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Since the moment Amelia could read, she knew that there would come a time, some day, somewhere, where she would fuck up.
Saying that the writing on her arm was beautiful was an understatement. The messy and uneven letters when she was young had turned into a looping cursive scrawl by college. She wouldn’t have known how to read it if she hadn’t poured over the words since birth, trying to figure out what they meant and what she had done.
As she grew older, Amelia became increasingly grateful that the American school systems had collectively agreed to stop teaching cursive in schools. It wasn’t because she was possessive of her tattoo, certainly not when nearly the entirety of the world was born with something similar. No, it was so her classmates— and then, her coworkers— wouldn’t be able to ask questions.
“Damn, I still can’t get over how weird that is. It’s so damn pretty, but the words on there are just foul.”
Julchen was one of those outside of the “nearly the entirety”. The tiny percentage of those born without anything on their arms. It was one of the first things she told Amelia on their first day as college roommates, so she wouldn’t, in Julchen’s own words, annoy her to hell and back about it.
Her lack of ink, along with the fact that there was no one in the universe decidedly meant for her, didn’t bother Julchen. Or so she told everyone. And if it did, her friend wasn’t the type to talk about it.
“So, that’s all you get. Just a generic sentence in some cursive?”
“Yeah, I guess. No timer or anything.” Some would argue that it wasn’t just a tattoo, those who believed in the validity of it. Nevertheless, Julchen never asked about her tattoo. Said she didn’t care whenever Amelia tried to bring it up. Perhaps tonight was different.
Julchen snorted, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to the side. The glitter on her chest reflected in the light of the street. It was freezing outside, but it was probably nothing compared to the blazing heat inside.
“Well, that’s a load of horse shit.”
There was no denying that. Not when no amount of concealer hid what was branded into her skin. Not when years of Christmas cards and potlucks ailed to quell the fiery judgment in the eyes of the old women at her church.
Not that she would ever tell Julchen that. Amelia was at peace that her soulmate probably wouldn’t love her. It was uncommon, but not unheard of.
Julchen whistling brought her out of her brood, a tune with consecutively descending notes, as if a bomb were dropping. Amelia followed her gaze.
Her heart stopped.
Pale skin, dotted with freckles. Blonde hair, messy enough to look effortless, but sleek enough to look intentional. Sweeping black eyeliner. A wicked smile. Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Amelia didn’t realize that she had said that last part aloud until Julchen spoke. “She isn’t that hot, a good lay, at best. I would call her a solid six.”
Amelia couldn’t help it. She punched her roommate in the arm— harder than she should have, ignoring the groans of pain and glares from the surrounding clubbers in line with them. Ignored them in favor of her, who walked through the club doors as if she owned them, without any regard to those in line.
A few seconds felt like only a fraction of one. Amelia knew that she had to see her again.
She turned to Julche, putting her hands on her shoulders and running them up and down her arms. That would serve as an apology enough. “How long do you think until we get in?”
Julchen glared at her, not budging until Amelia offered her a smile as payment. Sighing, Julchen shifted her focus to the front of the line. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops? We’re not too far from the front.”
Amelia nodded. It was too long, far too long, but she would have to deal with it. “You think I have a chance?”
“What? Pfft. Of course you do. Look at you.” Julchen nudged her with her elbow, a sly grin slowly shaping her lips. “Look, I’ll tell you what. You get her number and I’ll pick up tonight’s tab.”
“And if I don’t?”
The smile told her enough.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be a slice of cake for you.” Julchen rolled her shoulders back, smirking at Amelia with the unbreakable confidence of a homewrecker. “You’ve got time to kill, why would you need to wait for that soulmate of yours?”
As if it were that easy.
A quarter of an hour later, and they were in. The music that pounded against the walls grew tenfold as they stepped inside. She would have a headache by the end of the night, if not one by morning.
With a firm pat on the back, Julchen was gone, disappearing into the thick crowd. To rack up the tab, no doubt. She was counting on her to lose. Good. It would make the victory even sweeter.
Amelia pushed her way through from the entrance, drawing the stranger’s face to mind. Blonde hair. Green eyes. The prettiest smile she had ever seen.
Fuck. She didn’t even know her name and she was in deep. She wanted to run her fingers through that hair— it must be unbelievably soft, it had to be. She wanted to see that smile directed—
She hit someone square in the chest, an apology on the tip of her tongue. As Amelia looked up, she caught sight of her, the beautiful stranger, sitting alone at the bar beyond. Fate, if it really existed, was on her side, it seemed.
She forgot about the apology, sliding past whoever she bumped into, paying no mind to the obscenities that followed after her. There was no time, not when she was there. Alone. Unbothered. Open for conversation.
Unable to help herself, Amelia stepped into the bar, sliding onto the nearest vacant seat. Several feet away from where she wanted to be. From where she needed to be.
Amelia watched her for a moment or two, the bartender off tending to other customers. It was a busy night, they should have had more than one on the clock, but it was perfect. She was almost out of her drink, running a pale, delicate finger around the mouth of the glass. A move hoping to gain the attention of the bartender, perhaps an unconscious habit?
She couldn’t help it anymore.
Amelia waved down the bartender, who had just finished serving another person. He gave her an unimpressed glare as she smiled, pointing to the woman. “I’ll take two of what she’s having.” She winked at him, hopefully driving the point home. The bartender nodded, and in a few moments, Amelia had her drinks in hand.
As she approached, she wracked through her head for something to say, anything. Clever pickup lines from previous dates, ideas to steal from her exes. Nothing.
Maybe she was taken, waiting for someone. She came in with two other people, but they were nowhere to be found. Open, open, open.
She stood in front of the stranger, the cold of the drinks biting into her fingers. A pickup line formed. And then she looked at her.
All thoughts left her head when those eyes settled on her. They were green, if the dark lighting held true. It felt as if she was seeing right through her, into her very being. A tiny little voice said something in her head, but Amelia couldn’t hear it through the music.
And so she said the stupidest thing that would probably ever come out of her mouth. “Damn, girl, you’re like, dummy thick.” The words felt sour as she spoke them.
Those beautiful green eyes widened in shock. Amelia felt her shot fly into the void as they settled into anger— no, worse— seething rage, full lips curling into a sneer. “What the fuck did you just call say to me, cunt?”
If all thoughts left her mind when the woman looked at her, then the word silenced when she spoke. Her entire life, Amelia imagined what tone would be used. She decided in middle school that it would be pure hate. That she would commit a crime so heinous, that it was justified. And that, perhaps afterwards, a punch to the face would follow.
But never this. Not a quiet, faint resentment that seemed to be boiling for years. Not something the same as she felt as a teen. Not the pure nothingness that came from years of doubt and wondering. Perhaps soulmates were more similar than Amelia gave them credit for.
Amelia set the drinks down on the wooden counter, watching for a split of a second the condensation drip down the side. Holding her arm out, not looking her— her soulmate— in the eyes, Amelia pulled her sleeve up to her elbow, showing the sentence she poured over for more than two decades. There was a brief pause, as if she, too, was realizing what had just happened. Amelia shivered as a cold set of fingers ran along her forearm, glancing just enough to see a delicate paleness in contrast with tan skin forged from a childhood on the beach.
An eternal question, answered with a simple, single answer. There was no doubt about it; she deserved what she got.
The grip on her forearm tightened.
Amelia knocked back one of the drinks she bought as she was pulled away from the bar, setting the glass on the counter. Julchen would bitch if she bought booze without drinking it, especially when she was the one who would be buying it. Not that she wanted to think about her at the moment.
Amelia followed her soulmate— she just realized that she didn’t know her name— away from the bar and into a black door covered in faded pink stickers. The bathroom.
The first thing she wanted to ask her— her soulmate, the one the heavens destined to be with— was her name. She opened her mouth, hundreds of questions swarming her head—
“Hi.”
Heat immediately rose to her cheeks. She mentally cursed herself, the heat burning hotter when those eyes settled on her. They were definitely green. The raise of a thick, dark eyebrow.
She was gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.
“Hi.” Her voice was wrapped in a thick accent, and Amelia was surprised that she had not heard it earlier.
She was already falling, hard and fast.
Her heart pounded in time with the bass of the music, which was still loud and clear despite the wall separating them from the main room. Even with the noise surrounding them, the bathroom seemed quiet, as if it were surrounded by a thick bubble.
“I’m Amelia.” She sounded like she was back in high school, caught in a crush that never came to fruition.
“Alice.” Alice tugged at her sleeve as she spoke, frowning when the fabric refused to go any further than a quarter of her forearm.
Alice, Alice, Alice. Amelia went through her process of memorizing names, but there was no point. It was burned into her memory, never to be forgotten.
With an inherent delicateness to it, the name was perfect. It made a fitting contrast with the sharpness of her features.
She was just about to ask her last name, wanting to know everything there was to Alice— Alice, when she took her shirt off.
Her cheeks must have been a fiery red by then, they had to be. She looked away, sucking in her lips and closing her eyes.
“Amelia?” The question was expectant, soft fingers wrapping around her elbow.
“Look, Alice, I think you seem nice and all, but I don’t think that we’re really at the point where—”
“What—”
“And don’t get me wrong, you’re super duper pretty and all—”
“Oh, don’t be daft.” Her words carried a tone of amusement in them, making Amelia open her eyes. Alice smirked, a devilish grin Amelia never wanted to stop seeing. “Here.”
She patted her left arm with her right hand, bringing Amelia’s attention to the black ink. Alice was left-handed. The tattoos were always on the dominant hand.
Alice lifted her arm further into the light, the telltale chicken scratch that was Amelia’s handwriting coming to full view. She suddenly regretted not taking the penmanship classes her mother pushed in high school. Perhaps all the nagging was right.
“Amelia, I have a question for you, one that I’ve been wondering my entire life.” The amusement was gone, replaced with a quiet severity. “What does this even mean?”
She never paid attention to the individual words on Alice’s arm, too distracted by her own handwriting and freckles. There, in writing that may has well have been in a different language—
Damn, girl, you’re like, dummy thick.
Amelia burst into laughter. As soon as she thought she would stop, she started up again. She was an idiot, a fucking idiot for ever thinking that that was a marginally acceptable pickup line. Even when thought of at the last second. Her friends would never let her down.
Alice was still staring at her. The laughter died, replaced with a tingling feeling that stirred in her chest. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.
“Um.” She scratched behind her ear. Explaining it was worse than saying it. “It’s like, you know—“ Alice did not know, she told herself, or else she wouldn’t be asking. “— when someone is really curvy or something.”
Amelia used her hands to trace out the shape of a figure, feeling like the idiot she was. Alice looked as if she were holding back a smile, the corners of her lips tilted upwards. It looked cute as hell, but it probably wouldn’t help the situation if she told her so.
“So, you were calling me, a pole, curvy.”
The heat in her face was almost unbearable.
“Yes ma’am.”
“And you thought that that was the most appropriate pickup line?” Alice spoke as she began to pull her shirt over her head. The amusement was back, the smile full grown. So they were joking around now.
“I dunno, you’re kinda hot and I got distracted. They get better, I promise.”
Alice laughed, a sound that left her reeling. She never wanted to stop hearing it.
“I thought that you were calling me stupid.” Her accent added an H to the final word. Amelia smiled at the sound. “That’s what thick means in the UK, you know.”
“Really, you’re British. And here I thought you were Australian.”
Alice looked up as she tugged the hem of her shirt down. “Why would you— oh. Oh.” A sheepish grin. “Sorry for calling you a cunt. Kind of took me by surprise.”
“It’s all good, sweetheart.” Amelia took Alice’s hands in her own, squeezing tight when the latter let her do so. Finally using the term of endearment she always wanted. “I have a feeling we’re gonna have a lot of surprises.”
And when Alice smiled back at her, Amelia wanted to forget all those years of shame.