‘Make notes. Write it down. All of it,’ Mo said, before briefly closing her eyes. She didn’t want to look at Ms Harkness any more. Neither did she need to be hypnotised. Her past was the dark root from where the worst of her behaviour originated. She remembered Wes’s face clearly now. He had always been dead behind the eyes. ‘Recruiting girls was a job to Wes. I learnt from a master, and soon I was doing the same. I worked for . . .’ Mo blinked as she searched her memories for a name. ‘Greg. He was called Greg. It wasn’t hard to find the type of girls he was looking for. Saddos who were alone and vulnerable. Girls like me.’ Mo scratched her arm. The past felt like tiny beetles crawling beneath her skin. ‘It was my job to introduce them to Greg and get them on the gear.’
Mo was sorry when Jen died of an overdose. It came as a turning point. She didn’t want to end up like her. But she grew hard over the years, her defences developing granite layers until she could barely feel a thing.
‘Then I met my boyfriend, and everything changed.’ Mo sighed as another facet of the past was revealed. It was hardly love at first sight. She had known him for a while, always in the background at their parties, his gaze solely on her. He wasn’t a talker, but neither was he shy. His dark eyes twinkled as he stared at her, but Mo simply glared at him with mistrust. Up until then, sex was currency. She had never been with anyone because she wanted to. But there was something about this man that felt different. He liked her for who she was. She’d felt it from the moment they met. He wasn’t a bad-looking bloke, she’d surmised. His chipped front tooth added character to his demeanour. He walked with a confident swagger and despite his broodiness, she wasn’t afraid of him. Some of the girls said he’d been rough, but that didn’t bother her. Back then, she couldn’t begin to imagine the powerful couple that they would become. But she didn’t need to tell the therapist this. She already knew. Everyone knew what happened next.
‘Are you ready to use your real name?’ Ms Harkness paused, then answered her own question. ‘I think you are. You’re strong enough to reflect on the past from your present-day viewpoint.’
Mo delivered a one-shouldered shrug. They had made progress. She had opened up to her therapist more than anyone in her life. Only now, she could see that she had gone full circle, the abused becoming the abuser. Before now, she’d had so many faces, she’d no longer known who she was. ‘I’ve lived many lives,’ she said. ‘Been many versions of myself. But there’s only one version of me the world will ever know.’
‘You were a victim. Some would say you lashed out.’ But the look on the therapist’s face relayed that even she didn’t believe that.
Mo snorted before crossing her legs. ‘That’s pushing it a bit far.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of what I’ve done. I’ve turned out just like them.’
‘You were groomed. Surely you can see that. But a time came when you took a step back, got yourself off drugs. You wanted to change your life.’
‘Yeah, and see how that worked out.’
‘But there was a moment, wasn’t there? When your life could have gone the other way. You didn’t have to take that path. Which is why you’re here. Perhaps it’s time to get yourself back on that path. Make a different decision. Make the right choice.’
‘It’s too late.’ Mo sighed, resignation seeping into her words. ‘I thought about it but . . . I can’t. You know why?’
‘Tell me. Help me understand.’
‘Because I get pleasure out of hurting people.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘I’m fucked up. Wired wrong. I used to think that I was right and everyone else was wrong, but it’s me . . . it’s been me all along.’
‘Do you want to hurt me?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
A snigger crossed Mo’s lips. ‘Because you’re not my type.’
‘In what way?’
‘I can’t control you. I’d get no pleasure out of putting you through the pain. There wouldn’t be any fun in it.’
‘And there’s fun in the others?’
Mo raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, babe, you don’t want to go there.’
‘I think we have to.’
Sighing, Mo stared at the wall. But she wasn’t seeing the picture hung there, or the clock ticking the seconds away. Her mind was somewhere else. She was listening to the cries of the people she had hurt. It was electrifying. ‘I used to imagine having a normal life. I’d watch people in the park. Regular families going about their everyday lives. But I could never be one of them.’
‘That’s because you have no positive role models. You’ve never had a strong sense of who you are.’
Mo gave her a knowing look. ‘I know who I am.’
‘No.’ The therapist rested her notepad on her knee. ‘You know what others have said about you. That’s not who you are. Don’t you think it’s time to find out?’
‘What’s the point?’
‘You came to therapy for a reason. Somewhere deep down, you need change.’
‘My family are only out for what they can get,’ Mo said dryly. ‘Nobody cares about me.’
‘Then you need to give them a reason to care.’
Silence fell. The sentiment resonated. She was right. But did Mo want them to care? A small part of her did. She was tired. ‘Do you think it’s possible to be forgiven?’
‘I think you should forgive yourself before you seek it from anyone else.’
A tear rose to Mo’s eye. But it was for her, nobody else. The sorrow she felt for herself was more than her victims would ever receive. She swiped it away, feeling foolish. Tears were a weakness, and crying was for wimps. ‘I want you to know something. I’ve never opened up to anyone
