Chapter Text
Pamela Isley loved the concept of soulmates.
In theory, you only have to date once. Your soulmate is supposedly "meant to be" and "your one true love". Therefore,"they will be with you forever and ever," as the fairy tales stated. No break-ups. No trial and error. It's a scientist's wet dream. Tangible, planned, solid.
Plus, it fends off any possibility of a heartbreak if both parties play by the rules. It helps ease the deepest insecurity of Pamela — in the end, she will be able to find someone who is trustworthy enough that she can depend on.
Since Pamela learnt about the idea of a soulmate at the tender age of 5, she has been fantasizing about her person.
Is he tall? Broad shoulders? Bright smile? A knight in shining armour? Maybe he will play the piano. Or the Cello. Classy and well educated preferably.
At 6, she was taught that the first sentence your soulmate says to you will be tattooed on your body when you turn 18.
Pamela was eager to learn how to spell then. Keen to enrich her vocabulary bank with exquisite words just so she can place a graceful tattoo on her person in the future. She is determined to learn the most beautiful poems so she can recite them to her soulmate.
Secretly, she wished that her soulmate is equally well-read. She often imagines the word that would eventually appear on her.
At 12, she realised maybe that "he" could be a "she" instead.
Maybe she could be a blonde. Long legs. Elegant. Blue eyes, perhaps? Doesn't matter. She hopes her significant other likes nature, so they can lace fingers and enjoy long walks along the beach. Picnic dates? Library dates? Camping? Just depends on how old she is meeting her soulmate.
When she turned 18, she was devasted.
A giant "Fuck" appeared on her ribs, right below her left breast. It was red and raw to touch. It was like a mystical hand just reach down and draw that tattoo on her tanned skin. She despises it. Guess she can throw "elegant" and "well-educated" out of the window.
The young woman cried into her pillow that night. Maybe her future relationship will be as strained as the one like her parents.
The next day, the redhead confined to her childhood friend, Alec. Thankfully, he remained optimistic.
"Some people have it worst! Trust me! You know Vanessa from Bio? She got a simple 'Hi'. I don't know how she's supposed to find her soulmate with that simple greeting! Hell! Her soulmate can be someone she misdialled for all she knows.
What I am saying is... At least not a lot of people swears at you the first time you guys meet! Or maybe, your soulmate is going to fall and you will be able to catch them before they land on their face... that explains the profanities? I don't know Pamela. The possibilities are endless!"
Because of him, Pamela continued to be hopeful.
Pamela Isley was a shy woman, so she didn't meet many people in college. Still, she kept her ears open. Wishing that some pretty girl will bump into her in the corridor and say the sweetest "fuck" at her.
That never happened though. Even when someone ran into her, she felt no attraction. There was no increase in heart rate, no sweaty palms, no butterflies in the stomach.
Where is she?
At 21, the freshly graduated Pamela's faith waivered, seeing how casual some of her college friends are.
There are no laws to bind soulmates together, so people can still fool around. They can get married even. What if her soulmate is a free spirit?
Moreover, she was already a little annoyed by this vulgar soulmate of hers. Because of her tattoo, she couldn't really wear a bikini or a loose crop top. Not that her mother would approve, nor was she confident enough to wear revealing clothes like that, but she liked the option.
At 24, she met Prof Jason Woodrue, a brilliant scientist in her profession. Most importantly, she didn't just 'met' him. She collided with him, knocking his briefcase and a cup of coffee off his hand.
"Fuck," he muttered. It was barely a whisper, but it sounded like thunder to Pamela's ears.
"Chrysanthemum!" She squealed in adoration. He isn't a knight in shining armour, but he is well-read, smart and charming. She can fall in love with him.
Being a naive little girl, she immediately confessed after a short chat, and her professor took advantage of her.
In hindsight, she should have kept her secret. She should have checked his mark. She should have trusted her gut instinct that her soulmate is a 'she'. She should have noticed something was wrong when Woodrue insist they have sex with lights off or with his shirt on. She should have realised it's wrong when he published her paper under his name.
The last straw that broke the camel's back was, laughably, when Woodrue tied her to the basement lab. He tortured her for days, injecting her with the serum that they were developing.
Ivy snapped his neck when her plant power developed. She removed his shirt to find that his word wasn't Chrysanthemum after all.
Since then, she has stopped thinking about her soulmate. Gone is the young and sweet Pamela Isley. Screw fate.
She is Poison Ivy now. Mother Nature herself. She doesn't need a soulmate. She hopes that the first word she says to her soulmate is a giant "Fuck you" too.