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There never really seemed to be any rhyme or reason to the soulmark someone got. For some it was a physical one, for others it was emotional, some psychological - it just seemed like the luck of the draw. There were theories that the universe gave everyone what they needed, but nobody knew for sure.
For Luisa, it was achromatopsia. She’d known since she was old enough to understand what soulmates were. When you’re five years old and you realize that everyone around you doesn’t just see the world in shades of black, white, and grey, you come to terms with it pretty quickly.
For Rose, it was synesthesia. But she didn’t know it. As soon as she had gotten old enough to understand the concept of soulmates, she was already glad that she didn’t seem to have one. There were no marks, no names or first words, she didn’t hear or feel anyone in her head, she saw every color in the rainbow and then some - she didn’t have a soulmate, and she preferred it that way. She was wrong.
The first color Luisa saw was red.
Her eyes had been drawn to the woman walking into the bar from the moment she’d stepped in, but after color bloomed from her dress to her hair, eventually filling the world around her with astounding hues of colors she didn’t yet have names for, she found she couldn’t look away.
Rose. Her name was Rose. Roses, it turned out, really were red. In that moment, red became her favorite color. (Later, she would hate it.)
That night she explored every inch of Rose’s body, found every freckle and scar, looking for a soulmark, anything - her name, a word, a set of coordinates, but she found nothing. She kept her gaze as she made her come again and again, panting and desperate, thinking as loudly as she could and hoping to see those thoughts reflected back. For a moment, just a flicker, she could have sworn they were.
As she drifted to sleep with Rose nestled against her, she was so sure. Rose was her soulmate, and she was hers - it had to be.
Then she woke up alone.
For Rose, the night she met Luisa was a blur of passion and confusion. She felt drawn to the brunette at the bar - she radiated sex and intelligence - but it was more than that. As she let herself be pulled under the water, then laid out on the motel sheets and consumed so entirely, brought to the edge again and again with an intensity and skill she’d never felt before, she was overwhelmed by how easily she had given up control. Just for a moment, as Luisa slept, she allowed herself to be held for the first time in as long as could remember.
Panic welled up in her throat and she bolted, quick but silent, as always, and fled hoping to leave the entire experience back in that bed with the woman who looked at her like she painted the sky and consumed her like she was already hers.
The next morning Luisa found herself filled with a strange mix of sadness and elation. She felt bereft at the sudden disappearance of the woman she had been so sure would be the rest of her life, but was in awe of every single thing she could see.
She was astounded by the sunrise - she hadn’t believed people when they said there were more shades of pink than could be named, but she’d never been happier to be wrong - and made her way through the world in a daze. The songs all made sense, green trees, blue skies, the nuances of the world around her were staggering in their diversity.
It was almost too much.
Especially when every apple, stop sign, rose reminded her of what she’d unwittingly lost between the moment she fell asleep and the moment she woke.
Rose was astounded by just how many marks Luisa had left on her body. She’d known they had been passionate, even wild at times, but she thought she would remember so many scratches or those small red nips down her stomach and across her hips. Especially since she was normally the one who liked to use her teeth.
They kept appearing throughout the day until she looked as thoroughly handled as she felt. It was too much.
She was going to need to keep Emilio at an arm’s reach until they faded. That was certainly not part of the plan. She used every weapon in her cosmetic arsenal to hide the physical aftereffects of her night with Luisa - if only it worked for the emotional ones too.
To Rose, emotions were neither relevant nor beneficial; if anything they were a detriment, a weakness, a flaw in judgment. They did her no good, and normally she had no problem remembering that. But with every piece of evidence of the night before that appeared on her skin, she couldn’t help but feel something, even if she didn’t quite know what to call it, and that something was directly tied to the brunette who was left, in her sleep, fully unaware that it was happening to her.
By the time Luisa found herself at dinner that night with her family, the aching loss in her chest had grown and she found herself enthralled by the shades of gold in the wine that swirled in her father’s glass. It looked so inviting. Alcohol had always seemed like a friend, even when it caused her pain, but it had never looked quite so warm and alluring. How was she supposed to stay sober now that liquor was not ashen or black like oil? Even the clarity of vodka and gin sparkled with a new life. There was a softness to the depth of it, tempting her to drown those feelings of emptiness in it and bask in the hazy solace it provided.
Until Rose walked in.
Her breath caught at the sight of the exact shade of red she’d been hoping to find all day. It stopped entirely when the tempting pink of those lips found her father’s instead of hers.
When her eyes met Luisa’s, she could have sworn she felt her hands all over her again, seeking out all of the places where she’d marked her.
Marked.
The thought hit Rose solidly and she faltered slightly before finding her balance. It was ridiculous. She hadn’t had a soulmate her entire life, she certainly wasn’t going to start now. She vaguely recognized that she’d excused herself to freshen up and registered that Luisa had followed. She forced down any longing she felt, dismissing it as silly and inane; she lied and she cajoled and refused to accept how close she came to kissing her.
It felt as though every moment of her life had led to this one particular deception.
By the time they had finished dinner, Emilio was still smitten, Rafael was charmed, Luisa was subdued, however reluctantly, and Rose was back in control.
Everything was right back on track, as though the night before had never happened. Rose almost felt like she could will away the scratches, bites, and bruises across her skin.
Until Luisa tripped on the stairs on the way out of the restaurant.
She slammed into the railing, her hip colliding with it roughly, and Rose felt the pain she saw shoot across Luisa’s face echo throughout her side. Out of instinct she gripped her hip, wincing at the ache. She looked up and caught Luisa’s eye, swallowing heavily.
Rose knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. And so did Luisa, who had seen the entire thing.