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Call me Marcia.
OK, so here’s a timeline of my life.
When I was 5, my mother left me. Well, technically, she left my dad. My little sister and I were just collateral damage.
When I was 8, I lost my first fight. It was with a girl in my class. She was wearing the same shoes as mine so I stepped on hers. She didn’t like that. She pulled out half my hair. I like my hair.
When I was 10, I won my first fight by shoving a shard of glass into a boy’s arm. He was 16. He touched my ass. He deserved it.
When I was 15, I “accidentally” shot my dad in the chest. Then I cried uncontrollably for a whole 5 minutes before calling for an ambulance. He died on the way to the hospital.
Fuck it. That whole story is crap. I didn’t have a troubled childhood. That’s the excuse people give for all the stupid stuff they do. My mother didn’t leave me. I never killed my dad. That was all rubbish.
I actually had a great childhood. Two parents that loved me and gave me everything. I was an only child. I went to a private boarding school where I made a lot of great friends. I made straight As in all my classes and graduated top of my class. How did I get this way? I got bored. It was so boring being the nice, pretty, sweet girl who did well in school and helped at home and wore pink blouses with Navy skirts. So I quit. I changed. I permed my curly natural hair and added streaks. I started wearing only black. I learnt how to shoot, how to wield a knife. I made some friends on the Internet and they linked me to some guys and suddenly, I was in touch with the right people and I was getting all these deals to do amazing stuff. I can’t begin to tell you how many people I’ve had to kill just on the whims of some randoms I found on the Internet that have enough money to buy Islands.
Anyway, I’m a nice person. A sweetheart actually, once you get to know me. I’m just bored a lot and there’s something about the fear in a victim’s eyes that gets to me. Excites me.
That’s why I took this job. Tom makes us move these different people around and every time we go to pick one up, I see that look of fear in their eyes.
But not this time. This new girl. Noelle. She freaks me out. She reminds me of myself. I don’t know why. I don’t know why she won’t do something about that mess on her head she calls hair. I don’t know why she dresses the way she does. We watched her for a month before we took her. That’s our MO. We watch the target for a while till we know their routine and all their habits. Makes it easier. And she isn’t like me at all. For one, she doesn’t wear any makeup at all. She keeps her hair natural and she doesn’t put any products in it. She wears jeans all the time. Big baggy jeans and huge flower print T shirts that make her look tiny. I don’t understand. Her parents are regular middle class folk. She uses the same route to school every single day. She’s nothing like me. I love to try new things out. I love to experiment and play with clothes and makeup and shoes. I have 6 piercings and more tattoos and I would love to get some more. We are nothing alike.
But she still reminds me of myself. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what exactly it is about her. Maybe it’s her eyes. They are the same shade of blue as mine. As you would see if I didn’t wear contacts all the time. Same shade as my mother’s eyes. Yeah that must be it. She sort of reminds me of my mother, and it’s not just the eyes. It’s the way she acts. Maybe when I’m done prepping the safe house, I’ll double back and take a closer look at her without she or Peter knowing. She won’t be acting so scared if she doesn’t know I’m watching. I scare people. I wonder why.
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