Choose Your Fate

CW: domestic violence/abuse, suicide, murder

Somebody was watching me.

Even in my severely drunken state, I felt the tingling feeling in the back of my neck - something I always claimed was a superpower of mine. 

I took my attention off the bartender with whom I had been arguing - just give me one more fucking drink - and swiveled my head around. The disco lights of the club spun around me in a blur, and for a moment I marveled at the pretty colors, reveled in them.

“Will you buy me a drink?” I drawled, even before I had finished turning around. I’d reward the man with a dance, of course. And perhaps a kiss, if he was hot enough.

My breath fell away as I looked up at who stood in front of me. Curly black hair. An amused smirk on his face. A sharp jawline with the perfect amount of scruff. The pounding music seemed to intensify as I gazed into his dark eyes.

“With pleasure,” he replied to my question.

“You again,” I breathed. 

He smiled. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

I must’ve been too drunk last weekend to give him my correct number, but I didn’t bother correcting him. Guys always loved girls who played hard to get, anyway.

“Vodka cranberry, just like last time. And then maybe I’ll change my mind.” I made a show of looking him up and down, trailing a long red nail down his chest. It was a drunken zigzag, unlike the straight line I’d hoped for, but it was enough for him to visibly shudder, and I grinned in satisfaction.

Within minutes I had downed the new drink and we were out on the dance floor of the club. God, I loved this. Every weekend, losing myself to the beat of the music, the disorienting strobe lights as they exploded in impossible directions, the strong hands that gripped my hips… even the smell of strangers’ sweat felt like home at this point. I laughed, danced, sang slurred words to songs I didn’t even know. I spun around, making myself dizzy, and fell back against a broad chest that held me up.

The back of my neck tingled again, and I jerked my head up. 

It wasn’t - what was his name again? Jaxton. It wasn’t Jaxton, because when I craned my neck to peer at him, he was looking right at me, hunger in his eyes, and my superpower only activated when someone was watching me without my knowing about it.

“Something wrong?” he asked in my ear to combat the loudness of the music.

The sound of his voice was so seductive. I reached up to wrap my hands around his neck behind me. Jaxton didn’t complain, responding by wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. I groaned with pleasure when I felt a tongue sweeping over my skin, sapping up the beads of sweat sticking to my nape. 

Maybe I’d help warm his bed tonight, I thought with a wicked smile. He clearly wanted it, and he had certainly earned more of my time.

Suddenly, through half-closed lids, I saw it - darting around the corner to the bathrooms. A head of long, blonde hair. I jolted up again, nearly knocking against Jaxton’s head in the process.

Why on earth was a female watching me in this club?

I turned to Jaxton. “I gotta pee, I’ll be right back! Don’t go anywhere.” I smiled.

Before I could slip away, he grabbed my wrist, jerking me back towards him. “Ow!” I whined. But I soon was melting in his grip as he kissed me, as if claiming me, marking me as his for the whole room to see.

“Don’t be long.” His eyes glimmered with dark promise. I hungered for more of his touch - but later. After I was done investigating whoever was watching me. With a wink, I left him on the dance floor and shoved my way through the crowd. 

Once inside the bathroom, the music muted to a dull thud that shook the floors. There was only one occupied stall - it had to be whomever had been watching me.

Standing in front of the mirror, I pursed my lips and reapplied my lipstick as I waited for her to finish. The world swam in front of me. I might’ve smudged my lipstick a little bit. Or gotten it on my teeth. I sighed in irritation and lifted my lips out of the way, rubbed a finger against the angry red line. Clumsy alcohol fingers. A giggle escaped me at the phrase.

The bathroom stall door swung open, and I gaped in the mirror at the sight of the woman behind me. She was not what I was expecting.

This was no party girl. She may have resembled me in many ways - long blonde hair like mine, green eyes like mine, average height. But she had to have been at least ten years older than me. What was a thirty-something year old doing here? 

And why had she been watching me?

I watched as she washed her hands with only quick sideyes in my direction. Were her hands… trembling?

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I drawled, gripping the sink with one hand while I turned to face her. “What is your deal?” I was never one for subtleties. 

She flinched at my words but didn’t say anything, only crossed to the bathroom door.

“Hey!” I went to grab her shoulder. “Don’t you fucking ignore me!”

She shrugged me off easily and, instead of pulling open the door, she twisted the giant bolt to lock it.

Huh?

With her back still to me, she said, “I need to talk to you.”

Somewhere deep down inside me, I recognized that voice. But in my drunken stupor, I couldn’t quite place it.

“Talk to me?” I scoffed. “About what?”

“Stay away from Jaxton.”

After a moment, I burst out laughing. “Oh, is he yours? A little young for you, don’t you think? And if you’re going to act like a jealous bitch, say it to my face.”

She finally turned around, looking at me with weary, sunken eyes. Jesus, the lady had not aged well. I did not envy those wrinkles, the dark circles underneath her eyes, or the hair so thin you could probably squeeze it all into a paperclip.

Why did she look so familiar, though?

“Who are you?” I asked, squinting at her in confusion. 

“Jaxton will hurt you,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Oh, fuck off.” I rolled my eyes and sidestepped, reaching around her to unlock the door so that I could exit. “Great acting skills, but I’ve got a party to enjoy.”

She refused to get out of the way. “Your name is Tracy Vespin. You’re twenty-three years old and you work in the HR department of Hainkin Company. You have a communication major from NYU.”

I eyed her warily. “You trying to recruit me or something? Doing a real great job convincing me, lady.”

The woman huffed out a humorless laugh. “I had forgotten how snarky you were,” she muttered.

“Yeah, and you forgot your decency,” I snapped. “Why the fuck have you been stalking me? What do you want?”

“Shut up and listen.” She grabbed my shoulders and stared at me so intensely I found it hard to look away. “If you go home tonight with Jaxton, your whole life will be ruined.”

“And why on earth would I believe that?”

“Just trust me. I know things you don’t.”

“Oh, because you’re so much older and wiser.” I gave her a scrutinizing look. Despite her clear insanity, there was something that was bothering me about her. There was something familiar that I just couldn’t figure out.

She sighed and pressed a palm to her forehead. “You’re not going to listen to me unless I tell you.”

“Tell me what.” This woman was getting closer and closer to getting punched if she didn’t move out of my way or get to the point of whatever it was she had to say.

“Tracy.” She grabbed my shoulders again and put her face real close to mine. Close enough to feel her breath. “I am you. I am from the future. And I’m trying to prevent you from making a huge mistake, just like I did.”

I blinked.

What?

“I know that’s a lot to take in. But trust me when I tell you I know exactly what you’re going through right now.”

“You know nothing,” I snarled, shaking her hands off my shoulders. I needed to get away from this insane woman, and fast. “And if you don’t get out of my way right now, I swear to god, you’ll regret it.”

With that, I shoved her to the side. She didn’t protest, but just when I was about to turn the lock, she spoke.

“I know so much more,” she said quietly, without looking at me. “I know that you have a tingle in your neck whenever someone is watching you. You call it a superpower of yours. And here’s something else you don’t know: eventually, you’ll develop a new superpower. That’s how I’m able to be here right now.”

My blood chilled. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said slowly.

She sensed my hesitation and kept going. “I know that you lost your best friend Laney almost a year ago, and things have never been the same. That’s why every weekend, you go alone to one of these clubs and drink yourself nearly to death. All because you’re too depressed to think about anything else. You just met this man Jaxton for the second time in a row and you’re thinking it’s a sign to be with him. But I promise you, if you interact any more with Jaxton, you will end up marrying him. And he. Will. Hurt you.”

I turned slowly, carefully, to get a good look at her face. The face she claimed also belonged to me. The face that I now realized was covered in bruises, cuts and scars. Her eyes weren’t just sunken - they were bruised. And were those fingers marks on her neck?

This woman had been through hell.

That couldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be so stupid to end up in the situation she was describing - right?

Well, I was dumb enough to be going to clubs alone every weekend, drinking myself senseless, and waking up in strangers’ beds the next morning.

“You can’t be me,” I whispered. “That’s impossible.”

She stared at me resolutely. “You have a birthmark on your wrist, right here. It’s shaped like a heart sliced in half.” She pulled her sleeve up to reveal the damning evidence.

A birthmark identical to the one I had. I didn’t need to glance at mine to compare.

I had to be hallucinating. I must be drunker than I thought. Jaxton must have slipped something into my drink. He must have, because this was impossible. 

“No, no, no,” I mumbled, sloppily unbolting the lock and stumbling outside of the bathroom. The booming of the music thundered throughout my body again, instantly relaxing me. Just a crazy hallucination, I told myself.

Confidence regained, I returned to the dance floor, but failed to spot that familiar-yet-not-familiar head of curls. With a frown, I scanned the other side of the room, where the bar was… there. Leaning against the counter, new vodka cranberry in hand, staring straight at me with a dark gaze. I licked my lips and sauntered towards him.

“Such a good boy,” I purred, reaching for the drink.

He held it up above my reach. “Not without a kiss first,” he smirked.

I rolled my eyes but leaned in quickly to give him a peck on the cheek. He frowned, and I laughed. “You didn’t specify where,” I said, offering him a cunning smile.

By the time I had taken my next breath, he had grabbed me with his free arm and pressed me up against him. His lips crashed into mine, and for a moment I could do nothing but ride the wave of pleasure he had pulled me into. Of their own volition, my hands wrapped around his neck, and I was drowning, drowning, but I didn’t care as long as I didn’t have to think about anything else…

It was only when his teeth grazed my lips when I mentally resurfaced. Soon he was all teeth, biting down on my lip - hard. 

I pulled back, fingers flying to the unmistakable trickle of blood flowing from my lip. “Hey,” I complained. “That hurts.”

“The price for making me wait for you so long,” he explained with a shrug, before finally handing me the drink. I grinned and accepted it happily, taking a big sip.

“No!” screamed a way too familiar voice. Out of nowhere, Paxton was hit by a barreling force that knocked both of us to the floor. The glass in my hand shattered as it hit the ground, but not before spilling it all over my white dress. 

“What the fuck!” I seethed before standing, soaking wet and sticky all over. And not in a good way. 

There she was, all too real, panting as she stood watching me with desperate eyes.

“Tracy, who is this?” Paxton demanded, equally as upset, hands curled into fists. I caught the hint of confusion in his tone as he undoubtedly noticed the uncanny similarities between the two of us.

The older version of me shrank away from him as he glared at her. Good god, she really was scared of him. “I won’t let you do this,” she said to me, voice high and shrill. Her hands shook as she reached inside her jacket. “I… I can’t live like this.”

A gun. 

My eyes widened and I instinctively rushed towards her as she raised the gun to her head. “What are you doing?” I yelled. “Stop!” Our arms tangled in a frenzy as I struggled against her, fighting to tear the gun out of her grip. Even Paxton came to assist, his big arms adding to the jumble of limbs.

A loud bang.

I froze. Mentally checked my body for pain, but found none.

Paxton gasped.

Blood - on his chest. Spreading quickly throughout his shirt like water on a paper towel. There was so, so much blood…

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Paxton.”

With a thud, he fell to the floor, hand clutching his chest. I knelt and pressed my palms against the wound, but the blood was flowing out so fast, too fast, oh god, it was everywhere –

The gun clattered the floor next to us, crinkling against the broken glass. I took a moment to look up at her, scream at her, but she was gone, as if she hadn’t ever been there. As if her existence depended on Jaxton’s life.

Screams rang throughout the air as the crowd finally started to notice the scene we had made. I shouted at them to call 911, get help, and to find the woman who had killed him - find the long blonde-haired woman with the green eyes – 

Paxton’s hand suddenly went limp underneath mine. I whirled and stared down at him, stared at his unseeing eyes. Tears blurred my vision and I cried, screamed, pounded on his chest, begged him to come back, begged someone to help.

Strong hands lifted me off of him, shoved me aside despite my kicking and screaming. That’s when I heard the words of the bystanders.

“She killed him –”

“That gun is hers, I saw her holding it –”

“Call the police –”

“She was struggling with him and she shot him –”

In desperation I twisted around, fighting to escape the grip of whomever was holding me, dragging me away, but they were so strong. Even my own ears couldn’t pick up the sound of my words as I screamed that it wasn’t me, wasn’t my gun, I hadn’t even touched the gun –

But her fingerprints would be the same as mine, if what she had said to me was true. Fingerprints that would show up on the trigger. Everyone was shouting that it was me, the woman with long blonde hair. Me, the one with the gun. Me, the one who had shot him.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. I sobbed, wailed, insisted it wasn’t me, told them it was another woman who looked like me, but the entire club was searched and Future Tracy was nowhere to be found. Nobody existed in the club that looked even remotely like her. Just me.

As I sat in the backseat of the police car, tears silently streaming down my face, I realized it was pointless. Every word in the club had sworn they had seen me shoot him. The forensics would find my fingerprints on that gun.

The only word I had was one of a crazy person. 

I’d be lucky if I ever made it out of jail.

But there was nothing I could do about it now. Future Tracy had changed my life, her life, our life - but at what cost?

My fate had been changed - but I would never know this path was better or worse than the one she had taken.