Who Are We To Question Fate?

One week.

One week of horrible sleep, exhaustingly long shifts and stressful walks along the street.

Her every waking thought revolved around her marks and the blue-eyed man, Barry, who she had met while trying to rush from Dr. Fletcher's office. She couldn't sleep properly, she couldn't focus at work and every person with a dark coat and pale skin caused her to jerk and instinctively try to get closer while consciously trying to get away. She felt like she was being pulled in two different directions and it was beginning to affect her more each day.

She'd heard of this before, when soulmates were too far from one another after they had met—although, it was usually when people had average soulmarks that were easy to miss the actual interaction, usually caused by simple 'hello' or 'have a nice day' soulmarks that someone heard a hundred times a day.

Even if she hadn't outright rejected him, Iris's determination to stay away while instincts and desires screamed at her to find him—them—was straining her impossibly. She hoped that it wasn't doing the same to him, but deep down she knew that those kinds of dreams were foolish. He would be feeling the same things as her.

And thus returned the guilt.

Her coworkers were beginning to notice her paler-than-average skin and the shadows that had formed beneath her eyes, which resulted in her being ordered by the owners of the large bookstore she worked at to take the weekend off. She couldn't even remember the last time she had taken a weekend for herself; her coworkers all hated having to work weekends, so she would do them voluntarily and give them all a break.

"Don't have a life anyway," she'd muttered to herself at the time, cutting open a new box of books to price, scan and stock.

Entering her apartment and stripping off her many layers while she turned on the small heater between her bed and the bathroom door, she kicked her pants aside as she reminded herself to fold them up later. Dropping her bra and underwear down beside them as she entered the small bathroom, the thin woman found herself silently thanking whatever god existed that her apartment had utilities included—which meant that she could climb into her shower and turn the hot water on for as long as she wanted without running up her bill.

Doing just that, Iris hunched down on the floor of her shower as hot water continued to beat down against her back. She never liked the colder seasons; her lack of fat content always meant that she felt more of a chill than most.

Once the tiles were warm enough, she sat down completely and began to tiredly run her fingers through her hair, pulling out the knots that were developing beneath the stream of water. The hot water helped to relax her tight muscles, all of the stress from the day seeming to finally begin to melt off of her. The tile of the wall was still cold when she leant back against it, letting the constant stream of water hit her legs as she looked down at the scattering of black words and silver scars.

Her thigh had one of the worst scars her body bore; it was to the point that two of the words were illegible when the scar was left to heal without stitches. Thankfully, she had read it and memorized it before her parents tried to take it from her.

She knew every single one of her marks off by heart, so no scar could take that from her.

It had once read, clearly and legibly in what appeared to be feminine writing, Finally, I get the light! Now, the beginning of Finally was crossed through to the point of the letters indistinguishable and light was marked up to the point that if she hadn't known the word before it was ruined, she wouldn't have been able to guess it.

As much as she loved her marks, and she wished that she could extend that love to her soulmates, she had always carried around the worries that she might be rejected for the destruction of her marks. Would her soulmate be offended to know that their mark on her was ruined? Would they not believe her because some were difficult to read?

Sighing deeply as she let her head fall to her knees, blocking out the sight of the ruined mark, Iris tried to stop the depressing train of thought and focus instead on the steady pulse in her ears alongside the rush of the hot water on her shoulders.

Minutes ticked by slowly as the soothing feeling of the hot water continued to pour down across her skin, washing away the stress and tension that had been building throughout the week. Eventually, the sound of the water faded into the background of her mind as she slumped boneless against the wall of the shower.

"When did that one show up?"

The familiar shriek of her mother's voice drew a strangled gasp from the young girl, spinning around so quickly that she almost slipped on the wet bathroom tiles and ended up getting slapped in the face by her long hair. In the doorway of the bathroom was her mother, the woman's expression livid as she looked at the black writing that was now at the top of her spine; Good morning, dear, we haven't met yet.

Iris tried to back away from the look her mother was giving her, but the woman reached out and snatched her arm before she could get too far. "Well? When?"

"I-I dunno," Iris answered honestly. She'd only just spotted it when she was getting out of her bath, she hadn't made a point to look at her back that often. "Mom, please, I'm sorry!"

"Shut up!" Using the arm that she was still holding, Olivia Mayfair pulled her daughter clean off her feet and hauled her back to the bathtub that Iris had yet to drain. Shrieking in protest, Iris tried to fight against the iron grip on her bicep. "I am sick of this!"

"No, no! Mom!" Iris's cries of protest were silenced when she was pulled over the edge of the tub and pushed face first into the lukewarm water. Her hands scratched at the sides of the tub as the water closed in around her, rushing into her mouth and into her throat. Her body jerked desperately in an attempt to get free, but her mother switched her hold to her hair instead.

Her throat burned from the water that had gone down it and she was trying not to couch and end up breathing in more, nails searching for something to dig into and pull herself up from the water. She struggled and pushed, when she suddenly felt the scratchy sensation of something abrasive against her skin, right where the newest soulmark had appeared.

Her mother was trying to scrub it off of her skin.

Even through the water, Iris could hear her mother shouting and cursing, the words too muddled to understand. The need for oxygen grew as the young girl tried to fight against the urge to cough and inhale, knowing that it would surely kill her. Her body continued to twitch as she held her breath, lungs and throat burning, before it became too much and Iris's diaphragm trembled with a spasm, forcing her to inhale. Her feet kicked blindly on instinct, as though trying to swim through water that was not there.

The rush of soapy, lukewarm water was immediate; pouring into her lungs like acid.

A hand grasping her hair suddenly pulled, removing her from the water.

Iris bolted up in the shower with enough force to slam her head back against the tiles, her vision spotting as her abrupt returned to consciousness left her dizzy and disoriented. Her throated burned with the memory of the water going down, filling her lungs with foreign pain. The back of her skull throbbed where it had connected with the wall, but it wasn't her main focus as the pale woman scrambled for the temperature controls, desperately turning them to the left to stop the flow of water as she gasped for air with ragged pants.

Suddenly, the warm shower was the last thing she wanted to be sitting in.

The only thing that prevented her from slipping on her bathroom floor was the bathmats that she had in front of the shower and sink, covering most of the minimal flooring. Snagging her towel and wrapping herself in the reassuring cloth, soft and dry, Iris fled from the bathroom in a desperate attempt to remove the pain and memories.

The small heater that she had turned on before entering the washroom had done its job, heating her small studio apartment to a comfortable degree, though not quite enough to entirely prevent her saturated skin and hair of chilling once free of the washroom. Unwrapping her body to instead use the towel on her hair, Iris stumbled over to her closet alcove and selected an oversized sweater from the hanger and old sweatpants from the shelves beneath.

She hadn't thought of that particular moment in a long time. She was still very young when it showed up, perhaps five? She had already had several marks already, so that was just another reason for her parents to hate her. It got to the point that she did everything she could to make sure they weren't aware when she did get a new mark. As far as she knew, they believed she was a monster with only twelve marks, because after that she made sure they were in the dark.

And they did not seem to mind that at all. Almost as though they could pretend it wasn't getting worse if she kept it a secret.

Hanging her towel over the foot of her bed, Iris didn't hesitate to crawl onto the too-soft mattress and curl up in her oversized clothing. One hand went to her neck absently, trying to forget the pain that had accompanied swallowing the water.

It wasn't as though life had been much easier for her before, but it seems that since having contacted Dr. Fletcher, everything had become a million times more complicated.

Pulling the hood of her sweater over her head to cover her chilling hair, still soaked through, Iris began to hum quietly to herself. Call it her coping mechanism. Something that she had started as a child when she was terrified of her parents, she had begun to sing to herself whenever they would hurt her or scream at her. Even when they fought with one another and she could hear them, the shouting and suggested violence left her terrified that they could be coming for her next.

Putting her hands over her ears as she began to hum Für Elise to herself, Iris began to picture in her mind all of the things that had changed; reminding herself that she was free from them and safe in her new life. She pictured her work, her coworkers that were kind to her, her apartment that was small but hers.

Then, against her will, a mental image of Barry came to mind as she pictured him grinning down at her after he had complimented her coat.

Her humming cut off abruptly and she opened her eyes, looking at the far wall in shock.

Was he something that she counted among the blessings of her new life?

There was a love that she carried around for her marks, but she'd spent so long thinking that she couldn't meet her soulmates that she'd never taken the time to think about what that may be like. She'd assumed that it was twenty-three different people—physically—but if her soulmate really did have D.I.D then that would change all of her assumptions.

A guilty ache had been building in her chest for the past week, growing worse with every thought she had about the soulmate she from whom she had run. Having lived the life she had, raised as she had been, Iris had trouble understanding her own actions toward the stranger that she was destined to be with.

Groaning aloud as she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling instead of the wall, Iris knew that she wasn't going to be sleeping much that night. It would just turn out the same as all the other nights thus far, with a few hours of struggled, broken sleep that provided no rest. A mind that refused to sleep. Her chest ached and her scars and marks seemed to burn with each thought.

Tonight would be the same, she knew.

Her stomach chose that moment to pinch painfully from lack of food, breaking Iris from her bleak thoughts and drawing her into a tired sitting position. That was another thing she needed to do very soon: grocery shopping. Thinking back, she knew that she had enough for two days if she was to really press into her supplies; like bread and mayo.

Thankfully, she at least had a dish of instant noodles left that she had been saving for a particularly crummy day.

Rolling reluctantly off of her bed, thankful for the mat that covered majority of her flooring to protect her bare feet from the chill, Iris snatched her kettle and moved to fill it with water so she could boil it while deciding that tea would be best to have with her food. She'd been trying different herbal blends all week but nothing helped her to sleep.

The sudden shriek of her cellphone caused her to drop the kettle abruptly. The clatter of it falling into the sink, water splashing up from the tumble, caused her to flinch and leap to turn off the water before more of a mess was created.

She turned sharply and scrambled for her phone while shaking water from her hands as she tried to ignore the wetness of the sleeves.

Karen Fletcher.

A faint whimper escaped Iris at the sight of the doctor's name. Sinking down to sit on the floor as the fatigue of the week returned to her bones, Iris closed her eyes for a moment before she blindly tapped at the screen.

When she opened her eyes to see which button had been pressed, she felt her heart lurch at the sight of her call screen in progress.

"Miss. Mayfair? Are you there?"

Wincing again, Iris lifted the phone to her ear so she could hear the older woman properly. "Yes, Dr. Fletcher, I'm here."

"Iris, how are you? Is everything alright?"

Hesitating a moment as she thought back to her reflection, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep and shoulders hunched down with weariness. "…I'm fine, doctor. Why?"

A soft sigh issued through the line, causing a frown to pinch at Iris's brows. "Dear…I'm worried that the two of you are straining yourselves. Please, Iris, this is not healthy."

"I know," Iris breathed out, not even intended to answer but finding the tired words slipping through before she could catch them. "You…you said two. Is Barry okay?" Dr. Fletcher didn't answer immediately, letting silence fill the line. The quiet didn't do anything to assure the young woman as she jerked in panic from her place on the floor. "Doctor?"

"Barry is here with me now," Fletcher answered after a continued silence, her concern for the man evident in her tone. "He's been having some trouble since you two met. It's difficult for you as well, I'm sure," Fletched explained, her voice sounding slightly distracted. To think that Barry was there with Fletcher, probably seeking out someone to speak to or ask for help, made Iris's eyes burn with repressed emotion. She had never felt more hate for herself than in that moment, knowing she was the cause of someone else's pain.

Iris rubbed at her tired eyes for a moment to try and remove the sting of tears, shaking her head at herself. She really was a terrible person. "Has he been sleeping?"

"No," Fletcher answered honestly, the word barely more than a whisper.

Drifting her hand down from her eyes to wipe down along her face, the action doing nothing to wake her or remove the ache from her actions. "Just…just wait. Just wait."

Hanging up the phone before she could change her mind, Iris rushed over to turn off the burner on the stove and then the small heater by the bathroom. Her hair was still wet and un-brushed, tangled beneath her hood as she hurried through her small apartment to pull on her shoes and stuff her phone into the pocket of the overly large sweater. If she stopped to think she would second-guess herself and not do it; she would become a coward and back into the corner to reprimand herself for another stupid decision.

No. She wasn't going to make the same mistake again. No more running away.

Running from her problems was something she had done since she was young enough to learn that it was the only way. This was different; Barry and her other soulmates weren't a problem. They weren't meant to be a cause of fear or distress. That was unfortunately something that just developed in her mind over time.

Locking her apartment door behind her, Iris didn't even take a moment to realize that her hand and wrist marks were visible as she rushed down the street in distress, the darkness of the evening far from her mind. Her eyes were wide and she was paler than normal, drawing some startled stares from the few people lingering on the streets.

For once, she didn't care.