Page 14 of Penance

Mercy

M y eyes flutter open, and I’m greeted by the sight of Draco’s arm, draped possessively around my waist. His tattoos seem to writhe in the dim light, a dance of shadows that I can’t rip my eyes away from.

I’m nestled against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my back.

It’s an odd type of intimacy, one that sends a shiver down my spine.

How did I get here?

How did this happen?

A scent clings to the air. It’s musky and dark, almost overwhelming, but somehow comforting all at once. A sudden realization slams into me, and a wave of nausea crashes over me. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to retch.

I remember now.

The man in the mask. He attacked me. I can still feel the grip of his hands on my flesh, pinning me down. I can feel the remnants of the way he pushed into me, so hard it hurt, and I worried that my flesh would tear open and spill blood beneath me.

A sob escapes my lips as I remember fleeing my apartment, banging on Draco’s door. He should have turned me away, but he didn’t. He pulled me into his apartment, his strong arms wrapping around me. The warmth of his body pressed against mine. I can still see the way he worried for me.

And the way I begged him not to leave me.

The way I pleaded with him to lie beside me, to protect me.

I stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, reality crashing down around me like shattered glass. The room is a blur of dark colors and swaying shadows, a stark contrast to the bright, airy spaces I’m accustomed to.

Nausea churns in my gut, bile rising in my throat as I remember what happened, and the way I fought, pushing against him, fighting to get him off of me.

And the way I didn’t hate it—or at least my body didn’t.

My body, my own flesh, had betrayed me.

If I’m the good Christian woman I believe myself to be, why did my body react like that?

I liked it, at least in part.

I orgasmed—at least I think I did.

I never have before, that I can remember, but I think that’s what it was.

I can feel the tears in my eyes, and my vision blurs.

What does that mean?

It’s means I’m not pure anymore, not that I had been before.

I’m pregnant. I have a monster growing inside me.

I don’t want this. I don’t want to be a vessel for evil.

I pull in a shaking breath, and it erupts from me in a shaking sob that I can’t bite back, even though I try.

Suddenly, the mattress shifts, and I hear a soft rustle of fabric. Draco stirs beside me, his movements slow and deliberate. He turns to face me, but I face away. I can’t look at him.

“You’re awake,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question, spoken with a chilling calmness that sends a shiver down my spine.

I nod silently, unable to find my voice.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his tone gentle.

Why is he being so… nice?

How am I… feeling?

I feel like I want to claw off my skin, the skin that flushed with sweat while a monster raped me. The skin that grew hot and betrayed my mind. The flesh that parted willingly for my attack.

Disgusting.

I was disgusting .

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper, but I don’t say anything else.

He reaches out and lays a hand on my shoulder. I can feel the warmth radiating from his palm, and I want to turn into it, to wrap myself in his embrace, but I don’t.

I can’t.

“It’s alright to not be okay, Mercy,” he says softly. “What you’ve been through… it’s a lot.”

His words should be comforting, but they only confuse me more.

I don’t know what to think or feel.

I want him to hold me, like when we were kids and I would get scared of the dark when we had sleepovers. I want it to be like it was back then, when he would crawl into bed with me and pull me close, even knowing my dad would scold him for it the next day.

I want his warmth, but I won’t ask him.

“Mercy,” he says. “Do you want me to get you something? Your medication?”

I shrug.

I fix my eyes on the floor, tracing the intricate patterns of the rug beneath my feet. I can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the reflection of my pain in his dark eyes.

I would break, I know I would.

So I stay turned away. It’s safer this way.

“Are you feeling nauseous?” he asks me.

I nod.

“I can go get your pills for you, if you think they’ll help.”

Help with what?

Help me forget?

Help me pretend that this nightmare isn’t my reality?

“A shower might help you feel better,” he suggests, his tone casual, as if this were any other morning, as if I weren’t sitting here, shattered and broken. “I can help you get situated and then go down and get your pills. I’ll be back before you’re even done.”

The thought of a shower, of being naked and vulnerable, sends a jolt of panic through me. My heart skips, a flutter in my chest that feels like a trapped sparrow flapping around.

I don’t want to be naked and alone.

I don’t want him to leave.

“I… I don’t know.”

“It’s just a shower, Mercy,” he says.

Just a shower.

Maybe to him.

To me, it’s bigger than that.

I don’t have time to think about it.

The room tilts as Draco scoops me into his arms, and the motion makes my stomach lurch. His grip is firm, secure. The warmth of his body seeps through my clothes, his scent drills into my nostrils, and something deep down inside me clenches hard.

All I can think of is the way that man had put his hands on me, even when I had screamed at him not to.

Kind of like Draco is doing now.

I wish it had been Draco instead.

The thought slams into my brain so hard that all other thoughts stop, and my eyes pop wide open.

No.

No, no.

“Put me down,” I blurt.

My hands clutch at his shirt, twisting in the cotton. Am I pushing him away or pulling him closer? I can’t tell.

He says nothing, and he doesn’t do what I asked.

I’m stuck, but I don’t fight him.

Because I’m scared to, or because I don’t want to?

The bathroom door creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room made of gleaming tile and chrome. A claw-foot tub sits in the corner, and a low sound grumbles in my throat.

Why didn’t my apartment have one of those?

My breath hitches as he sets me down on the cool edge of the sink, his hands lingering on my waist for a moment too long. I can feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Can you stand?” he asks.

I nod.

That’s a lie. My legs feel like jelly, and my spine feels like a noodle.

He steps back, his eyes never leaving mine, as if daring me to crumble. I grip the sink, fighting to keep myself upright.

When he seems content that I’m going to stay where he put me, he turns to the tub, and my breath releases in a whoosh.

Why can’t I breathe when he looks at me?

Water roars to life, and I can see humidity swirling in the air only a few minutes later. I watch as he tests the temperature, his tattoos dancing over a heavily muscled forearm.

“Get in,” he says, stepping aside to give me room.

I hesitate, my breath stuck in my throat.

“I-in… front of you?”

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t pass out and crack your fucking skull on the toilet,” he growls, his eyes narrowed as he glares at me. “Are you trying to say I’m watching you get undressed like a fucking pervert, Mercy?”

I shake my head, slowly, looking over at the gleaming porcelain toilet like it might reach out to grab me if I’m not careful.

Scary toilet.

The thought sends a manic giggle climbing up my throat, and it erupts into the open air before I can bite it back.

Am I losing my mind?

Slowly, I slide off the sink and nearly collapse when my feet hit the tile. I can feel his eyes on me, a realization that sends heat creeping up my neck. I avoid his gaze, focusing instead on the rising water, the swirling steam that promises sanctuary and suffocation all at once.

As I shed my clothes, I can’t help but think of everything that led me here—the attack, the desperation that drove me to Draco’s door, the twisted comfort I found in his arms.

I pull off my shirt and drop it to the floor, and I shiver.

He’ll see me.

Draco will see my naked.

I’ll be turning my back on God, letting him see me like this.

It’s perverse. It’s disgusting.

Yet beneath it all, there’s a weird comfort, a sickening sense of safety in his presence.

And it’s not the first time, is it?

We were kids once, and I can remember us taking baths together. Had we worn bathing suits? I couldn’t remember now.

The scalding water penetrates my skin like a thousand tiny needles as I step into the tub and then lower myself into the water. I sit, letting the water wrap around me like a warm embrace, letting it hold me—the way Draco held me.

Why did I come to him?

The question nags at me, and I can’t silence it. I should have run anywhere but here. Yet, in my moment of desperation, he was the one I wanted.

Not my mother or father.

Not the church.

But an old friend who I hadn’t spoken to in years.

Why? Because I knew he would understand?

The thought has bile burbling in my gut, and I have to force it away.

As I slide into the tub, the heat of the water does little to ease the chill that has settled within me, a coldness that seems to radiate from the deepest pit of my soul. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the shiver that races up my spine.

What is wrong with me?

How can I run into the arms of a man who has come to represent everything I’m against?

How can I find comfort in someone who turned their back on the very same church that saved me?

But even as I ask the questions, I know the answers. It’s the same reason I ran to him in the first place, the same reason I’m here now, shivering in his bathtub.

It’s because even now, after everything that’s happened, I will always feel safe with him.

He is still my best friend, even if we are no longer acquaintances.

It’s the sense of safety that I feel when I’m with him, the knowledge that, despite everything, he won’t let anyone harm me.

It’s because I trust him.

I look over at him

Draco is there, sitting on the edge of the closed toilet seat. He doesn’t turn around, but I don’t feel him leering at me, either.

He’s not looking at my body.

He’s looking at me.

“Feel better?” he asks.

It’s a simple question, but it feels loaded for some reason.

“Yes,” I lie.

No, I don’t.

I don’t feel better.

I feel raw, exposed, like every nerve ending is on fire.

He nods.

“I found some clothes for you. They might be a bit big, but they’re clean.”

The thought rocks me.

He left the bathroom?

When did he leave?

He left me… alone?

I glance past him, to the bathroom counter. I can see a neatly folded pile of clothes. The thought of wearing something of his sends a strange flutter through my stomach, but I gulp it down.

“Thank you.”

“Mercy,” he says, his voice serious. “We need to talk about what happened.”

“What is there to talk about?” I whisper.

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“You need to go to the hospital.”

His words send a chill down my spine. He’s right, I know he is. But the thought terrifies me.

I shake my head.

“I can’t.”

Draco sighs, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks like he expected this.

“Someone hurt you, Mercy.”

I nod.

“I know.”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

I look away from him. I stare at my reflection in the water.

I don’t recognize the eyes that stare back at me.

“I need you to know that. I need to hear you say you know that.”

I tear my eyes away from my reflection and I look over at him.

For the first time in a long time, I see him.

I really see him.

I shrug. The tears are back, and they hurt so bad.

“But what if I did?”