Tolerance: The Soulmates, page 1
Tolerance
The Soulmates
M.M Forster
Copyright © [2022] by [M.M. Forster]
All rights reserved.
The rights of M. M. Forster to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. No part may be produced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Cover Art by Miblart
Editing by Element Editing Services
WARNING: Potential Spoilers Below
Content Warning (TW)-
Mentions of Rape
Mentions of Domestic Violence
Very mild SA/Harassment
Mentions of childhood neglect and abuse
Mentions of miscarriage
Content Warning (Kink) –
Very mild dubious Consent
Very mild choking
Very mild hairpulling
Very mild Praise kink
Very mild orgasm denial
Teeny tiny bit of verbal degradation
To My Mum
I thought we agreed you wouldn't read the smut I write.
Please put my copy back in my backcase.
Never in my life did I ever think I would find a person who perfectly fits me.
Until I looked into your eyes and there, I saw a soul that matched mine.
A soul that’s curves melded to mine and felt like that last piece in the puzzle.
I realised with your touch how empty I had been before.
I was finally free, for before I had only Tolerated this life.
Prologue
Childhood Memory
The man held the little girl’s hand with such a tight grip that her tiny hand was losing colour. The child feared the repercussions of retracting her hand from his hold, and silently whimpered whilst the car they sat in pulled into a long driveway. The driver announced they were at their destination with a monotonous mumble just loud enough to be heard.
‘May, I need you to listen to me,’ the man started, tugging the girl’s forearm a little too roughly; the child yelped with the tug to her shoulder. She looked at her father with terrified eyes. Though he had never hit or hurt her, she was still scared – he had never looked at her before with such a look. His eyes were dark, and she couldn’t make out the emotion in them.
‘You are to not leave my side, do you understand?’ he said to her under his breath, giving her that look of fatherly warning. She gulped and nodded. ‘We’re going to have a nice dinner. You are going to be nice and polite. Smile and thank them for allowing you to eat at their home, and then we’re going to go home, okay?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ May’s childish voice murmured, eyes downcast. Her father was quiet for a second, then sighed as he patted her cheek gently and quickly composed himself before opening the door and leaving the car. May followed behind shyly.
Her father grabbed her hand, making her stay beside him, backs straight as they walked towards the grand front doors of the oversized house that had the girl looking up in awe.
At the large double doors, a man and woman dressed to impress greeted them. The woman wore an elegant knee-length black dress, and the man wore a grey suit that was undoubtedly tailored just for him, making him appear just as rich as he was.
‘Ah!’ the man’s smooth, deep voice cheered, his arms extended in greeting. ‘Peter Jax Hale, I’m so glad you agreed to join my family for dinner.’
‘Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty,’ Peter said with a slight bow of his head. The man looked at Peter with a smile then glanced down at the little girl in the pink ruffle dress who stood beside her father shyly and nervously, intimidated by the man in front of her. His smile and eyes displayed conflicting messages. His smile meant to be kind, but his eyes were full of something sinister.
‘May, this is my boss and his wife, Mr and Mrs Donovan,’ Peter told his daughter, looking at her. May looked to her father as spoke, then to his employer and his wife. Mr Donovan was still looking at her and Mrs Donovan was too, but her eyes read differently, the brown displaying tenderness and hopefulness. Peter looked back at the couple. ‘This is my daughter—’
‘MAY!’
The sound of someone yelling caught everyone’s attention, and everyone but Peter looked at the sound. Instead, Peter froze in his spot, desperately and protectively gripping the small fragile hand of his daughter. His mind already understood what was happening, and he dreaded it as the little boy got closer until the child stood in front of May, eyes wide and smiling.
‘May!’ The blue-eyed boy excitedly called the name, taking the girl’s other hand, who stared at him with confusion and awe. The boy in front of her was beautiful with pitch-black, wavy hair and astonishingly blue eyes. She had never seen a boy so beautiful. It captivated her, her cheeks flushing with colour.
‘Ah, I see. Finally.’ The words spoken came from Mr Donovan, his voice low, his hand harshly squeezing his wincing wife’s hip. ‘Looks like we no longer have to wait for what is destiny.’
‘This is our youngest, Theodore,’ the woman said, speaking to Peter who looked up from the child with a nervous smile. ‘The other two are inside, but I don’t think they’ll be joining us for dinner now.’
‘He’s a very handsome young man,’ Peter told her, the emotion in his voice hard to read. The parents stood in silence for a moment as the children watched each other wordlessly.
May stood beside her father looking confused still, feeling weird over the young boy in front of her, whose hands were clutching one of hers and whose wide eyes and mouth smiled at her, teeth and gums flashing. The boy seemed over the moon to see May, despite being a stranger.
‘Why don’t we go inside and enjoy our dinner? I had our chef prepare the finest steaks in the country,’ Mr Donovan said, motioning to his home. Peter nodded and looked at his daughter.
‘May,’ he said to catch her attention. She unwillingly looked up at her father. His eyes looked even more terrifying than they had prior. His smile was unnatural, trying too hard to come off gentle. ‘Let’s go eat dinner. Remember to be polite, okay?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she replied.
With the giddy boy holding one hand and her father holding the other, the girl walked into the enormous house behind its owners.
As soon as they made it into the massive dining room, the young boy, Theodore, ran to a chair and pulled it out, offering it to May. Her father gave his permission with the nod of his head and quickly sat beside her.
‘May, after dinner, before we have dessert, do you want to go see my room? I got a new game console this week. I’d like it if we played together.’
‘Theodore,’ Mrs Donovan interrupted, looking apologetic. ‘May is here today for dinner. You two can have a playdate another day, okay?’ She gave her son a gentle stare and the young boy pouted, sagging into his seat.
‘That’s a great idea, Theodore,’ his father interjected just as staff placed plates in front of everyone. ‘You two go play while the adults discuss something.’
Theodore couldn’t rush through his meal fast enough. He’d cut May’s meat for her when she struggled a little, and devoured his food quickly so he could watch her finish hers, smiling with adoration. Theodore had been waiting for the day he’d meet his soulmate, at this age, it was normal for those of his kind to become giddy to find their soulmate, but a lot didn’t meet their own until at least their teenage years, and this often upset most, the idea of having to wait so long incited impatience.
But here Theodore’s was, shyly sitting beside him, with beautiful, soft, curly dark auburn hair that flowed all the way down her back in a Dutch braid, and the prettiest eyes that reminded him of the emerald ring his mother had in her jewellery box. Her voice was gentle, like the fluttering of a fairy’s wings. She was the most beautiful girl ever to him, and he was smitten.
Once the children made their way to Theodore’s room, despite Peter’s evident disapproval, the adults were left in silence. Mr Donovan watched Peter, who was still gazing at the door his daughter had left through, looking conflicted.
‘We should discuss the children,’ Mr Donovan said, sitting straight and fixing his shirt. ‘I know that even though there is a place for her in a private school, waiting for her to put into attendance, your daughter attends public instead, correct?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Peter replied, nodding. ‘Her mother and I wished to raise her no different from other children. My wife was against private because of the expenses and her beliefs of not raising children too privileged. She grew up poor herself and sees no reason to spoil our child just because my job and position in your family provides privileged options.’
‘Well, your daughter, as of tonight, is a princess, so it’d be wise if she receives the best education.’ Mr Donovan looked at Peter with a stare that could say a thousand things, but Peter could read it all so clear.
Your daughter is the princess now; she is to be treated as such and not be amongst commoners.
‘Of course, it’d also be best for the children to spend time together, and attending the same school will allow them plenty of time for them to be together,’ Mrs Donovan spoke in the middle of a moment of silence, her lips curving into a mellow smile. ‘Your daughter may be Human in body, but she is Dragon in the soul, and it’s best she gets to see her soulmate as she pleases.’
Not his daughter, not his daughter, not his precious May. Why did it have to be his daughter?
The rest of the night went by uneventfully, the kids came back for a sweet dessert of delicious chocolate cake, and as they stood outside by the car after, the children watched each other sadly.
‘Mummy.’ Theodore broke the silence, looking at his mother, tugging her skirt. The Lady looked down at him with a smile. ‘When do I get to see May again?’
‘Soon, son, say goodbye for now,’ his father gruffly replied.
‘Yes, Father.’ The young boy stepped towards the little girl with a frown and pouted, shyly taking her hands in his. ‘May, promise to come back, okay? So, we can play that game again.’
May had nodded with blushing cheeks and a shy smile, then her father ushered her into the car.
The car ride was too long for Peter, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off his daughter, who was sadly staring at her hands, hands that were now open and felt empty.
Her father ushered her even more hurriedly into the house when they got home and ordered her to go shower and head to bed. Then he was alone, the weight of the night collapsing on him.
His daughter . . .
The princess . . .
Chapter 1
Ever since I was a child, I’ve had dreams of a different world. A world where I felt I belonged. Where I was loved and adored by countless faces. But the people, each time, felt as though they were, in a way, the same. The body was different, but something always felt familiar about them. I felt it was always the person I saw in them that I belonged with.
It was a world where creatures of myth soared the skies and walked the Earth. Where I was a mythical creature with a large body I could change into and soared the skies with others like me, and beside me was always the most beautiful of them all, and sometimes smaller ones that I just knew were ours.
I’ve always felt more at peace in those dreams than I did in reality, because when I woke up, I had to re-face real life, re-face that I didn’t belong, and I wasn’t wanted or loved. I had no friends, no family, not even my parents had wanted me. I was unlovable, abandonable, undesired.
I existed simply as just another unrecognisable person in the world. I would wake up, go to work, go to bed and everything in between; eat, watch TV, read books, and have hook-ups to feed an insatiable urge inside me, a way to feel something other than a deep sense of loneliness, to fill a void that remained empty. No matter what I did or who I did, I never felt complete or as though I belonged. Nothing ever gave satisfaction to what I felt.
But, I do it again anyway. Maybe I was searching for the right touch, the one that belonged, the person that like in my dreams, filled me with peace, but they never came and each time I was left feeling no different because what I craved was a dream.
It’s weird, longing for a dream. A mystery person who didn’t exist, who I’d never meet because it was just that. A dream. It was an empty feeling, as though I was missing a piece of myself, but I never sorted out a resolution to that feeling. I just dealt with it.
I was content, I guess, being lonely. At least if I had no one, no one could hurt me. I couldn’t miss what I didn’t know.
Today, though, was one of those days where those feelings were just bordering on too hard to handle. It hadn’t been a good start and I guess I could blame my day’s failure on how I’d been awoken from another dream, one where a beautiful woman had been caressing my face and kissing me, her touch warm and electrifying. I loved her, she loved me.
Then I was awoken by the annoying sound of my alarm, ripping me from her soft arms, pulling the perfect dream and its feeling right out from under me with a tearing pain encasing my heart.
I had known it was going to be one of those days. Lonely, dull. Void.
It’s not like I was expecting any day to go amazing. My days were all the same, either dull, mediocre or shit. Nothing exciting ever really happened and nothing remarkable ever occurred. My day’s shittiness depended on the customers’ willingness to be good customers, by being nice, using their manners or simply not making my job unnecessarily harder. I relied on how my workday went to determine how the day was, and today, it was like the customers did nothing but piss me off.
‘I asked for soy milk and extra whip!’ The lady shrieked in a way that made me want to flinch away and protect my eardrums. ‘This has no whip, and I can taste the cow’s milk! I have a dairy allergy!’ she screeched, slamming the cup onto the counter. Thankfully, the lid kept it from spilling. I felt my eye twitch with irritation and my customer-service smile falter a little, but I let air into my lungs and addressed the woman with my customer-service voice, a talent one learns to perfect after working in this industry.
‘I’m sorry about the mistake on your order, ma’am, but our whip is a dairy product and we do not provide alternative whips here. If you have a dairy allergy, we cannot serve you our whip,’ I stated, trying to not smack my forehead. ‘The server would’ve informed you of this.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ she asked, jabbing her finger at me.
Kinda. I kept my thoughts to myself and held my smile as she continued with her rant.
‘Whip doesn’t have dairy in it. Your server gave me lip about that too, but I know it’s free of dairy. Since I’m allergic to it, I should know!’ She huffed, and I bit my tongue.
It just sounds like you’re trying to scam a free drink out of me.
‘Of course,’ I said with that cheek-hurting fake smile that made customers think I was being friendly. I didn’t feel like dealing with her nonsense and, by my boss’s policy, it required me to refund and remake. Customers are always right, apparently. The customer is fucking stupid, though. ‘I’ll have that remade for you. What was your order?’
She scoffed loudly, arms folded like it offended her I didn’t know her order.
‘Large iced double-shot latte, soy milk,’ she enunciated the ‘soy milk’ with over-the-top exaggeration. ‘Extra whip, with two pumps of caramel syrup, two pumps of vanilla, and make it upside down.’
‘Upside—’ I looked at her previous drink with confusion for a second, trying to under what she meant, then got it.
I made her drink, gave her the refund and trashed her previous drink, rolling my eyes when she left the café, happy as a pig in mud.
Thirty minutes later, a review was up on our Google page about how ‘customer service is horrible, workers are rude, coffee tastes bad,’ and that she had ‘ordered a coffee that had been made wrong, asked for a new one and they made it wrong again.’
Now, I wasn’t a coffee snob and I frankly, admittedly, did not give a darn about the quality of the product. I worked to pay bills, not for passion, but I was a good worker. I had an excellent memory and made my drinks to order. I hardly ever fucked up. I kept up a façade of niceness and pretended to care, even when they were verbally abusing me. I know for a fact that the coffee was exactly what she ordered.
Her order was one of the simpler ones I got that day. Somehow, a customer had expected me to fit six caramel syrups, three vanilla, four chocolate, two raspberries, three shots of expresso and two separate milk types into a large cup with extra ice. That order was made more complicated when I was about to make it and he requested over the counter that I made it with ice already in the cup.
At twenty-three years old, you’d think I’d be working a better job, but alas, here I was, working in a little café on a street in a poor suburb of Melbourne in Victoria, Australia. Making overly excessive drinks for people and baking freezer-stored pies and sausage rolls priced unreasonably high and advertised as ‘fresh-made’. This, I guess, was the consequence of not having any sort of desirable attributes or employable qualifications other than graduating with a perfect grade record. It also probably didn’t help that I had zero dreams or goals. A job was a job, and I had stuck to that concept with every one of them I got since I was fifteen.
