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I force myself to look at the mask. The only piece of Mercy that’s actually visible is her chocolate-brown eyes. “Do you really have to wear that mask?”
“Do you really think that the government isn’t capable of using your laptop camera to spy on you? I’m not taking any chances. Crazy things are going on with facial recognition these days.”
“Then why use the camera at all?”
“I had to make sure it was you. Can’t ever be too careful.”
“Paranoid much?”
She laughs, the sound made creepy by her Halloween mask. “Always.”
“I guess some things never change.”
Mercy is a certified computer genius. The kind of person who would be working in an underground facility for the NSA if she had any interest in staying within the boundaries of the law. We met in juvie and bonded because we were both there for the first time. Mercy, at least, had the excuse of a druggie mother and deadbeat father to explain what some might consider to be her “poor life choices”. But that also meant she spent way more time in the system than I did, even when we’d done similar shit. No one in her life was coming through with money for bond or to retain a lawyer that would do something more to defend her than encourage another plea deal.
She was a little paranoid even back then, but the level of security she takes these days is getting to the point of diagnosable. I’ve suspected for years that she is hiding from something specific, but I know better than to ask. Best friend or not, she wouldn’t tell me, anyway. Mercy only lets people get so close to her.
“I’ve only got a few minutes to chat. What’s up?”
Now that she’s asking, the reason seems even dumber. “I’m having a bit of an existential crisis. Just wanted to see a familiar face.”
“Familiar face, huh?”
“A familiar voice, then,” I laugh.
“What’s going on, girl. Really?”
“I know I never gave you much in the way of details, but you remember that thing I said I had to do when I left Detroit…to help my sister?”
“Sure.” Curiosity flares in her gaze. But like always, Mercy doesn’t ask me any questions. She isn’t the type to pry for information. If it’s something that she can’t figure out on her own, then she doesn’t consider it worth her time.
“It’s not going well. In fact, I think that I might have made the situation even worse than it was.”
“And what can you do about that?” she asks reasonably.
“Not a damn thing,” I sigh.
“Then maybe it’s time to cut your losses and move on.”
“That’s the problem…I don’t know what that would even look like. I don’t know what I want. I’m not sure I even know who I am anymore.”
“Wow.” Mercy exhales a dry laugh. “Someone really did a number on your head out there.”
“I know I should make a plan, but I just can’t do it.”
“A plan for what exactly?”
“My life.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I see Mercy’s exasperated expression in my mind. Even the mask can’t hide the tolerant annoyance in her gaze. “I’m being a whiny bitch, aren’t I?”
“Just a bit, yeah.”
“I’m coming to you, of all people, to complain about having no direction in life.”
“You are,” she agrees. Mercy’s tone is even, but there is definitely laughter in her voice. “But your problems have pretty much always been of the first world and basic bitch variety. That’s not your fault.”
“My father did turn my credit card back on, but I’m pretty sure that he only did that to punish me. One of those, make sure I know how much I need him things.”
“We can talk about what I have to do when I’m strapped for cash, if that’ll make you feel better.”
