The Mafias Mercy

My parents were good people. They made shitty choices, but they were good parents. You see, the problem wasn’t that they didn’t understand the gravity of their poor decision making. The problem was that while they understood, they didn’t care about the consequences so long as they were the only ones who had to pay for them.

Unfortunately, life doesn't really work that way.

You know what happens to people who can't pay off the loan shark? They end up dead.

You know what happens to the children of those people? Well…I won't tell you because that would violate his rules.

What I can tell you is that the Mafia doesn’t go after little girls. Instead, the Mafia takes the son of their deceased clients, they turn him into like them, and his sister becomes the girl that no one wants to sit at the lunch table with because God forbid you cross paths with her brother.

Needless to say, loneliness becomes your shadow.

My name is Mercy—Mercy Carter. I went to college. Got myself a useless Bachelor of Science in Mathematics degree with only two classes short of a Master of Physics degree.

That's the thing about the Mafia: they don't care that you busted your ass for five and a half years. When they're ready for the little girl that they weren't interested in 10 years ago, even a degree in Nuclear Engineering becomes useless.

You would think that racketeering and drug trafficking would be enough to land you behind bars, but it's kinda hard to incriminate someone who does a really good job at convincing other people to take the fall for him.

Here's to being the lonely nerd at the front of the class. She had no idea she’d be taken by the man who told her he’d stay away. She had no idea that she’d become his to keep.

My name is Mercy—Mercy Carter—and I am the Mafia’s Mercy.

{The Mafia’s Mercy}

I'm gonna fail…

I glance up at the clock as its incessant ticking reminds me that I’m almost out of time.

I had spent the better part of the last two weeks studying for my Quantum Mechanics final, and though I've taken Adderall three times this week already, a part of me knew that no matter how long or how hard I studied, this exam would ultimately be the end of me.

With just enough courage to pick 'B' on the last question that I spent the past three minutes staring at, I wrap up, closing my exam sheet and gathering my belongings. I feel my heart at my throat as I approach my professor and reluctantly hand him my exam packet and scantron sheet.

His perfectly wrinkled eyes squint as he offers me a warm smile, knowing that despite my hesitation, I more than likely out performed the rest of my classmates.

He's a sweet man, and at heart, I'm sure that he means well, but God, do I want to punch him in the face.

Pretending that I don't, I offer him a half-hearted smile in return and go about my way.

I’m smart, I know it. Naturally, I went through the motions of attending class, doing my homework, and taking exams as though it were as easy as getting through Kindergarten all the way through until I graduated high school. With a whopping 3.8 GPA, I graduated with my mathematics degree in four years, and now I'm at a solid 3.5 with only one semester away from graduating with my Master's degree in Physics.

At the ripe age of 24, I'll be the first and only in my family to have pursued higher education and graduated. All of which hardly means anything, seeing as I only have my hardass older brother to brag to—should he ever come back home.

The cool night breeze flicks my dark brown hair as I hurry to the bus stop. It’s just half an hour past 8 o’clock, and I’m more relieved at the fact that this is the last night class that I’ll ever take than the sound of the bus shuttle coming to a complete stop before me.

Being the only one waiting for it, I quickly board, offering the bus driver a small smile before hurrying to take the first open seat that I could find. The earbuds in my hands quickly find their way into my ears, and in the next moment, I’m blasting my alternative rock playlist as I shift ever-so-slightly with the bus’ steady ride.

Just before the lockscreen on my phone reads 9 o’clock, I find myself hopping off of the vehicle with my hoodie over my head and my backpack hanging off my shoulder. Being on the first floor of my apartment building, I quickly come to the front door, locking it behind me as I flick the light on.

It’s a small studio apartment, but it’s perfect for a young woman with no pets and no man to call my own.

As if I could ever.

I sigh softly at the thought of being alone for the rest of my life. This is how it’s been since I was a teenager: no matter where I went, so long as my brother showed up in the nick of time, any and all friends I made slowly but surely stopped being my friends—except the ones that so desperately wanted to date him and blamed me when he used them for the only thing they could offer: sex.

My phone clicks against the bathroom counter as I set it down, my gaze finding my reflection in the mirror as I turn the faucet on. Small shadows paint the bags under my hazel eyes, and the blush from the chilly December weather that reddens my cheeks and nose is the only reason my pale skin doesn’t make me look as dead on the outside as I feel on the inside.

I’m depressed, and I know it. I’ve been depressed for what feels like ten years now, which I’m sure has everything to do with my parents’ tragic death.