We Can't Run From Fate

Jack was born into a different world. A world that’s different to yours and mine, a world where sometimes a baby is born with a mark, a symbol somewhere on their skin. A symbol that is unique to them and one other; their soulmate. Not everyone is born with one – it’s like red hair or blue eyes. Not everyone has one but those who do are often thought of as lucky. Jack has one, on the inside his left wrist, a music tone. It’s a mark he will carry with him forever, a mark that will burn like fire when he meets the person he’s suppose to be with. However, Jack personally had never given it much thought.
Jack hadn’t ever bothered much with the idea of soulmates, his mother had explained to him the importance of the music tone when he was young but it had never really stuck. To him there was much more fun to be had that searching for his ‘soulmate’ like girls to talk to and alcohol to drink.
Now at twenty two Jack owned a bar in his hometown of Baltimore. He worked through the day and partied all night – it was long, full of great people and exactly how Jack liked it.

“Another round over here!”
“Coming up!” Jack shouted, grabbing the bottle and pouring out another line of shots. It was about the fifth line he’d done and people were beginning to feel the buzz.
Jack loved working where he did, he was surrounded by people having a good time. The music was loud, people were dancing and the drinks were flowing. It was an atmosphere he never got tired of.
“Thanks man.”
Jack took the notes the customer handed him and put them in the till. He looked up just in time to see a beautiful girl walk in, his mouth slipping open as his co-worker walked past.
“Stop staring and go talk to her.”
“I’m trying to play it cool,” Jack replied.
“We both know you’re not capable of that, Barakat.”
“Thanks, Elizabeth,” he replied.
“How many times have a told you not to call me that?”
“Dunno,”
“Enough for you fucking remember it,”
Jack just laughed. Elizabeth, or Eliza as she liked to be called, was Jack’s right hand woman at the Rockwell. Basically she did all the jobs he sucked at, like actually remembering people’s orders.
“Just go talk to her, you know girls like it when you actually speak to them instead of staring at them creepily from a distance,” she said as she watched Jack staring at the girl standing against the far wall.
“Ah, you’re full of such wisdom,” he chuckled.
Making sure to mess up Eliza’s hair on his way past, Jack hopped over the bar and started walking towards the beautiful girl.
“Hi,” Jack said, giving her his most charming smile.
“Hey,” she replied with a slight accent. Jack could already feel his heart racing.
“Would you like to get a drink?” he asked.
She looked him up and down before her red painted lips moved to form a smile and she nodded.
“So, what’s your name?” Jack asked.
“Alana,”
“Alana. That’s beautiful.”
She smiled and took a sip of her sparkling pink cocktail.
“What’s yours?”
“Jack,”
“Jack, like Skellington?”
“Exactly”
She smiled and Jack couldn’t help staring. She was beautiful, with her long dark hair and eyes that were the colour of the sky on a summer’s day. When Jack kissed her he didn’t notice the fact the symbol didn’t burn, he didn’t care she wasn’t his soulmate. She was beautiful and he hoped to take her home.

An hour after leaving the bar Jack was lying in his bed, Alana beside him sleeping soundly. Their drinks barely finished by the time they’d left the bar and Eliza had winked at him as he’d exited hand in hand with another beautiful girl. - It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave with a date of some sort. Someone he could spend the night with and say goodbye to in the morning; it was how Jack liked it. The way Jack saw it, his life was pretty fucking perfect. But it was all about to be tipped upside down, all because of the mark on his wrist.