Chapter Text
Elizabeth Mercer was thirteen years old when her parents kicked her older brother out. They never spoke of him again, as if he’d never existed. When she asked them about him, they would brush it off with terrible excuses, or worse – a scolding. Because apparently, after two weeks’ time, she should know better than to speak his name in their house. Irrelevant to the discussion, though, was the fact that she knew why her brother wasn’t welcome there anymore. Despite the fact that Alex had never actually come out to her (his thirteen-year-old little sister who he assumed was completely ignorant and naïve), she had known for years. She had known ever since she saw him kiss the neighbour’s son behind the bushes in fifth grade. Reading the secret diary he kept hidden in his pillowcase had only confirmed her suspicions. And most recently, she had seen Luke climb in the window several times that summer, pretending like she had seen nothing despite locking eyes with the lead singer a couple of times through the window.
Lizzie was fourteen years old when she lost her older brother the second time, when she lost him for real. Alex passed away suddenly, along with two of his best friends, before the gig of their lives. And Lizzie was left with an endless amount of regrets. She hadn’t seen him much that last year. Between her controlling parents, school and countless extracurriculars, she only ever managed to see him on a few rare weekends. Naturally, she blamed herself. For not running away with him, for not seeing him more often, for not telling him that she knew and that she loved him no matter what. But that was the thing about regret – it was always too late to do anything about it.
She was seventeen years old when she finally ran away, left her parents for good and never looked back. She could never forgive them for pushing Alex away, making sure he spent his last year feeling unaccepted and unloved. She hated them for it, and when she reached the age of seventeen, realising that from thereon out she was only going to grow older than her big brother – she couldn’t spend another minute around the people who had pushed him away. Who not only made sure their son was alone, but also their daughter. Elizabeth took any and all jobs she could get in the beginning, saving up money so that she could eventually go to beauty school.
She was twenty years old when she became Elizabeth Wilson. Perhaps it was the fact that she had been crushing on Bobby since she was a kid, or perhaps it was the fact that he made her feel closer to her brother. Maybe it was the fact that he was Trevor Wilson now, a rock star on the rising, or maybe she was simply lonely. The reason didn’t matter. When she had run into her brother’s old friend at the Orpheum that May evening in ’01, she had been struck with a sense of familiarity she didn’t want to let go of. And so, six months later, they got married at a shabby Vegas chapel.
Elizabeth was twenty-three years old when she got her very own miracle; Carrie Alexandra Wilson. While being married to a rock star wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, being a mom undoubtedly was. There was a whole new purpose to her life, and it was to make sure that this little girl was loved, accepted and safe – no matter what. Having a child of her own didn’t soften her feelings towards her own parents. No, it was rather the opposite; she couldn’t possibly understand how they had been so full of hate.
Liz was twenty-six years old when she got divorced. The past few years had been difficult to say the least, and she had stayed with Trevor for as long as she could – for Carrie’s sake. There was a limit though. There was a limit to how many paparazzi shots with groupies, how many missed holidays, and how many arguments she could take. So, she filed for a divorce, and despite all her efforts for full custody, ended up with shared (telling herself it could’ve been worse). She bought a house nearby with the money from the divorce, and decided that no matter what, Carrie would have at least one loving, accepting parent around.