh died, holding his hand. His arms are now inked with patterns, as if he's trying to hide the black running through his veins with black running on his skin. He talks about Josh daily, and I think it's because he's afraid he'll forget. I'd be afraid, too. One thing he's never told me, though, is how Josh died. He never talks about it. His eyes go dark whenever the conversation gets remotely close to that subject, and I've learned to be respectful. Not to pry, not to ask.
But, ultimately, I'm pretty sure we're the winners of this whole game that is life. Once you get through the pain, nothing can really get to you anymore.
I've seen enough to know.
I can live without love.