Page 16 of Penance

Mercy

T he 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.

How does he do that?

“Here,” he says, holding the plate out towards me. “You need to eat, Mercy.”

I look at the sandwich, and instantly, my stomach drops.

“I can’t, Draco. I feel sick.”

His jaw tightens, a muscle throbbing beneath the stubble that’s sprouted on his face since this morning.

“You need to eat.”

I shrink back into the couch, my hands clasped. I try to force a smile, but judging by the look on his face, I don’t think I manage it very well.

“I really can’t.”

“Mercy.”

His voice is firm, like my father’s was when I would misbehave as a child. He leans down, placing the plate on the coffee table and pushing the water bottle into my hands. It’s cold against my fingers.

“You’re not doing anyone any good by starving yourself.”

I stare at the water bottle. It’s such a small thing, but it feels so big, somehow.

“I just don’t feel good.”

He sits down on the coffee table, his knees inches from mine. It feels oddly intimate. I blush at the thought, forcing my eyes away.

“Because you haven’t been taking your medicine,” he replies. “Have you?”

I don’t want to answer that.

I glance at the sandwich, then back at him. I reach for the plate, my hand trembling. As I lift the sandwich, I can feel his eyes on me, and they feel so, so heavy.

“Good girl,” he says.

I’m blushing again.

I feel like someone shoved me into a bonfire.

I try to focus on the sandwich.

It’s ham and cheese. Maybe he remembered that it was always my favorite?

I force myself to take a bite. The bread tastes like sawdust in my mouth, but I force myself to chew, and then swallow.

It’s too much.

It feels heavy, sloshing around in my stomach acid.

My mouth starts to water.

I gag, hard.

Draco watches me, his eyes never leaving my face, even as he reaches into his pocket. My breath catches as he pulls out two small bottles—my anti-nausea medication and prenatal vitamins.

“You need to take these,” he says. His tone leaves no room for arguments. “And then you’re going to finish that. Understood?”

He twists the caps off of the bottles and tips a pill from each into his palm.

“Draco, I—I can’t.”

The thought of taking those pills, of acknowledging the life growing inside me, sends a wave of panic crashing over me.

“Mercy,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle. “You need to take care of yourself. And that baby.”

His gaze drops to my stomach, and then back to my eyes.

“Why?” I whisper, my lower lip shaking. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. Draco, why do I have to?!”

I can feel myself breaking all over again.

“Because,” he tells me, reaching out and grabbing my hand. He tips the pills into it and folds my fingers over my palm. “I’m telling you that you have to. That’s gonna have to be enough for now.”

Is he really pulling the ‘because I said so’ card right now?

I sigh, and my hand trembles. His fingers brush against mine, warm and steady, and I cling to them. I can see the concern in his eyes, and it makes me feel… guilty?

He genuinely wants to take care of me.

Of us?

The least I can do is comply.

I slap my palm against my mouth and swallow the pills dry, feeling them stick in my throat before sliding down.

I gag, hard, my eyes watering, and Draco hands me the water bottle.

I take a sip, are then another, and the pills are gone.

Satisfied, Draco places the bottle on the coffee table, and then moves to sit beside me on the couch.

He’s close.

He’s really close.

His scent wraps around me—a mix of sandalwood and something musky, like a forest at night. I can feel the heat of his body. I can feel the solidness of his muscular shoulders.

It’s intimate, too intimate, but I can’t move away.

I take another bite of the sandwich, the bread filling up my mouth.

Will this ever get easier?

“Remember the church picnic in the third grade?” Draco asks, amusement in his voice. “You ate too many of those red candies—what were they called? Swedish Fish?”

I pause mid-chew, surprised. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I look over at him.

“Yeah,” I say, and I snort a laugh. “Mother Margret was so angry. They were a reward for playing checkers, but I found them and ate them all.”

Draco chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates through me.

“And then we ran around and played tag in 85 degree heat, and you threw all of them right back up.”

The laughter that bubbles up from my chest is a surprise, but I’m glad for it. It’s like a spark of light in the darkness.

I remember that day.

It feels like an eternity ago now, when the world was so big and my biggest worry was stealing extra candy. I can remember it like it was yesterday—the sun-dappled grass, the other kids laughing, and the taste of sugar on my tongue.

Draco’s laughter mingles with mine, and for a moment, the shadows in his eyes seem to lift. It’s a glimpse of the boy he used to be, before the darkness claimed him. My heart aches for that boy, even as it fears the man he’s become.

Is he still in there, somewhere?

“You should have seen your face,” he says, grinning. “You were so scared. Then Mother Mary punished you, anyway. Kinda fucked up. I thought the puking was punishment enough.”

I shake my head, a soft smile playing on my lips.

He looks at me, and I look at him.

Gosh, I missed this.

I missed him.

Soft moonlight bathes the room, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. I lie in bed, the sheets cool against my hot skin. Draco stands by the door, his arms crossed and staring in at me. The sight of him should be comforting, but it only has me more scared.

He’s going to leave.

“Stay,” I whisper. “Please. Lay with me.”

I hate the desperation in my voice, the need that claws at my throat, but the thought of being alone is too much.

I want to panic just thinking about it.

He sighs, his eyes reflecting the silver light of the moon shining through one of the windows.

“Why?” he asks. “I’m not gonna leave. I promise. Is the couch not close enough?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I say, my voice cracking.

“You won’t be alone, Mercy. I’m still right here.”

“I’m scared.”

He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he moves towards the bed without a word. I watch him, and I’m holding my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his weight sending a ripple through the sheets.

“I won’t leave you, Mercy,” he says. “Not tonight.”

“Then stay.”

He pauses.

It lasts for a long time.

“Just for tonight.”

Relief washes over me. I lie back down, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Draco stretches out beside me, his arms folded behind his head.

But I can’t shake the weight of unease that coils within me.

Just for tonight .

His words ring over and over inside my head.

Draco’s breath is steady beside me, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, same as mine.

What could he be thinking?

I can’t stop thinking about our conversation earlier, the way his eyes softened when he talked about that stupid church picnic. The laughter that bubbled out of me, a sound I hadn’t heard from myself in so long.

I turn my head to look at him. I look at his tattoos. They seem like they’re alive, but I know it’s just my eyes trying to make sense of them in the darkness. Part of me wants to reach out and run my fingers down them. But I can’t do that, can I?

Maybe?

I reach out, my fingers tracing the edge of the sleeve of the white t-shit he wears. My finger slides over the skin along the underside of his biceps, and in the low light, I can see the ink.

Is it a bat wing? A dragon’s wing? I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I’m sure it was painful.

His breath catches, a small sound, but it echoes in the silence. He goes quiet, deathly still.

What am I doing? The thought screams through my mind. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am.

But who am I, really?

The virtuous girl from a small town, a lamb of God that would do anything to get into the holy land? Or the pregnant sinner lying next to a man who deals in darkness, willing to do anything to keep him close?

Which one am I right now, and does it matter?

I’m already pregnant, I tell myself, my hand sliding down his shirt and landing in the middle of his chest. What’s one more sin in the grand scheme of things?

The thought is bitter, and seeped in poison, but it’s true, isn’t it?

I’ve already crossed so many lines. What’s one more?

I lean in, my heart pounding.

I can feel his heart skip against my fingers.

I lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him.

I can feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles. He’s so tense.

Why?

Am I overstepping?

I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him.

His eyes are closed, but there’s a tension in his jaw that tells me he’s not asleep. He’s waiting, listening, a predator in the night.

“Draco,” I whisper.

His eyes open, those deep brown pools pulling me in, dragging me under like I’m caught in a current.

“Yeah?”

There’s no turning back now.

If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it.

But why do it anyway?

Because I want to, or to make myself useful to him, so he will stay?

I can’t think about that right now, or I’ll lose my nerve.