Mercy

Chapter Twentyseven

She smiled at me, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles. "I just had this emptiness inside of me I knew only my children could fill. I called Gemma today, too. She hasn't seen Belle since she was one year old. We need to fix things. We've fallen apart since that day, and I want things to be back to normal."

Gemma I haven't seen in about three years. Before our dad was arrested, we'd argue about almost anything. Her friends would come over, and I'd pull childish pranks on them all. I'd piss her off so bad she'd cry, and then I'd feel so bad about it that I'll buy her anything and do everything to see her smile.

We had our good times, though. I remember when she took me to one of her art classes, and we made a mess of clay and water. We were kicked out and banned from the public building for a year. But she didn't mind. The moment she was the one to leave for France was the moment I knew this family was going to shit. 

"Gemma? Is she coming back?" I asked eagerly, anxious to know if my sister is coming back after all the shit we've been through. 

"Yes. She agreed to come and visit. She'll not stay because most of her life is back in Europe, but she wants to communicate with us again. We need this," mum explained happily. 

I began to smile, genuinely excited about seeing Gemma for the first time in a few years. "When is she coming?" 

"She's coming here on the second of July. We made arrangements for the fourth barbecue we're having. You can invite your friends, Serenity, anyone you want. This will be fun," she gently squeezed my hand out of excitement. 

Serenity; 

"Dad?"

Both of my parents were sititng in the kitchen this Monday morning. I haven't seen Harry in two days again, and I was itching for a way out of this house where it didn't include waiting tables. I played with my fingers nervously behind my back, knowing I actually had a genuine excuse to go out but if I didn't get permission I'd be damned and frustrated. 

Covering up a hickey is a lot of work when you're scarce on makeup. I managed by wearing clothes with the neckline higher. This pleased my mom, but she didn't know the half of it.

I ask my dad for things, barely speaking to my mother for anything, anymore. She would occasionally stare down my outfits, realizing that I'm not wearing skirts, but jeans. The clothes she had found were thrown in the trash, and just for vengeance I went through it and pulled out shirts and regular denim jeans. Secretly, I kept some lace and promised myself I'll only use it for purposes that involve Harry.  

They both looked up at me. Instantly, my mother was rolling her eyes at my outfit. I had black Adidas running shorts, my grey Nike's tied, and a light blue tank top. Shorts are something my mother always hated, and seeing them on me makes her even more irritated. 

My father, however, just smiled up at me. "Yes?"

They were eating breakfast and reading the newspaper. I had the urge to ask who the fuck reads newspapers anymore, but they tend to like being old-fashioned. I shot him a faint smile, asking, "I promised Emily that we'll exercise to stay in shape, so can I go over hers?"