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Why?

Is it… guilt?

I dunno.

My door swings open silently, revealing my apartment just the way I left it. The bathroom door is still closed, I can see it from the hallway.

I step up to the door, quietly, careful not to give myself away.

Behind the closed door, there’s a sound—soft, subtle. The quiet hitch of breath and a muffled sob.

My smile is back.

She’s still crying.

Good.

I pause outside the bathroom door, my hand hovering just above the handle. I can feel her on the other side, her fear and desperation seeping through the wood and reaching for me like grasping tentacles. I lean in, pressing my forehead against the door, and listen.

It’s like music, and I don’t want to hit pause just yet.

Her sobs are quiet, almost polite, as if she’s trying to hold back. As if she’s afraid to disturb me. I can hear the catch in herbreath, the way it hitches in her throat before she releases it in a quiet gasp.

She’s trying to be strong, but she’s not.

She can’t fake it.

There’s no strength left in her, if it was ever there to begin with.

She’s breaking, bit by bit, and I’m the one holding the hammer.

“Mercy?”

I call out to her, and then my hand lands on the knob and I twist it, pushing the door open. She’s still sitting right where I left her, huddled up in the bathtub.

The water has run cold. I can tell by the way she shivers.

And when she looks up at me, there’s something in her eyes that nearly drives me to my knees right then and there.

She’s glad that I came back.

She’s happy to see me.

No one has ever looked at me that way before.

Chapter 13

Mercy

The couch beneath me feels too big, like it’s going to swallow me whole. Every muscle feels tight, like I can’t relax. I look around, waiting for something to reach out and grab me. Even in the broad daylight, there is darkness in every corner, and I can feel it closing in on me.

Even still, somehow it feels safer than my own apartment.

I hear footsteps coming from the kitchen. Draco steps out of the shadows, filling the space like a dark cloud. I can’t explain it, but even as dark as he is, he’s a light at the end of a tunnel to me.

He’s here when no one else is.

He’s carrying a plate with a sandwich and a bottle of water. His intense gaze, fixed on me when I look up, makes me squirm.