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But it won’t save her.

Nothing can save her, not from me.

She’s mine. She’s always been mine. Every tear she sheds—they’re all for me—and I’ll lick the salty morsels from her perfect lips as soon as she lets me.

No. Regardless of if she lets me or not.

My thoughts drift back to a night a few weeks ago. The memory is a dark lullaby, soothing the voices screaming in my head. I stood in her bedroom, the scent of her perfume burning my nose as I stared at her. She lay there, her chestnut hair spread across the pillow, her breaths deep and even, thanks to the sleeping pills she takes to fight her insomnia.

My demons, however, were wide awake.

Waiting.

Hungry for her.

Her bed creaked softly as I sat beside her, my hand reaching out to touch her cheek. I leaned in, my breath mingling with hers, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

“You’re mine, Mercy,” I told her. “Every breath you take, every inch of your skin, every dream you have—they’re all mine. They belong to me. You belong to me.”

I climbed over her, twisting her limbs and parting her thighs, and touching her in ways that she never would have let me if she had been awake.

She would have fought me—screamed and hit me.

How hard would she fight?

Reaching down, I palm my cock and growl at the thought.

I’d make her fight one day.

I’d make her scream and beg and cry.

Then I’d fuck her, anyway.

I watch as she clutches her bible tighter, her hands shaking and her eyes wide in desperation.

She’s fighting a losing battle, and she knows it.

I am her worst fucking nightmare.

“You can fight all you want, Mercy,” I whisper.

She’s crumpled on the floor now, her bible clutched to her chest, her lips moving in prayer, her eyes screwed up and pouring tears.

Beautiful.

Before long, she stands up, and I watch her step out of the room, still holding her bible.

“Where are you going, Mercy?” I murmur to the screens.

She paces her apartment like a caged animal, her eyes darting to the corners of the room as if she can feel my gaze.

She can feel my eyes on her like she felt the linger of my touch the day after I fucked her.

She has no clue that I’ve invaded her sanctuary, her privacy, her pussy.

I’m the whisper in the shadows, the chill on her neck.

I’m her nightmare, and she can’t wake up.