Page 119
Story: Penance
But no, he was there.
He stayed.
I can feel a strange sense of relief washing over me. After nights haunted by loneliness, his presence is an unexpected comfort.
Who would have thought that I would be comforted by Draco of all people?
He had pulled away so hard after our falling out, who would have thought that he would be my island in the storm?
My eyes trace the tattoos onto Draco’s arm, protectively draped across my waist, pulling me close as if afraid I’ll slip away. I can see dragons, spiders and goblins, skulls and roses. It’s like a scene from a horror movie has been etched into his flesh.
Their meaning is still a mystery to me.
I should be frightened, repulsed, even
But instead, I find myself drawn to him.
It’s like, in a way, he’s still my best friend and we never lost touch.
My memories drift to the time from just a few weeks ago—mother’s laughter, father’s steady gaze—all gone now, and I got no say in the matter. I didn’t ask for this baby, even if I find myself more and more excited the more I think of it.
I didn’t ask Draco to take responsibility, but he did.
I didn’t ask him to—
Draco grunts in his sleep, a low rumble that makes my heart skip, and rips me out of my head. He’s offered me a lifeline, a way out. But at what cost? My gaze flickers to the pentagram tattooed on his hand.
It’s a mark of the devil.
Can I truly trust him?
Do I even have a choice?
He told my dad the baby was his.
What did that mean?
Did he do it because he wanted to save me, or because he wants to be a father?
Would my baby call him daddy?
I’m so stuck in my own mind that I don’t notice when Draco stirs, his arm tightening around me until I very nearly can’t draw a breath. I turn and look at him over my shoulder, and his dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals what’s left of my breath.
How did he do that? What changed in him that gave him this power of me?
Or maybe, something changed in me?
“Morning,” he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“Morning,” I say back, and my voice is small and flimsy in comparison.
He shifts closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of my jaw.
“Did you sleep well?”
I nod.
“Good, because you’re going to need all of your energy. I’m going to take you in the shower and fuck you until you cry, and then I’m going to buy my wife a house and plan our wedding.”
He stayed.
I can feel a strange sense of relief washing over me. After nights haunted by loneliness, his presence is an unexpected comfort.
Who would have thought that I would be comforted by Draco of all people?
He had pulled away so hard after our falling out, who would have thought that he would be my island in the storm?
My eyes trace the tattoos onto Draco’s arm, protectively draped across my waist, pulling me close as if afraid I’ll slip away. I can see dragons, spiders and goblins, skulls and roses. It’s like a scene from a horror movie has been etched into his flesh.
Their meaning is still a mystery to me.
I should be frightened, repulsed, even
But instead, I find myself drawn to him.
It’s like, in a way, he’s still my best friend and we never lost touch.
My memories drift to the time from just a few weeks ago—mother’s laughter, father’s steady gaze—all gone now, and I got no say in the matter. I didn’t ask for this baby, even if I find myself more and more excited the more I think of it.
I didn’t ask Draco to take responsibility, but he did.
I didn’t ask him to—
Draco grunts in his sleep, a low rumble that makes my heart skip, and rips me out of my head. He’s offered me a lifeline, a way out. But at what cost? My gaze flickers to the pentagram tattooed on his hand.
It’s a mark of the devil.
Can I truly trust him?
Do I even have a choice?
He told my dad the baby was his.
What did that mean?
Did he do it because he wanted to save me, or because he wants to be a father?
Would my baby call him daddy?
I’m so stuck in my own mind that I don’t notice when Draco stirs, his arm tightening around me until I very nearly can’t draw a breath. I turn and look at him over my shoulder, and his dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals what’s left of my breath.
How did he do that? What changed in him that gave him this power of me?
Or maybe, something changed in me?
“Morning,” he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“Morning,” I say back, and my voice is small and flimsy in comparison.
He shifts closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of my jaw.
“Did you sleep well?”
I nod.
“Good, because you’re going to need all of your energy. I’m going to take you in the shower and fuck you until you cry, and then I’m going to buy my wife a house and plan our wedding.”
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