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I can feel the warmth of Draco’s hand on my lower back.

We step outside, the bright sunlight a harsh slap after the dim confines of the doctor’s office. The world is too loud, too many colors. A car horn blares in the distance, and I jump. Draco’s hand moves to my elbow, steadying me.

“Easy,” he says. “You’re okay, Mercy.”

I’m not, though.

I’m not okay, and I never will be again.

I look up at him, his features obscured by the harsh light. His eyes, though—his eyes are clear. His eyes bore into mine, and they hold me down in a way that doesn’t scare me, but makes me feel… grounded.

He looks at me like he wants to eat me.

He looks at me like he wants me.

Friends don’t look at each other like that.

Do they?

I tear my gaze away, my heart pounding.

Eleven weeks,I think again.

I’ll start showing soon.

There will be no hiding it then.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Lets go. Here, I’ve got you.”

The world tilts as I step off the curb.

I can’t breathe, can’t think beyond the echo in my brain.

Eleven weeks.

Three months.

There’s a baby inside me that I didn’t ask for, and it’s coming so soon.

“Mercy?” he asks.

I look at him.

Why is he looking at me like that?!

And why does it hurtso bad?

A sudden wave of nausea hits me, and I lurch to the side, my body heaving as I clutch the ultrasound pictures in a white-knuckled grip. Tears stream down my face, hot and bitter.

“Mercy.” Draco sounds concerned, but I can’t face him.

Not now.

My body convulses again, and I squeeze my eyes shut.