Vision

There was no escaping the destiny of the mark.  Even if they hated each other, even if it was a loveless relationship, even if they never met again, he would be hers and she his.  They would be theirs. Joy Brockman would never have another lover, never be wed to another, never be in love again.  She could choose to live with him or without him, but that was all.  Her vision of life changed in an instant, when she met writer-in-residence Dade Reynolds. Her soulmark popped up.   Joy felt a tiny itch on her wrist, when Dade Reynolds walked into the first formal English Department meeting of the semester.  She thought she was allergic to something. She scratched her wrist, idly, not looking at it, waiting for the sensation to stop or dull, as an itch does after a moment.  Even as she sat through the introduction of the new faculty member, this stone-faced man, she became aware of looping welts rising up.  The mark bit into her skin until she realized what was itching her. She felt sick and didn’t dare look.  His name would be on her wrist. When she shook his hand, the mark burned, itch turning to sharp pain as it blossomed further. Dade must have felt it, too.  His eyes widened as they touched hands. His suit coat covered his wrist, but hers was bare.  He turned her arm sideways to see the mark, angry red script, carved into her skin. It continued to itch.  Joy dropped Dade’s hand to rub it vigorously.  He started to speak, but she mumbled an excuse and fled down the hall. Joy pulled her friend Audrey into the bathroom. “Dade Reynold is not my type.” Joy cradled her wrist.  “He has no expression whatsoever on his face.  What do I do?  I can’t be this man’s mate.”  Audrey gave Joy a sorrowful look. “I don’t like him.” Joy stared helplessly at Audrey in the mirror.  “He’s too sad.” It was true.  Dade Reynold’s writing ran dark, full of hard imagery and despondent prose.  Stories of loss and wrecked families, death, destruction.  Not at all what Joy wanted to read.  To be fully fair, the books were well-written.  Just depressing. “Dade has a reason to be sad,” Audrey told Joy, eyes meeting in the mirror.  “You read his bio.” Joy watched the delicate script grow more prominent, almost as if it was transforming before her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” Joy said.  Her vision blurred.  It could not be true. Wait When Joy was little, soulmarks stood for possibility, excitement, a bubbling future of dreams and rich fantasies.  She imagined a delightful, charming prince, the light of her existence, who smiled and charmed his way into her life.  He would be someone who understood her like no other. And here he was, unsmiling, intense--and so dark. No matter what, Joy was Dade’s mate and she would be his forever. Feeling sick, Joy slunk back to the meeting to grab her work bag.  She stuck her laptop in it and excused herself, citing an oncoming headache.  She couldn’t look at Dade. “Wait,” Dade called behind her. She didn’t wait.  She couldn’t.  Her destiny as his soulmate would not allow her to wait for him.  She wanted nothing to do with him. “Sorry, late,” she tossed over her shoulder as she ran from him. Dade had long legs, though, and he caught up with her.  Grabbed her arm, pulled her up short. Joy’s bag fell off her shoulder and hit the floor.  Dade leaned down to help her pick it up. “Leave it, please,” she said, as she could not bear to have him so close. He smelled like spice and soap. “I have it, too.” He looked into her eyes.  “My wrist burns.” He pulled up the sleeve of his suit coat and showed her the welts.  “It’s you, right?  It hurt worse when I touched you.  You’re Joy.” “Yes,” she whispered.  “But I don’t want to be.  I don’t want to be tied to you.”  She turned and walked away. “Wait, wait,” Dade said.  “I don’t even know you.”  He jogged to keep up with Joy.  “Why don’t you want me?  I don’t understand.” Joy stopped in front of her office door.  “Look, it’s nothing personal.  Well, it is something personal.  I don’t want to be tied down.  I want to choose my own person, but I can’t.  Now I am bonded.  To you.  I waited so long, I thought it wouldn’t happen.” “It happens to us all, Joy,” Dade said.  “It just does.  We have no control.  We just have to wait and see what happens.” “I don’t like you,” Joy hissed, wildly.  She unlocked her office door and stepped inside.  “I don’t know what to do.” Dade stood outside with no expression on his face.  “You won’t try, then?  You would rather--” “Wait for an eternity.”  She shut the door in his face. Survival When Joy got home, she found a solemn Dade Reynolds standing on her steps.  Her little house sat, looking cozy, with an improbably large man with long, long legs stretched out, elbows leaning, resting on her porch.  He stood when she got out of her car and walked up.  How he found her, she didn’t know.  She didn’t want to know. “It’s survival,” he said.  “It’s not optional.” “So, you want this?” Joy asked.  “Us?” “We’re soulmates.  We can’t survive alone.  Only together.”  He paused.  “Can we try?” Joy blew out a breath.  “All right, come in,” she said.  “You may as well.” She didn’t like the idea, but there he was.  Maybe they should speak to one another. Inside, Dade took up more than his fair share of space in Joy’s tiny house.  She offered him a seat on her sectional, and he sank into it.  His presence set Joy’s soulmark to itching again, still a small burn against her skin.  She scratched, still standing undecided next to her own couch. Dade saw her dig her nails into her wrist.  He held out a hand. “I’ll help you,” he said.  “If we touch, it’ll stop.” Joy hesitated.  She did not care to touch him just yet.  “Why are you so sad all the time?  Your writing, your face, your voice.  Everything is sorrowful and weary.  Miserable, depressing.  I can’t live like that.” Dade lowered his hand.  “I’m sorry.  My life has been hard sometimes, and I’m not given to easy laughter or conversation.  The sorrow wells up in me and spills out everywhere.  It’s why I write.”  He gazed at the floor for a moment.  Then looked up at Joy.  “I can’t help being sad.” “From what?” “I lost my parents early on.”  He stopped and pressed his fingers to his lips.  Then he dropped his hand to speak again.  “I don’t remember them, only the people who took me in.  I ran away and hid on the streets.  I spent a lot of time alone, listening to nothing but my own dark thoughts.  It’s a hard habit to break.” “But you must break it, Dade,” Joy said, suddenly, urgently.  She didn’t know exactly why it was so important.  But it was. He watched her carefully.  The origin of the marks, long ago, had been based on two souls dovetailing, filling raw gaps, healing fissures rent from sorrow. “I could break it if you let me in,” Dade said.  “Then we will both survive.” Joy shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I want to thrive.  I want to be happy.  I can’t tie myself to a despondent man.” “I am dark.  I’m not a light person, but I’m yours, my Joy.  Please touch me,” he said. Joy wondered if his survival depended on her touch.  She wondered if hers depended on his. Joy stretched out her hand.  Dade’s hand met hers between them.  They touched palms and the marks burned again.  Joy cried out and reflexively clasped Dade’s hand in hers.  He tugged her down to sit with him, to hold her tightly in his arms, to bury his face in her soft hair. The burning and itching subsided. Bonded. Anger Joy stared at Dade, her anger slowly drifting on a sea of other emotion.  His eyes looked like the whiskey Joy’s father drank every day to forget himself after her mother passed away. She touched Dade’s face sadly.  Drained of that righteous anger, she had no mooring, no purpose. Dade kissed Joy’s hand once, then again, and suddenly again.  He kissed her wrist, opening his mouth to taste her soulmark.  It thrummed under his tongue. Joy drew a breath in. She lifted Dade’s wrist to her own mouth and licked, a small taste of his mark.  He closed his eyes. “I should hate you.  I should be in a rage,” Joy whispered.  “I am frightened you will bring that despondent energy to my doorstep and leave it here.” Dade nodded.  “I don't want to let go of this anger that propels me forward, that helps me write my soul.  I despise those who say my darkness isn’t justified.  It is.  It’s me.  Full of angry, bitter stories.” Joy stared at Dade’s soft lips, so full and rich.  He gazed into her eyes. “I would kiss the darkness,” Joy said, softly.  “If you would kiss the light.” He nodded once and their lips met.  She felt his lips open against hers.  His tongue slowly filled her mouth and he tasted of dark things, like deep woods on a hot day, like chocolate, and black night skies.   Joy lay with Dade to explore the sadness inside him that worked its way out of his pores.  Yet, he felt warm to her, pliable to her touch, not brittle, not hard, not mean.  Sweet sadness, the kind that made her cry a little.  He wiped her tears with his thumb and licked them. “I will take your sadness, my love,” he whispered as he joined them together.  “I’ll always be here for you.  You bring me light and joy.  I bring you a place to hide when you cannot stand life any longer.” “Just us two?” “Yes,” he breathed in her ear.  “Just us two.” She wrapped him in her arms. Later, as she lay with Dade, anger welled up in Joy.  This talented writer, indeed, this man, was a precious gift to the world.  Rage filled her soul when she thought of her dark, sad one--a child abandoned to roam the streets.  She could not, would not, do it.  Ever. The bond strengthened. Winter In the white winter, they walked, slipping down sidewalks, looking at trees festooned with snow.  A tree branch dropped a small shower when the wind blew.  Joy, Dade, and little Naya held hands and watched fat flakes sprinkle the streets afresh. Here in this winter landscape, two soulmates, a strong bonded pair with one small addition, found light and dark, sadness and vast happiness, together. Summer was Joy’s time, full of laughter and play.  Dade smiled at her exuberance, and Naya giggled and ran wild.  It was a time of unrivaled, raucous joy. Winter, yes, that was Dade’s season.  The world lay in darkness with bright spurts of light bouncing off the snow.  Thick ice reflected a wan sun.  Naya felt sad sometimes when her plants withered and birds flew south, but Dade showed her how light shifted to a diffuse wash over the landscape—blackened trees, sidewalks, grass, bushes, and cozy houses.  How snow muffled usual noises to a peaceful quiet when Dade, Joy, and Naya walked to school.  How ice talked along the river, crackling to let water run through.  How the sadness of death never lingered.  Indeed, it was not death, Dade said softly.  It was life waiting, nestling, sleeping, resting, until it would burst forth again. As it would, each and every time.