Once my tattoos appeared on my wrists, the party dispersed rather quickly. Mostly due to the fact that I ran up the stairs before anyone could stop me, and hid in my room. I could hear people's voices as they walked through the living room and out the front door as they left.

I laid there on my bed, clutching my wrists, tears streaming down my face as Lydia and Drew knocked on my door, asking what the hell happened. Mom eventually told them to give me some time before coming in and sitting on the edge of my bed, her cool fingers stroking my hair. I sat up, running my thumb over the crescent moon on her wrist.

"What is it, sweetie?" She watched me, her free hand on my knee.

"What does it mean?"

"Regeneration. Not too sure what that has to do with me and your father, but you don't get to choose your symbols." Tears began spilling from my eyes again and she cupped my cheek, forcing me to look at her. "What happened downstairs?"

I wiped my eyes, turning my wrists over for her to see. "It's my tattoos." My mother grew very still then, before backing out of my room, leaving me alone, and I understood how bad the situation was.

***

The day after your sixteenth birthday, everyone is required to visit the doctors for a tattoo examination to receive the names of their soulmates. It's almost as exciting as getting your tattoos, but a little more nerve racking. These are the faces of the people you will spend the rest of your life with, but you still have some say. I no longer have any. Whoever has the same tattoo as me, is my one and only soulmate. Maybe that's supposed to be beautiful, that there is only one person meant for me, but I don't feel special. I am terrified. 

My parents huddle in the kitchen, talking in hushed voices. I know they're discussing my defect. That what's happening has never happened to anyone before. I hear my father mention avoiding the appointment all together, to which my mother immediately shoots down. No one ever skips the appointment. It is law. Everyone's tattoos must be logged into the system. No exceptions. 

I watch Dillan roll his trucks across the coffee table in the living room, hoping my parents can't tell that I'm listening in. Will I be pulled out of school? Shipped off to be picked apart and studied? Is my soulmate out there somewhere experiencing the same dilemma? Or is he normal and I'm the only freak? 

"If they need to take her, we have to let them. There are rules we must follow," I hear Mom say, and my blood chills in my veins. I glance at the two adults standing there, their faces void of any expression, and for the first time in my life I wonder who my parents really are. My eyes flash back to Dillan on the floor, unconcerned and trusting. 

"The well being of the people comes first. It'll be for her own good," Dad agrees, nodding his head, his mind completely made up. 

I back peddle out of the room, my legs shaking as I run up the stairs to my bedroom. I lock my door behind me, and place my desk chair under the handle, before pacing around my room, scrolling through contacts in my phone, unsure if there's even anyone I can call for help. Maybe I'm over reacting. What's so terrible about having the same tattoo on both wrists? It just means I don't belong with the Elira or the Alvah. That I am somewhere in the middle, and will be seen as some sort of threat or monster to those around me. 

I think about jumping out the window. About running until I am far from civilization where no one will be able to find me. Leaving this place and my life behind. The door knob begins jiggling against the chair, my dad telling me it's time to go. I notice my mom has the car pulled out of the garage and is parked under my window. Dillan must have told them where I was. Did they expected me to run?

"Coming Dad! Just wanted to change shirts real quick," I say packing a small purse with a pocket knife, pepper spray, a granola bar I took from Dillan's stash last night, a box of bandages and some concealer from my makeup drawer. I force myself to smile when I walk out into the hall where my father is waiting for me. "Sorry. Lost track of time. Ready to go now." 

Dad smiles, patting my shoulder and following me out to the car. I feel like an inmate being marched out of prison only to end up in another one. I glance at Drew's grey house, a light turning on in his bedroom window. I memorize the silhouette behind the sheer curtains.

 The ride to the hospital is laced with awkwardness, but I do my best to seem normal. "I can't wait to see who my soulmate is. I bet he's as nice as Dad. And just as good at cooking," I say. I watch their faces in the rearview mirror, smiles plastered on that don't meet their eyes. They are trying to figure out if I heard them or not. I can see their gears turning. 

"I bet he's tall, and well mannered. Pretty eyes," I continue. Collins blue ones flash in my mind from last night, the way they felt as if they could see deep into my soul, as if in one quick look, he knew everything there is to know about me. "I hope I'm as lucky as you with my soulmate. Do you think it's at all possible for Drew to be my soulmate?"

 I talk until the car is parked and I am being checked in at the front desk. I can't tell if my chattiness has convinced them or not, but when my name is called, Mom asks if I want them to go with me. I tell her no. I take one last look at them, my father holding her hand, and I wonder if I will ever see them again. 

The nurse leads me into a small green room the color of vomit, and my stomach churns as she instructs me to change into the hospital gown folded on the examination table and that a doctor will be with me shortly. As soon as she's out of the room, I put on the gown, and begin dabbing concealer over the tattoo on my right wrist until it's no longer visible. I wash my hands in the sink and sit on the examination table, folding my hands in my lap a few seconds before the doctor walks in. 

"Good morning, Logan. How was your birthday?" His voice is soothing and low. He scans the paper on his clipboard before meeting my eyes. "It went well I hope."

"Yes." I fidget, the paper on the table crinkling under my weight. "I had a party." 

"Good." He rolls up my left sleeve to take my blood pressure, before checking my wrist. "Very interesting tattoo." I smile, averting my gaze. He turns my right wrist over, his eyes flickering to my face for a quick second. 

"I already know who my Elira soulmate is. We have several classes together in school. So, we decided we wanted to be together. I wanted to get rid of the Alvah mark as fast as possible," I explain, hoping my voice came out steady.

The doctor laughs, shaking his head. "I don't blame you. I didn't like having their filth on my skin either." He scribbles something on his clipboard before getting up. "Do you still want his file? I like knowing everything about a person. Makes me feel better." 

I nod, trying to figure out if he's trying to clue me in to something, but he strides out of the room quickly. When he returns he is holding a manila folder. "This is everything we have on your man." I take it from him, it heavy in my hands. 

"So, I'm free to go now?" 

He chuckles heartily. "Yes. You're healthy and I've seen all I've needed to see. You don't even have to see the nurse at the check out desk." I give him a small smile, hurrying down the vomit green hallway, the folder clutched tightly to my chest like it's a life preserver. 

My parent's heads shoot up the second I appear in the doorway, almost perplexed that I have been returned to them. "All done," I tell them, grinning. "Can we stop for ice cream on the way home?" 

My mom pulls me into a hug. "Of course," and she sounds relieved, and I decide they aren't secretly evil after all, just as scared as I was in this impossible situation. I don't tell them I covered up one of my tattoos and lied to the doctor. That's considered fraud. We could all be thrown in jail, but what they don't know won't kill them. I decide to leave them out of this mess. It's my burden to carry, and I can't trust them to save me if the time comes. 

Dad asks who my soulmate is once we are safe in the car, but I tell him I haven't looked yet, which is the truth. I'm scared. What if this person can't help me either? I text Lydia to meet me at the house, deciding she's my best bet. 

She's sitting on the porch steps when we pull into the garage. "Logan!" She hugs me, a huge smile on her red lips, happy that I seem back to normal from last night when I ditched my own party. "Is that one of the files for your soulmates?"

"Let's go upstairs," I say, grabbing her hand and dragging her into the house away from my parents' prying eyes. 

I lock the door and put the chair under the handle again, instructing Lydia to sit on the bed, her eyes watching me with a panicked expression. "What's going on Lulu? You're kinda acting crazy, and it's starting to make me nervous. Did something happen?"

I tell her to hush, turning on my radio to cover up our conversation. There are only three stations to choose from, so I usually leave it on classical. I sit down across from her placing the folder between us. "I have to show you something." 

I rub my wrist on my shorts until the tattoo is visible again, showing the identical markings to Lydia. "What the hell?" She grabs both of my arms, getting a better look to make sure she's not going crazy too. "What does that even mean?" 

"I don't know," I say, wrapping my arms around my stomach. 

"How did you not cause hysteria at the hospital today? There is no way they would've let you out of there." 

"I covered one of them up with makeup. Told them I already kissed one of my soulmates."

"Logan! You broke the law."

"Shh! What would you rather I do? You should've seen my parents this morning. They were all ready to turn me in and let them take me."

"Are you sure? Your parents love you. They would do anything for you. Any parent would." I can tell even Lydia doesn't believe her words. I assume it has something to do with what happened to Margret when she ran away to join the Alvah. 

There are no divorces here. Souls being bound eliminates that from happening. The couple would do anything for the other, and so we are taught that this is then carried down to their children since they are the product of that love. Alvah are not like that. They do not abide by laws. That is why they are filthy and kept separate from us. They are selfish creatures and  don't care what's best for the community. They would rather live in a lawless society where everyone fends for themselves, therefore they don't care about their children. I wonder now if that is backwards, because my parents were more concerned with the community's well being than mine this morning. Would the Alvah allow their child be taken for study purposes?

"The way they were talking scared the crap out of me. You have to believe me," I say.

"Okay." I can tell she regrets coming over here. The things I'm telling her are too much for her to comprehend. The Elira are good. They don't ship their children off to the government. "Have you looked to see who your soulmate is yet?" 

"No. I'm scared." 

"You're scared? God, Logan. You have pulled some crazy crap this morning, but this you're afraid of?"

"I guess," I shrug, staring down at the folder between us. "It's just, whoever is in this folder, I'll be dragging them down with me."

"Maybe they are just like you, and are scared and don't want to be taken either. This person is meant to be in your life," Lydia's voice takes on a serious tone as if this is my life long duty, to open this folder and read everything there is to know about this person. It feels like snooping. I know they didn't get to read my folder since they turned sixteen before me, so there was no one in their records with this tattoo yet. 

"Alright," I tell her, taking a deep breath. I feel better knowing that Lydia is on board now. Her and whoever is in this folder may very well be the only people I can trust with my secret. 

I turn the folder so that it's facing me, and open the flap. We both lean in to get a good look, but when I open it, blue eyes are staring back at me and the name Collins Abernathy in black ink is typed out underneath the photograph paper clipped on top.