15-year-old Beca Mitchel stood alone in her bedroom, impatiently waiting for the clock to turn from 11:59pm to 12:00am.
When the clock changed, not only would it signify the change from am to pm, but it would signify the rest of Beca's life. Once the clock turned, Beca would officially be 16.
With that, comes the prospect of her driver's license, an extended curfew perhaps (though highly unlikely knowing her mom), but most importantly: the name of her soul mate, etched permanently across her skin.
That's how it works, the moment you ring in your sweet sixteen, the name of the individual whom you are destined to be with miraculously appears somewhere on your body, offering you the slightest guidance as to the direction the rest of your life will follow. For some, their soul mate's name appears in bold, scrawled visibly across their arm or wrist. While others' are written delicately and confined more privately to one's hip or breast bone. Folklore tells of the unlucky few who woke up on the morning of their 16th birthday, horrified to find their soul mate's name inked permanently across their foreheads for all the world to see. Beca doesn't know if this is true or not—she assumes not—as she nor anyone she knows, has ever seen someone with such an obnoxiously unfortunate tattoo. However, the stories of such "tattoo fails" continue to circulate nevertheless, terrifying all the anxious 15 year olds, as a sort of ritualistic practical joke.
Beca however, wasn't concerned with the prospect of potentially waking up on her sixteenth birthday to see her soul mate's name written across her face. No, Beca was more anxious to see whether her soul mate would reveal themselves as male or female.
Sure, the whole tattoo thing made denying one's sexuality virtually impossible. Nonetheless, whenever someone emerged the next day with a definitively male or female name scrawled across their skin, there was often some public hesitation—and occasionally, backlash. This meant that of the 10% of soul mates who fail to "couple"—due to divorce, death or failure to find one another—about half are gays, who lost their partners either to suicide or to public pressure.
However, in Beca's opinion, the worst of all was when someone would wake up on the morning of their 16th, only to find themselves inked with a gender ambiguous name—left alone to sort through their confusion and the thousands of "Alex's" or "Sam's", in hopes of stumbling upon the one single person whom they were meant to spend their life with.
So this is where Beca stands now: in front of her bedroom's full length mirror, anxiously waiting for her soul mate's name to appear somewhere on her ivory skin; to resolve all of her lingering questions, fears and internal conflict.
Beca wasn't stupid. She knows she's had feelings for both men and women in her life—Actually, scratch that. Beca Mitchell doesn't get feelings for people, she gets turned on by people. While most wouldn't dare approach the infamous alt girl, the few who did dare "poke the beast"—pun intended—ranged from older, to younger, male, to female, experienced, to "abstinent", Beca didn't care. If someone was looking for a good time with no emotional involvement, Beca was in. It didn't honestly matter to her if she was being used for a good time or as a quick "experiment", because at the end of the day, Beca was using them all the same. Beca got her moment of brief intimacy from her ventures without ever having to be truly intimate with anyone, never exposing more of herself to others than her stone cold exterior. This was how she liked it; this was what she was what she was used to; this is what she had perfected; this was her motto: keep everyone at an arms length.
You see, ever since she was a little girl, Beca has struggled to connect with people. While all the other girls in her class would spend their time fawning over boys at recess and giggling together over their Barbie dolls, Beca always preferred the solitude of her own company. This was only made worse by Beca's parents' nasty divorce, which left her untrusting of others and terrified of the potential pain caused by emotional attachment.
However, despite Beca's persistent actions to barricade herself from others, she has always longed for that intrinsic connection others seem to forge so easily. Beca has always felt as though she was shunted of that experience with her parents, and so, the advent of her soul mate's name signifies so much more to her than just her potential spouse; it signifies a chance for Beca to truly connect with someone outside of herself, to feel loved, to show love, and above all else, to not be alone.
Beca had always hoped her soul mate and she would be different than her parents. So while she may hide behind her harsh eyeliner and sarcastic demeanor, effectively shrugging off anyone who got too close, what Beca secretly craved was just for someone to try. Plain and simple. Beca wanted someone to try in a way her father never did: someone who was willing to fight for her, to work to break down her walls, someone who honestly cared about Beca: not Beca Mitchel the infamous badass or good time, but Beca the person. So, Beca rationalized that if no one was willing to do that, then she would rather be alone. But even the big bad Beca Mitchell got lonely. So for Beca, her hopes of one day finding someone who cared enough to fight for her and to break down her walls, were highlighted in golden letters by her potential soul mate's name.
**BZZZZZZZ**
Beca was jolted from her thoughts as her phone alarm went off, signaling the transition from her past to her future.
Beca stood there, flooded with a combination of anxiety and excitement. She closed her eyes tightly, balling her firsts at her side in anticipation, as she slowly counted to ten in her head.
Beca exhaled a shaky breath as she slowly opened her eyes, relieved to see that her forehead was in fact ink-free.
"So far so good", Beca thought to herself, as she continued to scan her exposed skin, searching like a hawk for the inevitable black marking.
Beca leaned in closer to the mirror, checking her face: No, Arms? No, Wrists? No, Hip? No, Calves? No? Ankles? No?!
Growing more impatient, Beca turned around, scanning the back of her body as best she could in the mirror.
Shoulders?! No, Arms?! NO, Back?! No? Legs!? NO?! Feet maybe? NO!?
Beca's impatient excitement slowly turned into anxious confusion, as she began tugging at her bra and sleep shorts, expecting to find that promised name etched somewhere hidden by the thin fabric. But no. It wasn't there. Turning more frantic by the second, Beca began searching her hair line, ears, toes, even inside of her mouth, trying to find her soul mate's name.
Beca knew some people's tattoos were more obscure than others, but surely it shouldn't be this hard to find, she thought to herself. After ten minutes of inspecting every inch of her body, Beca finally allowed the realization to sink in. Dejectedly, Beca exhaled a slow breath as she leaned her back against the mirror and slumped to the floor. After a second, the shock of the situation passed, and Beca began to feel her eyes cloud with tears and her chest constrict with a shattering pain, not dissimilar to the anguish she felt the day her father left.
"Its not there", Beca said shakily to herself, as she tried to breathe through the pain. And with that, the tears began to flow, leaving Beca quietly sobbing on her bedroom floor, trying her best not to wake her sleeping mother.
After countless minutes had passed and Beca appeared all cried out, her mind began to race.
"This isn't possible" she said to herself, "Everyone has a soul mate. For God's sake, even Sweaty Steven has a tattoo on his bicep." And she was right, as far as Beca knew, everyone had a soul mate. That was the one constant everyone could count on in their life. It didn't matter if you were a guy or a girl, if you were fat, Catholic, Muslim, white, black, racist, sexist, rich or poor, EVERYONE HAS A SOULMATE! Or so Beca thought.
Even with all of the "tattoo fails" circulating, Beca had never once heard of someone who didn't get a tattoo on their 16th birthday. At this thought Beca's anguish turned into pure rage. Of course she has a soul mate, she thought to herself. Everyone has one, so of course she has one. Maybe she just didn't look well enough. She was pretty nervous when she first looked, maybe she just missed it, she rationalized to herself.
With that, Beca shot up off of the floor, wiping her dried tears with the backs of her hands, and once again began scanning her body—only this time, with more purpose. As she continued to find nothing but skin, Beca's anger grew, merging with her previous feelings of fear and confusion. Beca began angrily ripping at her clothing, fighting to remove the fabric from her body, as tears once again flooded her vision. Standing naked in front of her mirror, there was no other explanation…Beca simply didn't have a tattoo.
Making eye contact with herself in the mirror, Beca saw nothing but a shell of a person. Her sadness and disparity were evident in her navy eyes, as Beca could no longer hold onto the hope of one day finding her perfect match. She was alone, she was going to have to get used to that…she was used to that.
Surrendering to the reality of the situation, Beca tiredly redressed and crawled into bed. Beca wrapped herself in a cocoon of blankets, desperately trying to reproduce the warmth and comfort she now knew she would never have.
"Happy fucking birthday, Beca", she mumbled to herself sadly as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.