Nicotine

Numbers.

Numbers surround everyday life, from the number of batteries needed to power a remote, the number of gallons that fill up a vehicle, the number of hearts filled with hope, then crushed. Everywhere one turns, there are numbers. Ten fingers, ten toes, two arms and legs, two hands and feet, two hundred and six bones, one brain, one heart. Numbers are everywhere, yet very few bother to count.

You rub your dry eyes as you stifle a yawn. The screen in front of you burned your retinas, line after line of numbers glaring angrily at you as you push yourself away from your desk. It was dark out. What time was it? You don’t know. You’ve been sitting here for who knows how long, your fingers tapping your keyboard nonstop as you urge yourself to finish the line of code.

Perhaps it was time for a lunch break.

Saving hours worth of progress, you stand and stretch your arms over your head, wincing with every pop and crack from your joints as you move. It wasn’t payday yet, and with only forty dollars to last you until the end of the week, you quickly decide to skip going to Whole Foods to make a homemade meal (not that you’ve had one in months) and go to City Wok. You knew it would be open until the late hours of the night, and with a quick glance to the clock ticking quietly on the wall, it was only ten at night.

You venture down the stairs, stumbling only slightly in the dark before flipping on the light switch. It blinds you momentarily but you push on as your need for food increases. Shoes already on, you snatch your coat from where you threw it on a dining room chair, and along with it, your scarf and hat. Your wallet and house keys were already in your coat pocket, so you leave and lock the door behind you.

“Shit,” you grumble, shivering at the cold. This winter had to be the coldest in years, something you weren’t very fond of.

Then why move to South Park, Colorado? Where else would you work in silence? Okay, yeah, there are a lot of places, but renting a house here was cheaper than in most towns in America. Not only that, but this was a town where if you kept your head down, no one would spare you a glance. Perfect for a programmer with absolutely no social skills.

Snow crunches under your feet as you trudge through the snow towards the Chinese restaurant. The food wasn’t great, and the cleanliness of the dining room was questionable, but it was affordable. It was also edible, but just hardly. You can’t really complain, though. You were the one giving the place business, especially since the Whole Foods opened up around thirteen years ago, so the owner knew your name, your occupation, and your order by heart. You almost considered him a friend. Pushing open the glass doors to the restaurant, you rub your hands together for warmth. A small bell jingles above your head.

“Ah, welcome to Shitty Wok!” a familiar voice greets. You look towards the cash register and smile. Tuong Lu Kim stands there, a cane resting against the counter as he picks up a pen and a piece of paper. “Hello, (Y/N)! How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Kim. How are you and the missus?” you reply. You walk towards the counter, placing your jacket and scarf on one of the nearby chairs. Although he knows your order, you and Mr. Kim like to chat a bit while his only chef makes your meal.

“We doing good. Wing is getting over her sickness.” A wave of relief crashes over you.

“Oh thank the gods. I was getting worried, especially with the weather getting worse and her health condition…” you trail off. Mr. Kim smiles, his skin wrinkling more.

“You don’t worry. We worry for you.” You blink.

“Me? Why me?” Mr. Kim gives you a knowing look.

“You young with no husband. You work and work but no play. Leave the house. Go on vacation. Meet someone! Let us give blessing to new husband,” he says. A forced smile makes its way to your lips, but inside, a sinking feeling resides.

Whenever you have a break from coding, you’ve tried to look up to see where your soulmate was born at in hopes of tracking him down, but it was always harder than it seemed. He was older than you, but by how many years, you didn’t know. With the amount of states and provinces in different countries that you had to research, as well as three hundred and sixty five days of the year, it was near impossible for you to pinpoint them. It was safe to say that you’ve almost given up on looking for them by doing the only thing you’re good at.

“(Y/N), your food ready. Go eat. Go eat and rest! No programming for rest of night, you hear?” Mr. Kim warns. You snap back to reality and laugh softly, grabbing the box of city chicken and noodles. Plopping yourself down at the table you claimed before, you rip open a packet of soy sauce and drizzle it over your food before eating. Everything was nice and quiet as you eat. Mr. Kim had gone back to cleaning his counter and the cooks were taking a smoke break.

“Oh. My. God. Did he really?” an obnoxious voice damn near yells as the glass door swings open. You jump, almost dropping your chopsticks as you turn to see who entered so loudly. There were three girls your age, one with straight, long red hair, another with strawberry blonde hair held in low pigtails, and the third with tangled, wavy brown hair.

“Yeah! I can’t believe that he would be so sweet!” the redhead squeals. Sighing, you turn back to your meal and quietly eat. The three ladies loudly make their orders before sitting at the table behind you.

“Hey Lola, did you find your soulmate yet?” the first girl asks. You internally curse, just wanting to eat in silence.

“Actually, I think it may be Tommy,” the brunette says. “I was wondering what the boxing glove on my hand meant until he and I started talking about boxing. He’s so cool! What about you, Red?” You hear a giggle.

“Okay, you can’t tell anyone this, but Allen’s my soulmate.” A pause. “He plays for the Colorado Rockies? Their pitcher?”

“What?!”

“No way!”

“What does Craig think about this?” Lola questions. You assume this Craig character is Red’s boyfriend.

“He doesn’t know,” Red replies. You jump when two sets of hands slam down on their table, causing a very loud bang that startles you.

“Are you serious?! You’re soulmates with your cousin’s enemy!” the unknown girl cries out. Oh. You were way off.

“I know, I know!” Red retorts.

“Like, how long have you known?” Lola demands.

“Uhm… how long ago was their baseball tournament?” the accused girl sheepishly asks.

“You’re joking!”

“I’m afraid not, girls. The numbers don’t lie!” You glance behind you to see the Red chick proudly rubbing her shoulder where you believe her Soul Numbers are. You, of course, can’t see them. Only Red and her soulmate can. “Hey Millie, what about you? Have you found your soulmate?” Millie giggles, and at this point, you tune them out.

The numbers on your left ankle begin to ache as you stare at your food. Your appetite is gone and you find yourself rubbing your ankle in hopes to soothe the ache. The whole concept of having a soulmate makes your mind dizzy, almost as if you’re on a carousel that continues to go ‘round and ‘round while refusing to let you off.

In simple terms, the numbers that appear on your skin the day that your soulmate is born represent the number of people born on their birthday in a specific state or province, making it extremely difficult to pinpoint where they were born, considering the number of countries in the world. Only you or your soulmate can see the numbers, but they’re not always visible since clothing can cover them. Your soulmate’s numbers are on the outside of your left ankle.

The tattoos that were mentioned only appear on your dominant hand if you’ve come into contact with your soulmate. What makes this difficult, however, is that they can appear without you ever speaking a word to your soulmate. The tattoos usually represent something that your soulmate enjoys, such as a skillet if your soulmate is a chef, or a syringe if your soulmate is a nurse or doctor. The tattoos are the only thing that was visible for everyone to see.

You’ve studied this for many years, ever since you became a programmer. People from all over the country would email you with information, asking you to help them find their soulmates. You suppose word got out after you helped a few of your classmates back in the beginning of college, but who are you to complain? These people, as impatient as they are, pay good money for your help, and this money puts food on the table and a roof over your head.

With a sigh, you close the empty container of food and stand and redress for the cold journey home. The small group of girls continued to chat happily about their soulmates, oblivious to your departure. Waving to Mr. Kim, you walk out the door, shoving your hands in your coat pockets.

“Fuck, it’s a blizzard out here!” you tremble. The wind had gotten worse and the falling snow got heavier. Ducking your head, you fight against the wind as you make your way home. You’re unable to see more than three feet in front of you, which is a problem as you accidentally run into someone who’s as crazy as you to be out in this weather.

“Watch it!” a nasally voice yells over the roaring of the wind.

“Sorry!” you yell back. You don’t hear a reply but continue on home anyways. House by house slowly pass you by as you march through the cold. A walk that normally takes you twenty minutes takes you nearly an hour before you finally see your red house in sight. You’re thankful to see the empty building, your enthusiasm acting as motivation to get home quicker. Seconds feel like hours as you climb the steps, pull the house key out of your pocket, and unlock the door. You push it open and quickly shut it behind you, closing it once more. “Finally home,” you pant. Shedding your coat, scarf, and hat, you walk into the kitchen to mix up hot water and a packet of hot chocolate, but you notice something strange. Lifting your dominant hand to your face, you see an odd bundle of stars, each connected by a thin line.

"When did this get here?”