Page 7 of Ghosted in Arkadia
A mark on my arm catches my attention, and I look closer. A single word is written in black ink on my right forearm.
Name
I stare at the letters, blinking several times, waiting for them to disappear, but they stay. My fingertips caress them, flush with my skin, but tingling lightly under my touch. I lick the pad of mythumb and run it down the middle of the “N” and watch with fascination as the black washes free.
It’s a message from my soulmate.
I scramble to grab the kit from the drawer, my hands shaking as I detangle the pen from the long, thin tube. The tip presses against my skin, and it feels like I am watching from above as I send back my first reply.
Kira Blackwell
I watch the blood-inked words sink into my skin and my head pounds in time with my heart. The hangover can wait. Black letters form in response immediately, as if lurking apprehensively under my skin.
No. His name
My stomach bottoms out, my hangover intensifying while I struggle to understand. I stare at the words as I get up and head for the bathroom to take a painkiller and grab a wet washcloth. Settling back in the middle of my bed, I wipe away the black lines.
Whispers of the words I had sent to my soulmate last night float through my mind, disjointed. I know whose name he wants.
Alexander
I stop. It’s best not to give a last name.
Just because this is my soulmate doesn’t mean I know the first thing about him, including why it took him so long to respond. Hopefully, he isn’t a fifteen-year-old.
Name?
The question sinks into my skin, and the buzzing thrill feels more potent than ever before. It’s almost like I can feel his blood inside me, waiting to show me his response. Minutes tick by as I wait. Eventually, I strip down to my bra and underwear in case he replies elsewhere.
The minutes turn into an hour, and then more pass. All I can do is sit on my bed while my imagination runs wild. He’s eitheruncomfortably young, or has purposely ignored me. I can’t decide which is worse.
I stay inside my house all day. The last thing I need is to go outside and have a neighbor catch me receiving a message from my soulmate. Everyone living here is supposed to be mateless. Things are too fucking complicated for me to explain.
By night’s fall, I’m eying the nearly empty bottle of vodka. There isn’t enough left to make me forget about my problems, besides it would just lead to me sending another message. I had settled on ‘he purposely ignored me,’ and the longer I wait for a response, the angrier I get.
I decide to pretend he doesn’t exist until I get some answers. See how he likes it.
Chimes sound, and I open my eyes in search of the noise. Blinding morning light peeks around the edges of the curtains, and I realize it’s my phone. When I finally find it, I see Cathy is calling.
“What?” I ask, my voice thick and low.
“I didn’t care for him, but I’m so fucking sorry, Kira,” Cathy breathes on the other end, her tone full of sympathy.
I take a moment to figure out who she’s talking about. “Alexander?” I ask, sitting up. With my elbows resting on my knees, one hand holds my phone while the other holds my head. I don’t even remember telling Cathy that I had broken up with him. Then again, I was wasted. “It’s for the best,” I say passively. In truth, he hadn’t crossed my mind since I found out I had a soulmate.
“That he’s dead?” Cathy’s confused tone hits me before her words process fully.
“What?”
“Alexander’s dead, Kira.”
The world goes numb, and I return to feeling like a ghost observing my actions. “We broke up,” I whisper.
“You need to call the Captain,” Cathy says, her tone clipped and serious. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Friday night,” I respond as if on autopilot.
“Where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”
