Mercy

Part 1: Special

A/N: Hi and welcome back! So this story will have violence, murder, disturbing themes like suicide and SA. I'm still bad with TW because I think that it sometimes spoils plot points but I will tell you if something is really bad, this is the main warning tho. It's a darkfic and an AU so if that isn't what you are looking for might I suggested to read something other than this, I've got some soft stuff that I have written previously so maybe check that out instead? Anyways, I'm super excited about this. 

Make sure to take care of yourselves!
/N

I love my job. How many people can really say that? As an onlooker you might not think so, but caring for the elderly at the end of their life really did have meaning. It was an honourable job and no one did it better than me. You wouldn't expect it if you knew me outside of work. If you were to meet me in a bar you would probably find me distant and at times mean. The kids at school called me 'The mean redhead', I hate it. It lacks imagination and it doesn't really capture any real characteristics. Basic, it is basic and I am not. That is something I am sure of.

I knew I was special from an early age. I was not a child, at least not like others my age was. When people talked I paid attention and when I saw an opportunity to make things better for myself I took them. At Michelle Bergens fifth birthday party I saw how the girl with the cast on her arm got special treatment. People felt bad for her so she got the best goodie bag, she got a bigger piece of the cake and she could make people do things for her. She still had legs so she could go over to the cooler and get her own soda but people wanted to do it for her. I never liked pity but if I was the person who chose it it was different. I figured out how to make a cast but I didn't use it right away, it had to be perfect. I had other plans. You might think that my parents would be concerned but don't worry my dad ran away with another woman and my mom was drunk enough to hardly notice me. I did the shopping and the cooking from the age of eight, I didn't mind except for that the food sometimes came out tasting gross and contrary to popular belief ketchup can not make everything better.

There was a boy in my class, a rich boy. I knew that it would be good for me to be his friend. We started to play together and he liked me enough, his dad was a piece of shit so we had things in common that most kids don't. I would come to learn that Reece's mother ran away with my father and on some level I hated him for it. I hated his whole family for it. Rationally it wasn't his fault. I pretended to be sympathetic to his situation and I told him that I related to him but I didn't. Our situations were nothing alike. He was rich and although his mom was gone, he still had everything. My dad left and I had nothing. We were not the same.

I managed to spend a lot of time at Reece's house. I came to know his sister Autumn and his father Roger. There was something off about Roger and I knew it the moment I saw him. He was cold and distant and even when he smiled it would not reach his eyes. He was emotionless and I felt like I finally found someone I could relate to. Sometimes I wonder how long it took him to recognize our similarities. Between the ages of nine and thirteen I spent most afternoons there. Roger made sure I ate and that I got home safe, it was a good situation.

At thirteen things changed. I had worked myself into the Knight family and I had played my part well. Roger would drive me home each night and we would talk, we talked like real people. He asked me about how people really treated me. He told me that he knew about my mom and he asked me if I ever thought about finding a way to move away from her. I was thirteen so of course I hadn't. I couldn't afford to be on my own and I told him that. I could see him smile in the rear-view mirror as he said, 'I used to know a lot of people in social services, you're a smart kid and you could probably figure it out'. I did. I figured it out. I made calls and made sure I understood what it would mean to be taken away from my mother. I didn't have any close relatives so I knew that they would put me in a foster home, I did not like that. Better the devil you know, then the devil you don't. I asked Roger about it a week or so later. I told him that I looked into it and that it was a good idea but not worth the risk. He called me a smart cookie.