“So it’s fixed?” The short, stumpy man in front of her asked in irritation as he grabbed the laptop from her, “I won’t have to come back this time?”
Felicity had to resist the urge to snap at him, instead clutching her red pen tighter in her grasp and faking a smile.
“You’re all good. The other technician missed just a small part of the bug, giving it room to spread through the hardware again. Don’t worry—I scooped it all out this time,” She reassured, before her lips pursed at her strange wording, “I mean, not scooped because it’s not a real bug—I mean I metaphorically scooped it out. The virus. It’s gone now completely.”
The man in front at her stared blankly a long moment before nodding, “Good,” he said swiftly, turning on his heel and leaving without so much as a thank you.
She rolled her eyes, muttering to herself in irritation. She hated dealing with rude people—but as an advanced IT specialist, it happened all too often for her liking. Luckily though, Mr. Grouchy was her last appointment for the day. And she had a night ahead of her.
She quickly grabbed her purse off the floor next to her legs, plucking out a small mirror and positioning it in front of her on the desk. She used her always-ready makeup wipes to quickly wipe off her terrible day, her pulse already thrumming with excitement as she reapplied her makeup step-by-step—quickly winging her eyeliner, extending her lashes, and setting her lips into a bright red pout before tossing the mirror back in her bag.
She rose from her swivel chair, closing the sturdy door to her office, thankful that her best friend, Iris, had insisted on spicing up the room with a mirror on the back of the door. It had become incredibly useful during her many early mornings and late nights spent there—and she had changed more times than she could count in the confines of the small area (although the sequined flower vase Iris had bought had been less than useful, and had eventually stored her scissors instead of flowers).
Felicity quickly shucked off her blouse, feet slipping out of her heels as she shimmied out of her pencil skirt. She leaned over to the dress she had hung behind the door, but flinched at the stretch as a searing pain tore through her side.
She stopped, looked at herself in the mirror in front of her.
She was pale—paler than usual, due to Starling’s harsh winter—and was surprised to find a brilliantly pink scar on her side, the source of the sudden pain.
It was jagged and took up a large portion of her ribs, the skin raised slightly as it differed from the rest.
To anybody else, the sudden marking would be cause for complete panic. But Felicity, although irritated, wasn’t overly alarmed. She was used to the random scars and markings, the sudden aches and pains that came from no source known to her.
Her first marking had been seven years ago—just two years before she had moved out of her mother’s house. Donna Smoak had panicked at the marking on her daughter’s shoulder, taking Felicity to some whack-job psychic she had met the previous night on the strip in search of an explanation.
The physic had mulled over it a long while, before deciding it was a linked scar. She was marked with the injuries of her soulmate.
“You’re joking,” Felicity scoffed as Donna Smoak had gasped, believing the woman completely.
“Not at all, my dear,” The psychic said, smiling at her, “You’re very lucky—most people do not have a soulmate.”
“Wow! Felicity, baby, that’s so cool!” Donna said, staring in wonder at the mark.
“Ohhh-kay,” Felicity said, humoring them both, “Well thank you for that helpful information,” Felicity went to move away, but the woman’s hand suddenly grasped her arm.
Felicity startled as the woman’s eyes stared at her, her green eyes turning as black as her pupils.
“It hurts—doesn’t it?” The woman asked, her voice much more grave than earlier.
“No,” Felicity lied, although it didn’t seem that the woman needed an answer.
“He is far from you now. For the pain to stop, you must be together,” the woman said, “It is destiny.”
Felicity tried her hardest not to laugh, but couldn’t help the small snort that escaped as she ushered her enthusiastic mother from the dingy shop and away from the intense gaze of the woman behind them.
She forgot about the woman and the scar on her back after a few weeks—only acknowledging it when it began to ache or when she would catch a glimpse of the white skin while passing by a mirror.
And then, as suddenly as the first, there was another scar—this time on her hip.
And soon, another on her chest.
They came more frequently as she grew older, sometimes small, almost unnoticeable, such as the long, thin line on her forearm—sometimes larger, such as the new one on her side.
Felicity brushed her fingers across it gently, flinching from the contact, before grabbing her red dress and pulling it on, careful to avoid the sensitive skin.
She knew she should be searching for what these really were—and she had, after that second one. For years she had looked, questioned, and wondered. But she had always come back to wondering about that crazy psychic in Las Vegas and whether there were any truth to her words.
But there couldn’t be. Felicity didn’t believe in any of that supernatural, soulmate bull. Felicity believed in facts. Science. Things she could prove. And these scars? Well, they were just too out of this realm to wrap her mind around.
So instead of delving back into a subject that would just cause a headache, she slipped on her tall, black heels, a simple necklace, and earrings, before spinning in the mirror to make sure the high necked dress had covered all of her scars. Those were not something she wanted to explain on the first date. If ever.
“You can do this Felicity,” she told herself in the mirror, smiling brightly, “Iris said this guy was nice. So maybe it will work. Don’t be weird. And don’t babble. Guys don’t like that,” she instructed herself, before grabbing her bag and flipping off the light switch.
She had a date and she wasn’t going to let a scar change that—no matter how deathly serious it felt, aching at her side.