You Meet Your Soulmate At 15.

You meet your soulmate at 15.

He’s a rough boy with bruised, bloody knuckles and a deep scratch under his eye. But he has gentle, downturned eyes that remind you of the blue of winters first frost.

He runs into you on your way home from school, crashing into you along the cobblestone path that leads you to your house, and when you get knocked backwards you feel yourself on the verge of tears from shock, but when his shaky hand comes out to help you up with a wobbly apology, you glance up at him and a sudden telltale warmth spreads from where your hands touch down to your toes. You feel your soul mark scratch at your skin and you gasp, but he only winces at the lightning prick of pain that tells him who you are to him.

He helps you up and your face warms. He looks panicked, like a cornered dog. You then spot the smattering of blood across his white school shirt. His shoes are caked with it, with dirt and scuffed from running through the mud. Your face falls and just before you can ask him if he’s okay, he tells you his name, and then pushes past you in a sprint. The scent of blood flies past your senses and you stare at his back as he gets smaller and smaller in the distance.

You don’t see him again for 15 years after that night.

Until one day you hear about the new Warden at the Fortress of Meropide, and without truly thinking - your finger curiously traces the somewhat familiar scar underneath the man’s eye on the photograph on the front page.

Your soul mark then hisses under your skin, the heat crawling up your arm and onto your tongue. Your brow pinches in confusion.

His name is unfamiliar, Wriothesley.

You only know the name of the boy who ran into you that night.

An Example of Gaslighting:

My sperm donor only took me to a fair once. I was seven. I didn’t ask to go, because I made it a habit not to ask for things so no one could accuse me of being greedy. He decided we were going, but made sure I knew that it was causing him all kinds of stress and ‘cutting into his work time’.

We still went. It was okay. Fairs with my mom were waaaay better.

Well, after meandering and not being allowed to go on anything or eat anything unhealthy because of that death-vegan diet he had me on, he finally asks what games I want to play. I said I was fine. I’m not greedy, I told myself.

He insisted and flashed a large wad of money, which was standard for him. It was how he tried to make himself look wealthy when he wasn’t. It was a 50 covering several single dollar bills.

I, with hope in my little heart, motioned to the dart game because it was the cheapest. $5 for 3 tries. He scoffs, but pays for it.

I had to deal with him snickering and shaking his head and my first 2 darts nearly impaled the stall worker and got nowhere near the board of blue stars. But my last dart… hit dead center on the smallest star on the board, which automatically earned me a prize.

According to the stall worker, I was the only person that day to hit a star, and while the big prizes usually required all 3 darts to hit a star, he’d let me pick whatever I wanted, just because I was sweet and did so well.

I chose this big ass, pink guitar! I was so happy! I clutched it like a lifeline all evening. I rarely ever won things and the last thing I won was a large ass Easter basket from the Community Room back when I was 5, so this was monumental for me.

But then…

Something happened on the way back to the house. Something set him off, and all I knew was that he was suddenly angry and was lecturing me over something. So I did the normal, which was to stare at his face the entire time, no matter how much my neck hurt. I was in the passenger and that immediately meant bad things and I regretted not sitting in the back where he couldn’t immediately reach.

He glanced over, glared, and claimed I was ‘giving him a look’ and that he ‘wouldn’t tolerate such disrespect’. He then slammed his fist into the passenger seat, inches from my left shoulder.

Proceeds to complain about how he did this whole thing for me and whined about how greedy and ungrateful I was as a kid. How he bought me so much stuff(he bought me nothing but a ticket) and how he won me the guitar.

Now here is where I fucked up.

Rule #1: Don’t interrupt your abuser. Just don’t.

I corrected him, foolishly thinking he forgot that I won it, after all, it was because of me specifically that I was allowed to have anything I chose.

Bad idea. “Are you calling me a liar?! I don’t like being called a liar!”

“No.” But I had won it, not him. But the situation was escalating and it got worse.

The guitar was confiscated by the time we got to the house and was held for ransom. I had to ‘work to gain his trust back’, which meant cleaning and catering to his every whim.

Lesson: Gaslighting is psychological manipulation to fuck with someone. I won the guitar, he claimed he did. Despite me only getting it because I was a ‘sweet kid’. He proceeded to talk over me and claim that he bought it and when I corrected him, he made the situation worse by using the ‘calling me a liar’ line to intimidate me into agreeing with him because I knew very well what would happen if I was calling him a liar.

It didn’t work completely, since I still know I won the guitar and refused to be convinced, but the threats and lies, and dramatics are all gaslighting attempts. And I only gave in to avoid pain.

I still have the guitar.

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