Page 15 of Penance

Draco

S he’s huddled in the claw-foot tub, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes red and swollen. Her wet hair clings to her neck, her jawline and her forehead, a dark river against her pale skin. Seeing her like this, so small and broken, sends a wave of satisfaction through me.

I lean back on the toilet, watching her. She looks up at me, and her eyes are wide and fearful, like a doe caught in a snare. I keep my face blank, a mask of calm, but inside, I’m screaming.

I won.

I fucking won .

“Mercy,” I say. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

She looks away, her fingers tracing the edge of the tub.

She can’t look at me and think of that.

Why not?

“I… I don’t know where to start,” she whispers.

“Start from the beginning,” I tell her. “Tell me everything you know.”

Inside, I’m grinning.

I am a wolf, and this mask of concern is my woolen costume.

“I guess it started the morning I saw you at the pharmacy,” she says. “I woke up sick that morning. I was throwing up. I called the doctor, and she got me in that same morning.”

She stops, swallowing hard.

“She did a test,” she said, blinking hard to fight the tears in her eyes. “Test was positive. I’m pregnant.”

“And you don’t remember anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“No. Nothing,” she swallows again. “H-he must have been doing it… while I was asleep.”

“So it’s been happening for a while.” It’s a statement, not a question. “And then he came back and raped you while you were awake, to prove he could.”

She shrugs. Nods.

“I guess so.”

“Bastard,” I scoff. “How far along are you?”

Another shrug.

“I don’t know. The doctor said she can do an ultrasound, but—”

I reach out, slowly, carefully, and touch her hand. Her skin is ice cold. Her fingers are shaking so much that it’s hard for me to keep hold of them.

“You’re safe now, Mercy,” I tell her.

And she is, from everyone but me.

No one will hurt her but me.

I’ll kill them if they try.

She looks up, her hazel eyes meeting mine, and I can see the flicker of trust, like a spark catching fire in her gaze.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you.”

I reach out, tucking a strand of her damp hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch, just a little, but enough that I notice.

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

Her eyes search mine, looking for truth, for safety.

She won’t find it, but she doesn’t know that.

“I can go to your apartment,” I offer. “I can get whatever you need. Your meds, your phone.”

Her eyes widen, and I can see the fear in her eyes extinguishing the fire.

“You’ll come back, though, right?” she asks, her voice trembling.

She’s afraid.

Good.

I want her afraid.

I want her desperate.

“Of course,” I say with a smile—my promise. “I’ll be quick. You’ll be safe here.”

I stand up, and her eyes follow me.

I can feel her gaze on me.

I can feel her need.

It’s intoxicating.

As I turn to leave, I can feel her fear spike.

She’s terrified of being left alone, of being abandoned.

Perfect.

I pause at the door, turning back to her.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Mercy,” I say.

I flash her a smile.

It’s a lie.

Her nod is jerky, and it stops and starts. Her eyes are filled with tears.

She’s breaking, and it’s beautiful.

I step out, closing the door behind me, leaving her alone with her fear.

Just as I planned.

Just as I wanted.

The door clicks shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. I stand there, hand still on the doorknob, eyes closed, savoring the moment. Mercy is on the other side of that door, her fear rising so high that it will strangle her if I leave her alone for too long.

I step away from the door, my hand falling to my side.

She wants me to stay, but I won’t give in.

Not yet.

I want her to feel this, to stew in her fear.

I want her to crave me.

I want her so dependent that she can’t exist without me—can’t breathe without being in my presence.

I move down the hallway and step into my boots, sitting beside the front door. I hear a soft sob as I lay my hand on the doorknob.

Perfect.

A smile splits my lips as I pull the door open and step outside.

I can feel her break, like she’s right beside me, even if she’s not.

It’s like we’re connected—soul mates, twin flames.

She was made for me, after all.

I don’t hurry down the hallway to the staircase.

I take my time.

I whistle a tune as I make my way downstairs, practically skipping to her apartment door.

I try the knob.

It’s closed, but not locked.

I push open the door, and the scent of her lingers in the air—a mix of lavender and something sweet, like freshly baked cookies.

I take a deep breath, drawing it in with a shudder.

Perfect.

Mine, all mine.

I step inside, my boots echoing on the hardwood floor.

Everything is neat, tidy, just as it always is.

Except in the hallway, where bags of groceries lay forgotten against the wall.

Reaching down, I pull them open and look inside. Eggs, milk, ice cream.

All trash.

Ever so slowly, I reach down and gather the bags. I carry them into the kitchen and carefully put away what’s salvageable, and trash the rest.

When that’s done, I tie off the garbage bag and carry it outside, where I place it lovingly near the door.

I’ll carry that to the dumpster on my way out.

With the kitchen in order, I continue my quest.

I take my time wandering from room to room.

I make it into the bedroom finally, and I smile at the rumpled bed, the wide open closet door.

Everything is just as I left it.

Her phone is on the floor by the bed.

Reaching down, I pick it up and stuff it into my pocket as I turn away, making my way into the bathroom.

I gather what she needs—her toothbrush, her hairbrush, her medications.

I leave her Ambien behind.

Mostly, I do it because it’s an experiment.

She slept without it last night.

Can she do it again tonight, with only me to comfort her?

As I grab her things, I notice a small framed photograph on her nightstand. It’s Mercy, smiling, her arms wrapped around a younger girl—one of her cousins.

I know the girl, hate her with a passion.

I pick it up and run my thumb over Mercy’s face. Her smile is genuine, happy, light, and full of sunshine.

A pang of something unfamiliar hits me dead in the gut—jealousy, maybe?

I want that smile to be mine.

I want her to look at me like that.

Will she, ever?

Maybe?

I just have to make her love me first.

With an armful of her things, I leave her apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. The walk back up to my place is quiet, and my smile is gone.

My happiness is gone.

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 her breath, 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.