Fated Souls

Prologue

Tannon Lee

A scream erupts from my throat. It’s loud, shrieky, and panicked but not foreign. I’ve heard it before—many times. 

I gasp for breath, my lungs begging for air. My chest burns as if I’ve been deprived of oxygen for quite some time. Extending my arms out from my sides, I feel around. Silky linens meet my clammy fingertips. A cool sweat coats my entire body. Bending my knee, I raise it from the bed. That’s where I am—in a bed. The moistened skin of my leg clings to the sheet below me before it reluctantly releases its hold. I bring my hand to my face, tapping gently in search of something blocking my breaths. There is nothing. 

I breathe deep. The night air soothes my aching chest.

My eyes blink, heavily—hours of tears and exhaustion urging them closed, but they struggle to open. Despite what I might find once my surroundings come into focus amidst this dark terror, I won’t shut it out. I can’t. The stakes are too high, and I can’t fight what I can’t see. 

And I’ll fight with everything I have. No one will hurt me again. No one will take what I’m not offering. No one. 

The bed moves to my right, and that’s when I feel it—soft fur against my arm. Centering me. 

It was a nightmare. 

Just another nightmare. Not real. 

This time.

I turn toward the ball of fluff that rests against my arm, circling my other arm around the black cat that blends into the darkness. He’s not visible, but he’s here. He allows me to pull him against my chest and squeeze him like a child who finds comfort by clinging to a teddy bear. Only I’m not a child, and he’s not a cuddler. During the day, he’s honestly quite an ass. Yet when the tears surface at night, he always comes. 

He allows me to hold him and pet him. Running my palm against his smooth fur brings me back from the terrors that haunt me in my dreams. It soothes me. As selfish as he seems to be, he inherently knows I need him. 

I saved him once from the metal cage that held him hostage. I rescued him because he needed me. I saw the mischief in his bright green eyes, earning him the name Lucifer right from the get-go. He’s lived up to his name, too. A wicked, fat thing that has me waiting on him hand and foot. At night, though, my little devil brings me back to reality, to where I’m safe. So, I suppose he saves me, too. 

Six years, and I’m still not over it. Six years. I can’t remember where I leave my cell phone at least a dozen times a day. But I remember every detail from that night, and the memories hold me hostage in my dreams. Not every night but too many to count. 

A soft snore sounds from behind me, and I stiffen, clutching Lucifer to me. Someone’s in my bed. 

Think. 

Pressing my face against Lucifer, I replay the events of yesterday, and it all comes back to me. It’s crazy how the world is so much more terrifying in the dark, yet I’m not scared. It took me a little longer to connect the dots, but the sleep is lifting from my brain, allowing me to finally think clearly. 

I’m in my room with my…boyfriend? Hookup? I don’t know what exactly Jacob is to me. He’s the second-grade teacher across the hall from me at school. We’ve been hanging out for a good month now. Last night, he stayed over for the first time. He’s smart, cute, charming, and would check off all of the boxes if I were the type of girl to come up with boxes to check, but I’m not. I haven’t thought about what I want in a life partner since that night in Mexico when I was a high school senior. 

If I’m being honest, I have issues. Fear is something I have in abundance while my trust is scarce. I’m afraid of the what-ifs, the horrors out in the world that could break me. Trust isn’t fostered when one lives in the shadow of dread. And I do. Look on a map and you’ll find me, Tannon Lee, located right smack in the middle of trepidation and terror. 

I’m a great teacher, a wonderful daughter, and the best of friends. I would do anything for the ones I love. I love hard and fierce. In the quiet of the night, in the moments after waking from a nightmare when my defenses are down, I can finally be honest. I need to learn to love myself. 

Three realizations dawn. 

#1 Jacob sleeps like the dead. Like, really, can I even take anyone serious who snores through someone screaming in terror a foot away from them? No. I can’t.

#2 I’m not okay now, but I will be. 

#3 Work is about to get a hell of a lot more awkward. 

I place a small kiss on Lucifer’s head. “I love you, buddy.” I release my hold on him, and he immediately jumps from the bed, grateful for the freedom. Grabbing my phone on the nightstand, I see the time reads 4:00 a.m. Good enough. I hit the base of the lamp on the small table, turning it on.

Twisting in my bed, I face Jacob. I tilt my head to the side, admiring his face. He really is handsome. I don’t question my decision, however. I know if he were the one, he’d make me feel safe. The fact that a twenty-pound fur ball that cleans himself by literally licking shit off his body comforts me more than Jacob does is a deal breaker. 

I need to heal and fix myself. I know I do, and settling isn’t going to do me any favors. 

“Hey.” I pull on Jacob’s arm. “Wake up,” I say louder, increasing the intensity in which I’m now shaking his bicep. 

“Tannon?” he questions, half asleep. He clears his throat. “What is it? What time is it?”

“I need you to leave.” My tone is assertive. 

“What? Now? What—” 

I halt his thoughts. “Yes, Jacob, I need you to leave now. Our relationship isn’t working. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.” The cliché rolls off my tongue as truth, and it is. 

Jacob is a catch and will make some woman very happy someday. Yet that woman isn’t me, and right now, his presence isn’t benefiting my life. The terror I just awoke from was one of the worst yet, and it happened tonight—the first night I invited Jacob to stay. A coincidence? Maybe. The fact that I don’t feel at all guilty in making him leave at four in the morning, a sign? Definitely. 

“You’re serious?” He pushes his hands behind him, sitting up. 

“Yes. I’m sorry, but please leave.”

“Oh-kay,” he drawls out. “Now?”

“Now.”

I pull the sheet up around my body and watch as Jacob slides out of my bed and starts to get dressed. Resisting the urge to tell him to hurry up, I bite my lip. He’s moving at a snail’s pace, but in all fairness, he’s still waking up. He’s peering around like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

When he’s clothed, he turns to me with what appears to be a sad expression. It’s only been a month, so I know I’m not breaking his heart or anything, but regardless, a blanket of guilt engulfs me. This is a pretty unorthodox way to end a relationship. Yet my Marie Kondo game is stronger than my guilt. I study him, and he doesn’t spark joy, only bone-deep restlessness. 

He needs to go.

He pulls at the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Do you want to talk?”

I shake my head. “No.”

It’s cruel of me, I know. He deserves an explanation, but I promised myself that I would do what’s right for me. Right now, the best thing for me is that he leaves. I don’t owe anyone anything out of perceived obligation. I’ve played that game before and lost. 

“Okay.” He huffs out a sigh. “I guess I’ll see ya.”

“Bye,” I respond. 

When the apartment door closes with an air of finality, I turn off the small light on my nightstand and lay back against my pillow. 

I know I can’t keep living like this. Something has to give. Bad things happen to good people all the time—every day—and it doesn’t destroy them. People move on. Heal. I can heal, too. I won’t allow his or his friends’ actions to break me. I’m stronger than that. I must figure out what I need to let it go and feel whole. 

Tragedy is a burden of many, but it won’t weigh me down anymore. I will no longer allow the sadness and regret to take residence in my heart and mind. Without my tears, without my fear…the memories will have nothing to hold on to. They’ll be left a faint whisper, one I won’t hear. 

Sleep won’t find me again tonight. I sit up against my headboard and reach down to where my laptop rests against the side of my bed. Pulling it onto my lap, I open it and click on Microsoft Word. 

My fingers race against the keys,  and I watch as words materialize on the screen. So much in my head demands to be heard, and I type as fast as I can to give it a voice.