WARNING - THIS CHAPTER HAS REFERENCES TO SELF-HARM.

Mercer knew she had a jealous streak. Well, why wouldn't she? After all, she had fought for her parent's attention constantly. Not that it had done any good because they sent her to boarding school when she was fifteen.

They said her tantrums were no longer cute. They said she was dangerous just because they'd caught her holding her little brother's head under the water in the swimming pool. It was his fault anyway. Why did he have to be born? She hated him from the very beginning.

Mercer pulled the razor from its case. She turned off the light, climbed on the bed, and then turned on the CD. As she ran the blade through her skin, her jealousy escalated.

Mimicking her father's voice she said, "Mercer honey, Mummy's got a surprise in her tummy."

She remembered clapping her hands in excitement asking, "What is it, Daddy?"

"It's a baby," he said as his face lit up.

Mercer cut deeper. She didn't like her father because he was a man and she liked babies even less. They were bad. That's why she'd been adopted; because she was a bad baby. She turned up the volume of her music to try and drown out the memories.

The bad baby memories.

She tried to love Anton.

She tried to be a good girl.

But that baby just cried and cried. Mercer laughed at the memory of pinching him to make him shut up.

Cutting wasn't working so Mercer put the razor away and lit a joint. She lay back against the bed head and inhaled deeply. It'd been a while since she'd allowed memories like these to invade her.

Doctor Starmer, her therapist, told her not to fight them but to just let them come, to acknowledge them was part of the healing process.

She took another drag and recalled the Christmas she'd wanted flippers and a snorkel. Instead, they gave her a floating mattress and as usual Anton got what she wanted.

The pot was making her feel better. Mercer wondered what Doctor Starmer would say if she knew she smoked pot while she was, healing. Mercer chuckled because she didn't think she'd approve of her taking enjoyment from some of her memories.

This thought made her wonder what had happened to the nanny she'd tried to set alight. Her parents quickly came home from that little jaunt. They never took her on their trips, just Anton. The excuse was that he was too young to be left at home but, she was older and more mature so it was acceptable.

"Ha, I showed them and that old nanny a thing or two!" Mercer yelled at her ceiling. She recalled lighting the cigarette and dropping it onto the bed covers.

Mercer inhaled another toke of the joint, laughed loudly and yelled, "It should have burnt more than her fucking arm! Stupid old bitch!"

She snapped a matchstick, and then pinched the roach between the two pieces and drew back. "Oh yeah..." she said with a grin while looking at what was left of the joint. "This is good shit."

The idea that she should tell the therapist the truth flashed through her mind. What would she say if she knew Mercer had started the fire? At the moment she believed what the authorities believed. The old lady had been smoking in bed. Mercer decided against the truth. After all she'd got what she wanted. Her parents had come home from Fiji immediately. They had lavished her with gifts and everything went great for a while.

Until she'd held Anton's head under the water that Christmas.

Then they sent her to boarding school.

Mercer lay down and curled up in a ball. She hated it. All the uppity girls whose fathers were doctors and lawyers.

Jet Reed was a memory she had shared with the therapist. Jet Reed her first love, her first lover. She was beautiful and the name suited her. Mercer was immediately infatuated with her long black hair and lithe athletic figure.

She remembered how scared she was when Jet climbed into bed with her the first time. As she thought about Jet, Mercer trailed her hand down her body. The experience had been wonderful. Jet knew her stuff alright. She had loved Jet so much. The only person she had ever loved. Mercer wiped her eyes. Jet was another who had betrayed her.

Mercer jerked to sitting and grabbed the razor angrily. "Fucking bitch, how could she have replaced me with Stacey Barton!" She cut and watched the blood catch in the other scars and colour them red. "I should have pushed Stacey instead of Jet," Mercer mumbled and cut again.  

Mercer certainly has some anger issues.

Photo - dreamtime.com