MERCY

by KC Decker

  “Did you plan on treating me until my birthday and then just saying goodbye?”

  “No. I never planned on saying goodbye to you,” he says as he reaches around me and then hoists me to his hips. “I just hadn’t worked out the details quite yet.” Then he kisses me again, deeply. It’s enough to abandon breakfast altogether.

  Chapter 35

  When I walk into Sutton’s office for my state-mandated appointment, I step into an ambush. Hilary and her air of staticky chaos are perched on the couch, and both sets of eyes are hotly on mine. Each pair saying something different. Sutton’s gaze is imploring me not to fuck this up, and Hilary’s speak to her eroded spirit and lack of time to contend with such foolishness as this.

  I’m already demoralized from my weekend of mixed signals from Sutton, and I have no idea how this next hour will play out. One thing I do know, is that tripwires are all around me, and I have to be very careful how I handle myself.

  “Sit down, Mercy,” Hilary begins, with a prick of irritation in her voice. “It has come to my attention that you no longer reside at the step-down facility.” She glances down at her notes, “Not since last Thursday. Is that correct?”

  “Well, you see…I feel in my heart that there are more deserving people, who would be better suited in a pla—”

  “Mercy, the state requires us to follow a certain protocol. You running away and skipping classes and employment interviews, makes our job rather difficult, don’t you think?” Sutton interrupts with a haughty challenge. Pretty rich for someone who implemented my whole disappearance, if you ask me.

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “Independent living requires compliance. You need to obtain gainful employment, complete your life skills classes, learn to manage your medications and finances on your own, and perhaps, more importantly, you need to follow the rules laid out before you,” Hilary says.

  “Or what?” I ask. It’s an innocent enough question, but it still makes Sutton suck in a sharp breath.

  “Or you will no longer be supported by the state,” she says with a hand on her chest and shock blooming across her face from the strength of her astonishment.

  “I’m fine with that. What’s next?” I ask as I risk a look at Sutton.

  “You may be fine with that, Mercy, but you need to understand the regulations that dictate this process,” he says, almost begging me to shut up with the look in his eyes.

  “Listen, I know you both mean well, but the fact is that I am an adult. I will not be told where to live and how to conduct myself during the day.”

  “Lack of compliance disavows you of the federal scaffolding that’s been put in place to help people like you,” Hilary says. The way she says people like you makes me wish she would choke on her tongue.

  “Actually, Hilary, people like me do not need federal scaffolding because we’ve learned resilience—in fact, it’s been shoved down our throats. We are the survivors that keep getting up even though we’ve been knocked down all our lives. We are the fighters that eek through life, never giving up on ourselves even when everyone else has. We are the Gladiators that face impossible odds and then overcome them. Why? Because we have to! Do you think a six-hour life-skills class can teach me that? Do you think bagging groceries at the corner store is all I aspire to? Do you think clipping my wings will keep me from flying? Because if you do, you’re the fucking crazy ones! I’ve trained my whole life for this, so with all due respect, you two can step right outside and go fuck yourselves.”

  After I finish my tirade, I’m panting, and the fire in my chest has worked its way up to my indignant glare. Neither of them says a word as they digest what’s just been spat before them. I think Hilary expected a delicate, fractured soul. Never realizing that fractures calcify and heal stronger than before. My fractures have been fortified by life, and I haven’t been delicate for a very long time.

  Sutton is looking down at his hands, it’s possible he is even smiling. Hilary, on the other hand, looks at me like I just peed down her throat. She smoothes her skirt, and then evidently changes her attitude, because following a small cough, she softens her gaze.

  “In that case, I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork. Dr. Sutton, I’ll email you the forms and keep you both abreast of any legal technicalities that may arise. It is my belief that any hearing on the matter would take place after Ms. Kavanaugh reaches the age of majority, and would, therefore, be a waste of federal and state resources.”

  “Hold on, now. Ms. Kavanaugh has not yet completed her treatment goals and is currently under both Dr. Gingham’s and my care,” Sutton says rather directly.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Sutton. We can’t have it both ways—”

  “Then file the paperwork for a ward of the court termination hearing.”

  “I told you, that will take months. Ms. Kavanaugh will be twenty-one by then.”

  “Yes, but her treatment will still be covered until that time. As far as the residential and employment conditions, you’ll have to take it up with the judge. I’m her doctor, not her caseworker. My concern is her mental health, not the legislation behind her status as a ward of the court.”

  The stare down that ensues between the two of them has my eyes bouncing back and forth between the two. It’s evident that my social worker is not sure how to proceed. All three of us know I will age out of the system in less than two months. Sutton wants to remain my doctor, and Hilary wants to wash her hands of me. And any deciding vote from the courts would happen months after it’s no longer relevant.

  “I have other cases to tend to. I’ll be in touch, Dr. Sutton. Mercy, good luck, I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Hilary says as she rises to her feet and then makes a rather unglamorous exit. She leaves the air of defeat in her wake but seems happy enough to put me in her past.

  “The part she directed at me sounded kind of final, don’t you think?” I ask Sutton. It’s not really a question, it’s more of a gleeful triple backflip.

  “Mercy, what am I going to do with you?” he laughs as he drops his head.

  “Soooooo many dirty things.”

  “We…uhh… we still have a lot of work to do before you age out.” He coughs. “We left off last time with you speaking cryptically about tarnish. I’d like you to expand on that.”

  “Tarnish?”

  “Yes, we were discussing your foster home placements, and how you have carried rejection around with you your whole life. I’d like to really dig into that sense of rejection.”

  “When you look at me and pretend to work, do you picture how I looked in my slutty nightgown?”

  “Mercy.”

  “I mean, it is a pretty sexy nightgown...if you can even call it a nightgown.”

  “Mercy, we are talking about tarnish. Not how fucking hot you looked in that nightgown. You are beautiful, striking even, but discussing that fact will not get us very far.”

  “That’s just it, Sutton. Everyone wants the beautiful, the striking. Wars were waged over beautiful things. Gods and Kings fought to possess the striking. But everything is so damn fleeting. Beauty and promise lose their luster, and when the tarnish begins to show through, it’s the ugliness that gets thrown back. The raw. The real. People turn their backs on us. The tarnished and the misunderstood lose their glow, and consequently, any appeal we may have started with.”

  “You’re wrong, Mercy.”

  “I’m not wrong. When the spit and the shine have lost their luster, when the cracks begin to show—that’s when things start to fall apart.”

  “No, Mercy. It’s the spit and the shine that are fleeting. The polish and the pretense that people present to the world. The tarnish and the cracks are what’s beautiful. The raw and the real—that’s where true beauty lies.”

  “People can’t handle the raw and the real. It shines too bright of a light on the world’s suffering. A blind eye is easier than empathy. It’s too easy to judge someone instead of trying to understand them.”

  �
�We are all beautiful. And we are all tarnished. Mercy, that’s what makes us human. We are not molded into who we become based on a certain body type or hair color. We are molded into who we are by our experiences and by overcoming the obstacles on our path. Beauty doesn't define our character, the tarnish does.”

  “So, you are saying I should embrace the tarnish that got me abandoned by my parents and rejected from every foster home?”

  “I’m saying you would be a different person today if you hadn’t experienced everything you have.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be a good thing. You could be a pretentious asshole or a spoiled brat, or an entitled narcissist…you could be anything. But you wouldn’t be you. And I kinda like you just as you are.”

  “Are you trying to get me to change my perception about myself?”

  “Perception is everything, Mercy.”

  “You don’t perceive me as broken or messed up?”

  “You aren’t broken or messed up.”

  “What about when I was diagnosed as a schizophrenic?”

  “Still not broken or messed up. Just you.”

  Chapter 36

  Matty, Lyla, and Veronica haven’t changed a bit. The only difference in our friendship cluster is the setting and the intoxicating aroma of coffee that seduces people into the café like a horde of crusaders.

  When I look around at three of the most important people in the world to me, Sutton’s words rise to the surface of my thoughts. Beauty doesn't define our character, the tarnish does. All of a sudden, his prophetic words make sense. Sutton is right. The weight of our hardships may be heavier at this table than others, but each of us is who we are because of our unique experiences.

  If we were stripped to generic beings who all fit in the same standardized mold, never struggled, and never had to overcome those struggles, who would be sitting at this table right now?

  The thought tightens my throat. I want my friends to be happy more than I want that for myself, but I also love them no matter what struggles they bring to the table. They are beautiful. And they are tarnished.

  “Mercy, are you always this sappy on the outside?” Veronica asks with a laugh, as she dabs a tear from my cheek.

  “I’m just so happy to have found my family after all this time,” I say as my heart overflows with emotion.

  “Oo, oo,” Matty says as he raises his hand excitedly in the air, “Can I be the big sister?”

  We all fall apart laughing, but I put my hand on his and squeeze because if God Himself asked me to choose a big sister, I would absolutely choose Matty.

  Lyla garners everyone’s attention by clearing her throat and announcing, “Ok, settle down, it’s time to be serious,” then she giggle-snorts, letting us know that being serious is not really on the agenda this afternoon.

  She opens her purse and takes out a box wrapped in red wrapping paper and a gold foil ribbon. “We all splurged and got you a gift for busting out of the state hospital early.”

  I look around at each of them. Their smiles are genuine even though I fully suspect the gift will challenge my virgin sensibilities, and most likely bring the flush of embarrassment to my cheeks.

  “It’s actually two gifts. Their usefulness depends on your ability to snare Sutton,” V adds, bringing another round of laughter to the table as I tear open the wrapping paper.

  They got me condoms and a pale-pink vibrator.

  I love my friends.

  Chapter 37

  “How was your afternoon with your friends?” Sutton asks as he pours two glasses of wine, then hands one to me.

  “It was amazing. We had lunch at Mirabelle’s, then had coffee at that cute little corner café. Have you ever been there? The one with a cobblestone floor and those insanely good pumpkin scones? Anyway, Lyla and V are going to some swanky art exhibit tonight, so they left early to go get ready, and Matty took me computer shopping.”

  “I see that,” he says as he looks towards the stack of electronics boxes in the living room. “Did you tell them where you are living?”

  “Of course,” I say casually before I take a tentative sip of wine.

  “Mercy, you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not? They are my people. They’ve seen the devil through my eyes and stuck around.”

  “Why not? Do I really need to answer that?” he asks as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the kitchen counter.” The posture is relaxed, his face is not.

  “Plus, they think I should ditch the rest of my appointments with you anyway,” I say as I go back for another sip of wine. It tastes heavy, yet smooth in my mouth, but I’m not yet convinced why everyone likes wine so much.

  “Why are they encouraging you to ditch your appointments with me? That isn’t very responsible of them. Don’t they want what’s best for you?”

  “Of course they do. They just happen to disagree with you about what that is,” I say before setting my wineglass down and hopping up on the counter to watch the chef at work.

  He doesn’t budge, let alone tend to the sauté pan that’s currently crackling with the sound of mushrooms and onions that are about to burn.

  “And what have your unlicensed medical expert friends decided is best for you?”

  “I can’t tell you…I’d rather show you,” I giggle into my wine glass. Damn, my cheeks are getting hot. Apparently, wine turns me into a flighty, giggly, teenager.

  He stares me down, probably trying to decide if he is a doctor or a man tonight. Then, without comment, he turns around, gives the sauté pan an expert shake, and sets it down on a different burner.

  “I’m going to throw the steaks on the grill. Why don’t you get started on a salad,” he says over his shoulder as he walks to the patio door. He really needs to seek therapy for his issues with avoidance. He doles out advice all day long about facing things head-on, but he really should preface each time with a, do as I say, not as I do disclaimer.

  What I didn’t share with him is that my friends want me to find a new doctor pronto, so Sutton and I can put all these evasive games and tactics behind us. I agree with them, and as the head-rush I get when I hop off the counter can attest to, I’m feeling a little tipsy and ready for him to forget all about that stuffy doctor routine.

  ***

  Dinner was business as usual even though I tried my damn best not to talk about mundane things and re-hash the entire day with a blow by blow retelling.

  I tried multiple times to steer the conversation in a sexier direction, but each time, Sutton batted my attempts away like they were badminton birdies flying at his head.

  It is becoming crystal clear that Sutton intends to treat me as his patient until the bell rings, announcing the turn of my twenty-first year, and the official stoppage of the state’s responsibility to me.

  Well, as Lyla and Veronica concluded, there is nothing he can do if I start seeing another doctor. I feel like my therapeutic days with Sutton have already ended anyway. So, in honor of that, it’s time to kick things into high gear.

  I’ve already shampooed and conditioned my hair, shaved everything reasonable, and loofa-scrubbed myself to a soft shine when I call out to him.

  “SUT-TON.”

  “SUUUUT-TON.”

  “SUTTON!”

  “What the hell? Is your hair on fire—OH FUCK! Jesus Christ! I didn’t know you were still in the shower. I’m sor—” he is backing out of the bathroom, stammering an apology, but I know he’s had an eyeful. Still, it’s not enough.

  “Sutton, I called you in here so you could do me a favor. Stop acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.” The glass is steamed up, so I swipe my hand down the shower glass, so I can see him better, and of course, so he can see me better. He is trying not to look, but he can’t rip his eyes away.

  “Anyway, can you please hand me my wine?” I ask innocently. “It’s right over there on the bathroom counter.”

  There is a s
hort pause of waring conscience before he looks at the wine glass and then back at me. Just when I think he is about to reject me altogether; he strides forward and takes the wine glass from the counter.

  He opens the shower door and leans on the threshold. Now, he is the bold one, because he’s not even trying to hand me the wine.

  “Are you sure you want more to drink? You’re already a little buzzed, and let's not forget, you are underage,” he smiles wickedly as he takes a challenging sip of my wine. Then he rakes his eyes over my body, and I feel his gaze every bit as much as the cool air he is letting in.

  “Yes, give it to me,” I state as I tip my head back to rinse my hair again, and to release myself from his heavy stare.

  “I’m not sure you can be trusted if you have any more to drink, Mercy,” he says as he tips it back and finishes the glass. “In fact, I’m not sure you can be trusted at all,” he continues as he sets the glass down and then pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Besides being mostly hairless, his chest is the most masculine thing I have ever seen. His muscles flex with the movement of removing his pants, and all of a sudden, I feel like I’m being hunted.

  I back up against the cold tile wall as he stalks me, naked, and as hard as a steel post. Despite the predatory glint in his eye, we melt together in a very naked, entirely raw embrace under the spray of the shower.

  His kiss is immediate but gentle. It’s almost like he is giving me time to adjust to the feel of his bare skin against mine, not to mention, the predominance of the erection between us.

  “Fuuuck, Mercy. You feel so good,” he mumbles into my mouth as his hands slide from my shoulder blade and ass, to my breast and jaw. I’m completely dizzy from the electricity of his touch, and when my hand wraps around his pulsing cock, I know he feels the same.

  Long after the bathroom air grows heavy with steam, the kissing and touching continue. The feel of his wet skin and heavy erection beneath my touch has my body shivering with need. And when he kisses his way down my neck and then sucks a nipple into his hot mouth, I moan out loud, unable to stop the vocalization. The sensual sound is echoed back to me, and then repeated by Sutton.