You have a timer on your wrist that counts down to the day your soulmate dies

TW/ Death, cursing, general angst, medication misuse, smoking, mentions of alcohol

Whitney jammed her keys into the ignition, hot tears streaming down her face. She'd just had a fight with her mother, and she needed to get away.

She knew she'd overreacted, she knew it. Her mother had been trying to help her, and Whitney had snapped.

"Wynn, you need to slow down. You're stressed, you're not thinking straight." Her mother's words echoed in her mind, the memory of her worried blue eyes pressing her thoughts. She furiously wiped at her eyes, denying her obvious guilt the satisfaction of gripping her chest.

"School is hard- trust me, I get it, but you're overworking yourself." Whitney growled in frustration, pounding her fist on the edge of the steering wheel in a failed attempt at keeping her composure. "Wait… you're taking your meds, aren't you?"

She was so sick of that. So fucking sick of everyone always asking if she was taking her anxiety medication. As if that would fix all of her issues and make her perfect again. It wasn't fair, she wasn't a kid anymore, she could handle herself. She didn't need anyone to look out for her.

Taking a shaking breath, she couldn't help but spare a glance at her wrist. If she had any hope of calming her shaking palms, it was gone now.

00:32:24:17

Shit.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. That wasn't long. She was only 20 years old, and yet before her life could even begin, the one thing she had sought out most was going to be torn away from her in 32 hours.

Everyone in the world was born with a timer on their wrist, a set of deep red numbers displaying the time their spulmate's life would end. It was cruel, really. No one knew their soulmate until they died.

She'd heard so many stories of people watching their timers tick down to zero and find their significant others alive and well. She'd heard the guilt of that could be incapacitating, and she was certain she'd fall into the same cycle. Her stomach churned, and she felt ill.

She pressed her forehead to the top of the wheel, shivering as she tried to steady her breathing. She didn't care. Or, at least, that was the facade she wore as she pulled out of the driveway, only catching the slightest glimpse of her mother's frame against the porch railing.

Anger bubbled in her throat, and she hardly noticed as her foot worked the petal further and further towards the floor. Her surroundings sped by at a blinding speed. Green blurred with the sky as it faded from an orange wash to a deep indigo.

Once back at her dorm, she stormed into her room and grabbed the small amber bottle from her desk. It rattled invitingly, and she glared at the label, two words scribbled haphazardly across the expanse.

Whitney Sparks

She took a few moments to think over everything that had been exchanged that evening. Without a second thought, whe popped open the lid and tapped two of the white pills into her palm, groaning in frustration as her hands refused to stay still.

"Wow, looking for some relaxation, Wynnie?"

The voice startled her, the small white tablets dropping to the cream carpet below. Whitney cursed, dropping to her knees to scoop them up, cradling them to her chest.

"Seriously, Mel? What the hell?" She snapped, shooting a piercing green glare to the silvery-headed girl leaning in the doorway. A cigarette dangled from her lips, a cloud of gray flooding from her nostrils.

"What ever do you mean?" she purred innocently, blinking as she kicked off her old converse and plopped on her bed. She slipped her cigarette into her fingers, drawing in another breath and puffing once more.

"Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you to stop that?" hissed Whitney, quickly snatching the roll from her roommate and stamping it out on the shitty metal plate Melainey oh so affectionately called "ashely".

"Bad habit," she grinned.

"That doesn't answer my question," the brunette retorted.

"Mmm, I'm thinking it'll take more than a little scolding, babe," hummed the blonde, seemingly unbothered. "Though, I never took you for the type to double dose."

"I'm not," Whitney stated indignantly, fist clenching around the tablets that slipped around in her sweaty palms.

"Yeah? So, care to tell me why you've got two doses more than normal right there?" Melainey's usually cocky demeanor couldn't mask the hint of worry in her deep brown eyes.

"Rough day," Whitney replied quickly, tone sharper than she meant.

Melissa let out a loud laugh of disbelief. "Sorry? Hun, you have rough days all the time. There's no reason for you to double up like that," Melainey scolded, crossing her arms.

"Oh, that's rich coming from the girl who goes to get stoned in her girlfriend's basement every night," Whitney snapped.

"Hey, that's none of your concern!" Melainey defended, face flushing with embarrassment at being called out so bluntly. "We're talking about you, Wynn. Yeah, you're stressed, but why are you lashing out like this?"

"That's none of your concern," Whitney mocked. She knew she was being a bitch, but God did it feel good to get it out. She'd been so busy revising for her exams that she'd let her emotions stay trapped in her chest and her anxiety go unchecked and untreated. Even with her shaking hands, she felt liberated for the first time in a long time.

"Babe." Melainey glared at her, voice laced with that familiar sternness she gained from having 4 younger siblings. "This isn't about me. I'm not letting you do something stupid because you 'had a bad day'. Now, either you tell me right now, or I'm taking you out to the bar to make you tell me."

"That's not legal-"

"Legal my ass, when has that ever stopped me?" Melainey glared, raising a brow expectantly.

"I hate you," Whitney groaned weakly, unwilling to put up much more of a fight. She was exhausted, and realized quickly how stupid she was being.

"Yeah, yeah. Pills," her icy blonde friend held her palm out expectantly. With a defeated sigh, Whitney dropped the tablets in her outstretched palm and plopped onto her own bed just across from her.

Whitney stared at her own lap as she fiddled with her fingers, avoiding the conversation she desperately did not want to have. "So? Talk."

Silence resumed for a few moments more before Whitney finally spoke up. "I fought with my Mum today…" she muttered. She could see the look of shock on Melainey's face in the corner of her eye. She couldn't blame her, Whitney and her mother almost never fought.

"Seriously? Lily isn't the type to pick a fight with you- for any reason-"

"Yeah, I know, I know. But we were just talking, and college came up, and- and she noticed me shaking and everything just went to shit. You know I hate bringing that up with my family- they worry."

"Course I do," Melainey stayed quiet outside of those words, urging her to continue with a dip of her head. Whitney picked at her nails, coated in chipped white paint.

"I just- she was asking about my finals, and when I tried to tell her, I panicked because I don't want to disappoint her. I'm supposed to have straight A's, be the "smart one". If she saw that I was struggling she'd lose hope in me and- and I ca-"

"That's bullshit and you know it," the blonde interrupted her, irritation lacing her curled ruby lips. Whitney sat in silence, staring at her lap, feeling as though if she stared hard enough, she could shrink in on herself and disappear.

"Wynn." hissed the older woman, gaze hard. "You are allowed to struggle. I've met your parents, they wouldn't care if you were top of your class or just barely scraping by. They love you, dammit," the girl tried to explain.

"Yes- but I hate it when they worry. They've babied me my entire life because of my stupid ear and I hate it. I feel so helpless all of the time and it's not fair." Whitney threaded her fingers through the roots of her hair, tugging angrily as her hand brushed the hearing aid pressed to the side of her head.

"Jesus, Wynn. I love you, I really do, but this is absolutely fucking absurd. They are your parents, they have every right to worry! Hell, they should be worried if your immediate response to something so dumb is to take pills!" Melainey's voice was raising, now, and Whitney's leg bounced restlessly in response.

"Who's side are you on?!" Whitney snapped, exasperated.

"I don't know! I'm on whichever side that keeps you from doing this stupid shit! I'm looking out for your well being!"

"Oh would you stop throwing that in my face!" Whitney snarled, standing abruptly. She was trembling again, and she knew it. Her hair clung to her face as she glared, eyes blazing.

"Fuck, babe, I'm trying to look out for you! Get that through your head before you blow up at me!" Melainey retorted, growing angrier by the moment.

"Fuck off! I don't need you looking out for me!" The brunette shrieked, eyes wide and full of desperate fury. Her chest burned and her breaths were ragged as she glared at her roommate, who sat in utter shock. "I'm leaving."

"I- excuse me?" was all the silvery-blonde girl could mutter.

"I'm leaving," Whitney repeated dryly as she rushed around, grabbing her keys, wallet, and jacket. She would be getting a hotel tonight.

"Wynn, no-" Melainey tried, but the brunette refused to listen.

"Leave it," hissed Whitney as she strode for the door, purse in hand. She pushed on the wood, and it gave way easily under the force of her hand.

"How long?" Melainey's voice was quiet, and Whitney felt the soles of her feet stick to their places in the doorway. She stayed quiet.

"How long, Whitney?" It took everything the girl had not to turn around and look back at her friend. She spared her wrist a glance and a grimace.

"30 hours," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh God, Wynn..." Melainey murmured in disbelief, her tone laced with pity.

"Goodbye, Mel." With that, Whitney shut the door and shuffled towards the parking lot.

That night was a blur, going from one club to another and then another until the sun peeked over the horizon and she was stumbling towards a shitty motel bed. Her sleep was restless at best, and it was only when she woke up at around 3 in the afternoon when the panic truly set in.

00:16:41:58

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Whitney cried, grappling at her scalp as she realized how little time she had to find her soulmate. Less than 24 hours and they would be gone forever.

Throat tight and glasses thrown on haphazardly, she grabbed her few belongings and dashed for her car.

Her mind raced as she jammed her keys in the ignition, stomach tumbling from her throat to her feet and back again. She sped out of the old parking lot and began driving from location to location, desperately trying to find the one semblance of hope she had left.

She drive for hours on end, hands trembling and stomach churning. She was an absolute mess. She'd tried to tell herself that it didn't matter, that she didn't care whether or not she met her soulmate. But God, she cared. She cared because what was the point if there was no one out there waiting to meet her, waiting to see her smile and learn to know and love her stupid laugh and the way she scratched her cheek when she was nervous. There wasn't one, not one she could fathom in her panicked mind as she sped down the neighborhood streets.

Whitney drove until the sun set, and she didn't stop, even when the sky grew light and the sun shone high in the sky. She was running low on fuel in more ways than one, but she wouldn't stop. She couldn't.

She didn't stop when the light turned red, and she didn't stop when she heard the loud horn. It was when she met a pair of familiar eyes behind the wheel of the car beside her that she realized she couldn't stop.

Whitney only stopped when metal collided with metal and a loud screech sounded through the air.

Once the smoke cleared, the only things left unscathed were the pair of wrists decorated with flashing red numbers.

00:00:00:00