Kate had been born with her words stamped across her wrist in short, cramped block letters.
'Come on in, Princess'
She showed her best friend, Jessica, and the other girl had gushed about how her soulmate was going to call her sweet things like Princess and Buttercup. Little Kate let her mind conjure up fantasies of perfect gentlemen and knights in shining armor. Her soulmate was going to be handsome and kind, her very own prince charming.
Her Mama would smile fondly at her musings and reassure her. Yes, of course, God would give such a faithful and devout girl like her the most wonderful of soulmates. He'd send her an angel to shield and protect her.
When Scott joined the family Kate had almost immediately asked to see his words.
He said no.
It had not been a very good start to their relationship.
She'd decided that if she couldn't see his, then he would not see hers. It was petty and childish, but what else could be expected. They were children.
Kate covered her wrist and her words with a leather cuff her Daddy had bought her, just like any proper girl ought to until their words were spoken. Scott, with his words printed on the just of his hip, just had to be careful not to lift his shirt up and flash his words the world.
They both knew Jennifer's and Jacob's words, though. Jacob had Jennifer's neatly printed handwriting along his collarbone, 'Excuse me, but could you tell me which way to the courthouse?'
Jennifer had Jacob's messy scrawl along the underside of her arm, 'Well, gee, I wish I could.'
It had been their first meeting, with Jennifer on her way to jury duty of all things. Jacob had been buying flowers for his mother when she'd stopped him to ask for directions, and the rest was history.
Kate loved hearing her parents tell that story, loved the way it never failed to make her mother light up. She loved thinking that someday she would tell the story of how she met her soulmate to her own children.
She loved her words dearly and couldn't wait for the day she would her them said aloud.
She was sure it would be the best day of her life.
She was wrong.
….
Seth was not born with his words. It was a normal thing. It just meant his soulmate would be younger than him. No one worried about it at all.
Less than a year later his little brother Richie was born with the words 'It's alright Richard' scribbled across his palm.
Richie adored his messily scrawled words. He learned letters and words quickly and used all his time to read and write and theorize. He especially liked to theorize about his soulmate.
What was alright?
Were they consoling him?
How did they know his name?
Had he already introduced himself by then?
Maybe they were pen pals who had never met in person before.
He talked to Seth, but his big brother (who wasn't really bigger than him at all) was never interested.
Richie assumed it was because Seth didn't have his words yet.
Richie found him one day after their old man had beat his head in. Seth was staring blankly at his open palm, the setting sun bathing him in it's dying light.
"They'll come." Richie told him as he dropped to dead grass beside his brother. Richie reclined against the peeling siding of their home and watched his brother as he turned to face him.
"What's that?" Seth asked. His eyes were wide and confused, like he hadn't even noticed Richie approaching him. Richie noted the swelling around his left eye and the cut on his lip, but fought the rising frustration in his chest.
His big brother was so strong, but he made himself so weak in front of their father, and Richie could never understand why.
Instead of following his darker train of thought, Richie clarified his statement. "Your words. They'll come. There's going to be someone out there who's right for you."
Seth frowned at him and Richie knew he was thinking about their mother. Their parents had been soulmates, but she still left. She abandoned her soulmate and her children alike.
"Who needs 'em." Seth shrugged.
He was getting older, almost ten now, and he still didn't have any words. It was possible his soulmate had died before he had even been born, or that he was just one of those unlucky bastards who never got to have their soulmate's words staining their skin.
Seth liked to think it didn't bother him, even if it really, really did.
After all, even if he did have words and a soulmate, they would probably just leave him the way his mother had.
Richie slumped into Seth's shoulder and the two sat there in silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, and they listened to their father start yelling from inside the house.
Richie tried to focus on the rising sound of crickets instead.
Seth let the angry, drunken shouts sink through his skin and into his bones, where they made a home for themselves.
Seth thought about all the good things he didn't deserve, and Richie thought about all the horrible things their father deserved.
…
Seth was fifteen when he woke up with a burning pain in his chest. For a fleeting moment he was convinced he was having a heart attack.
His face twisted as he clutched at his heart through his loose tee, silent screams tearing their way up his throat.
He did his best to swallow them, not wanting to wake Uncle Eddie or his brother.
After minutes of burning pain the sensation ebbed away and left him shaking there in his bed.
Seth sat up- too fast judging by his spotted vision (or maybe that was just from the pain). Either way, he didn't wait for his vision to clear or his breathing to even out before he was ripping his sheets away and stumbling, half delirious, to the bathroom down the hall. He stubbed his toe and knocked over a shit ton of building plans for an upcoming job of Eddie's.
Once he reached the bathroom and smacked randomly at the wall until the lights came on in the small space. Seth blinked his eyes against the light and tried to look at his reflection. To his dismay, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust. His mirror image came into focus slowly.
He put his hands on his cheeks, turned his head, spent several long minutes examining his face and eyes until he was convinced he was awake and not about to keel over.
The pain that gripped him such a short time ago was gone, only the memory of it and his own breathlessness remaining as proof.
Seth splashed cold water on his face and stepped away from the mirror. The hum of Eddie's dingy fluorescent lights and the dripping faucet were the only sounds in the whole house.
Seth's hands wandered to his chest to rest limply over his heart. The memory of the burning pain flashed through his mind and the next moment he was pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the tiled floor.
Oh.
Oh.
Words. He had words.
Seth had long given up on words and soulmates and any kind of happiness beyond what could be found with his brother.
His index and middle fingers gently hovered over the slanted, looping script, as if he were afraid he might rub them away.
'He scared me.'
Who scared them? Who was his soulmate afraid of- going to be afraid of. God, words were so fucked up. He supposed he ought to be grateful that it didn't say 'you scare me'. He didn't want them to be scared of him. He wouldn't let anyone scare them. He'd make sure they were safe, even if that meant he had to protect them from himself.
Fuck, and they were a baby. His soulmate was a newborn baby in someone's arms. At least he hoped so. He hoped they had a mom who wasn't gonna walk out and a dad who would never hurt them. He hoped they were loved so fucking much.
We can't both be broken. Please, let them be happy.
Seth pressed his palm over his heart. It was still beating hard like a drum in his chest, but for very different reasons now than when he'd woken up. He wet his lips and nervously pulled his hand away from his chest.
A sigh of relief slipped past his lips when the words were still there. Then he started laughing. He kept laughing until Richie came in to see what was happening, asking questions and grasping at his shoulders.
"This poor fucking kid has me as a soulmate." He laughed.
Richie's eyes widened before dropping to Seth's body, immediately zeroing in on the neat cursive on his chest.
"Seth-" He started, elation beginning to seep into him for his brother. It had taken so long, but he had words. He had someone.
"This poor fucking kid." Seth's voice cracked and he dropped his head into the crook of his little brother's neck. "This poor fucking kid."
Choked sobs came up between laughs and Richie's shoulders slumped as he realized that maybe this all came too late. Hope was just a cruel joke to Seth now, so Richie wrapped an arm around his brother and let the two of them sink to the ground.
They never talked about Seth's words again.