"Be like an eagle and soar above the mockingbird."
/
(first)
Lucas wakes up with a searing pain burning into his wrist and he vaguely wonders if he's dying.
It is an ungodly hour in the morning—sometime when the sun looks like it's going to burst from the horizon any minute but it doesn't—and he must've slept in an awkward position because his back is unbelievably sore or maybe that's just morning fatigue. Anyways, it doesn't matter because it feels like his wrist is being cut by one of those knives that can toast bread.
It lasts for less than a minute and Lucas sighs in relief when it's over, turns over his wrist and sees a single, curved line in blood red.
There is a taste of stale pennies in his mouth and he swallows.
He knows what this means.
Why isn't there more?
Is question is answered when another bout of pain scorches through his skin again and he grits his teeth and breathes through his nose and thinks that this is probably the highest level of torture to figure out who his soulmate is.
His wrist burns periodically for another five minutes and by then Lucas is panting and sweating and pretty much questioning whether finding his fated significant other is worth all this trouble. He turns over his wrist and his breath hitches in his throat.
A mockingbird.
A memory from so long ago comes to mind and he blinks when the impact of his situation hits him full on, right upside the head. And suddenly seems much smaller and more confining and it's definitely getting hard to breathe and he scrambles into his bathroom, breathing hard when he turns on the faucet and furiously scrubs at his tattoo.
The marking doesn't smear or fade in any way.
Lucas wants to kick a small animal.
/
(second)
He finds her sitting in the front of a small cafe, reading a magazine and looking gorgeous without trying.
She's lounging with a latte in her hands, her hair carefully pinned up, and a scone set in front of her. Her hair is darker shade of blonde than it was before—it makes her look more sophisticated, elegant, effortlessly beautiful. It feels like high school again, and his stomach turns when he realizes that this encounter is definitely not to going to end up as it did back then.
He walks over to her table and tries a hello.
When she looks up, he forgets how to breathe.
Her eyes are still as startling as they were before, clear, intense blue shards of ice, carefully lined and shimmering with some sort of gold eye shadow. And Lucas can't lie, it's hypnotic, and it feels like everything they ever had all over again.
Her voice breaks the spell.
"What do you want?" Maya asks abruptly.
Lucas clears his throat, half out of indignance and the other half out of embarrassment.
"Skipping introductions, aren't we?"
"What's the point?" she replies. "You're still the same guy who broke up with me because of your commitment issues, and I'm still the girl who you think acted like a bitch to you throughout the entire relationship. I don't need introductions to know that."
Lucas pressed his lips together and breathes out through his nose. She still drives him insane, and the thought makes the tattoo on his wrist tingle. "Fine, I guess we're skipping over diplomacy as well. I just need to know one thing."
Maya raises an eyebrow and, with careless grace, sweeps a lock of hair behind her ears. Lucas pauses momentarily to keep his cool.
"What does your mark look like?"
All of a sudden, something flashes in her eyes, and in a second the bright shade of celeste darkens to a stormy lapis blue, and her eyes swirl with something like anger and raw fear. The look in her eyes reminds him of those times when he tried to bring up something touchy from her past—he's stepping into dangerous territory.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says automatically, as if she's rehearsed this one line in front of a mirror.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Lucas insists. "The mark."
He can see Maya's fingers twitch slightly toward her right wrist, where a single, red watch is wrapped.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeats.
"Cut the crap, Maya," Lucas growls. "Just tell me what the shape is, and I'll be done here."
"Then why don't you tell me what your shape is!" she demands, her voice rising.
"It's a mockingbird!" he snaps. "A red mockingbird. Happy?"
Lucas suddenly notices all of the people staring at him, and he swallows thickly as he notices some people's hands shift toward their own wrists. Maya's eyes are lowered and biting her lip and the memory of everything comes flashing by and suddenly he finds himself leaning over the table toward Maya and he asks again: "What is your mark?"
Maya looks up, and he can see the look in her eyes hardening and her voice is like steel when she replies, "That isn't any of your business, Lucas."
"It's just a mark—" Lucas protests.
"—That is private," she states firmly, getting out of her chair, and just like that, she's closed off again. "I'm sorry."
The tone of her voice is crippling.
She leaves him there, just like she did when she broke up with him.
/
(third)
Lucas wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. His wrist feels like it's been burned by red-hot coals.
He scrambles to the nearest sink in his apartment and dunks his arm in cold water, which provides temporary relief. Unfortunately, he has to flush out the water every few minutes with colder water.
As he turns on the tap for the fourth time to fill up his sink again, he thinks about her.
The mark stings insistently.
He lets out a growl and wonders how much longer he's going to be put through this hell.
/
(last)
It's pouring outside when she rings the doorbell.
Lucas has just woken from a bout of nightmares and his wrist is burning like hellfire—probably for the third time this week—and he is in the middle of sticking his hand in a sink of cold water when he hears it.
Grumbling, he shuffles toward the door, rubbing his arm against his shirt to wipe off the water. When he turns the knob, he's face to face with Maya.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, a little stunned.
She doesn't reply right away, but when she does, all she says is, "It's an eagle."
"What?"
"My mark." She shifts, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "It's a red eagle."
Lucas's wrist prickles.
The burning sensation is gone.
There is silence, and he breathes out a shaky breath, and all of a sudden, he knows, and something washes over him as he realizes Maya is standing there, in front of him—in the rain, no less—and still somehow looking as beautiful as ever, and of course she has an eagle on her wrist. It makes sense.
He realizes he's staring when she glances at him, a smirk ghosting her lips.
"Aren't you going to let me in? Or are you just going to stand there?" she asks.
"Um," Lucas remarks smartly, "You look cold."
"No shit, Sherlock."
They grin at each other.
It feels almost like how it used to.