Page 19 of Penance

Mercy

T he apartment door clicks shut behind us, sealing off the place that has been my world for the past two days. The air in the hallway is cold and brisk, a sign that the world has continued on without me. I wrap my arms around myself, following Draco down the hallway.

What am I doing? I ask myself, my fingers digging into my arms.

Why am I doing this with him?

After last night and this morning, I couldn’t tell if I was angry, confused, or something else.

I didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

Maybe I should just feel nothing.

If only it were that easy.

What was even more confusing was my reaction to it.

I didn’t hate him for it, even if I knew that I should.

My body had reacted in a way I never would have expected.

I wanted him to do it again.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and Draco pushes open the heavy door leading to the street. Heavy, bright sunlight spills in, blinding me. I hesitate, hanging back in the shadows.

What will people think if they see us together?

What will they say?

“Come on,” Draco says, reaching out and grabbing my hand. “You’re okay.”

But was I?

I didn’t feel like I was.

I take a deep breath, stepping out into the light. Draco’s fingers slip between mine.

He’s holding my hand.

Why is he doing that?

I want to pull away, to hide, but another part of me craves his touch.

The world outside is a blur of grey concrete and muted colors as I step into the parking lot beside the apartment complex. Draco’s car isn’t hard to spot. It’s a beast of a vehicle, all sleek black lines and tinted windows—a predator, like the man who drives it.

A sliver of wind slithers over my neck, and I shiver as he pulls me over to his car.

He’s… still holding my hand?

I’m so confused.

Draco opens the passenger door for me, and I slide inside, the leather seat cool against the backs of my legs, even with the thick black sweatpants I’m wearing. He finally lets go of my hand and pushes the door closed, and for only a minute, he leaves me alone with my thoughts.

Not that I have very many.

All I can do is replay the same thoughts over and over again—last night, this morning, the way he made me beg for him to stay, and then offered to come with me.

What did it mean?

He gets in beside me, and the car seems to shrink. His shoulders are so wide, and his presence is so huge. I feel tiny, sitting next to him. He’s grown so much since the days he would sit beside me in the pews, and we would giggle about the things the priest was saying.

As he turns the key, the engine roars to life, and I jump.

“You okay?” Draco asks. He reaches out, his hand covering mine, and wrapping around it.

He’s touching me again.

His touch is warm, firm, and I can’t help but stare. It’s so different. His tattoos stand out, so dark compared to my pale skin.

“I’m just cold,” I lie, trying to pull my hand away, but he holds fast, his grip tightening.

It’s like he’s holding me down, but he’s doing it… lovingly?

“Are you?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything.

The car lurches backward, and I gasp. I sit quietly as he merges into traffic, and before I know it, we’re roaring down main street, on our way to Dr. Thompson’s office. The city blurs past the window, a smear of color and light, but all I can focus on is Draco, and the way his hand covers mine.

What does it mean, and why can’t I think of anything else?

The drive is not long, but it feels like an eternity to me.

The car slows to a halt, the growl of the engine reduced to a low purr. I force myself to look out the window, and my heart pounds when I realize that we’ve arrived.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry as cotton, and look over at him.

Draco’s hand, still wrapped around mine, tightens until it’s very nearly painful, and then lets go and pulls away.

He turns to me, those dark eyes searching my face.

“Ready?”

I nod, even as a wave of nausea crashes over me.

I’m not ready.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to face this.

Draco steps out of the car, and I let myself do the same, stepping out into the chill late fall air. Before long, Draco is there, his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. His touch is firm, possessive, and I can’t help but wonder what it means.

Inside, the waiting room is a sea of strangers.

I feel their judgment.

I can only imagine what they must think of me, of us. The devout Christian girl and the tall, tattooed shadow. I want to scream at them, to tell them they don’t understand, that I don’t even understand, but all I can do is keep moving.

I float along, and before long the nurse calls my name, her voice too loud in the quiet room. Now they all know who I am, if they didn’t already, in a town this small.

She leads us to the exam room, talking the whole way.

I can’t really concentrate on what she’s saying, so I just smile and nod.

The room is dimly lit, and the exam table is a low shadow in the center.

I perch on the edge, my hands folded in my lap, as Draco leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

The nurse turns to me, her smile kind.

“And is this the father?” she asks, nodding to Draco.

Her words hit me, leaving me stunned and speechless. I stare at her, my mind racing. My mouth opens and closes, over and over again, but no words come.

The room seems to tilt as I wait.

I’m going to fall.

No, I’m going to puke.

“I’m her friend,” he says.

Friend.

The word echoes through my mind, bouncing off the walls of my stupid, empty head.

Friend?

Is that what he is to me?

Is that what I want him to be?

I feel a pang of something—pain, maybe? But I can’t hold on to it long enough to figure out what it is.

The nurse nods, smiling.

“That’s great,” she chirps, turning to prepare the machine, looming in the shadows like a horror movie monster. “It’s so good that she has someone for support.”

“Of course,” Draco says with a nod. “I’ll always be there for her.”

He will?

What does that mean?

What does it mean?!

I can feel panic rising in my throat, and I have to swallow hard to chase it away.

What does he want from me?

What do I want from him?

What are we doing?

The nurse turns back to me, her smile excited and gentle.

“Ready to see your baby?” she asks.

I nod.

I’m not.

She helps me roll my shirt up and tucks a flimsy white paper into the front of my sweatpants. She finishes up by squeezing a clear gel onto my stomach.

It’s cold.

I shudder.

She giggles.

“Sorry, honey,” she says. “Darn stuff is always so cold.

I nod, my throat too tight for words.

The probe presses against my skin and slides through the gel. It feels odd, almost violating, in a way.

“Okay, here we go,” she says, turning the screen towards me.

I look over at the screen, staring at the little black and white blobs. The image shifts, static forming into shadows and shapes that make no sense to me.

And then, suddenly, impossibly, there it is.

A tiny, unmistakable shape.

A baby.

My baby.

There is a baby inside me.

I gasp.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen.

That’s a baby .

It’s tiny, and looks a little like a jelly bean, but there’s no denying it now.

Tears well up in my eyes, and the image on the screen twists and blurs. I blink them away, desperate to keep watching, to memorize every detail.

I don’t want to look away.

I don’t want to miss this.

I’m so scared, but I’m so happy.

Can you feel both at the same time?

This is real.

This is happening.

No matter how much I want to deny it, to hide from it, the truth is right there on the screen.

The nurse smiles, her voice a distant murmur as she explains what I’m seeing. It’s like the teachers on Charlie Brown. It all just sounds like background noise and weird, untuned instruments.

Draco’s presence hovers at the edge of the room, a dark shadow looming over me, and when he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, I startle.

Friend, he said.

But what does that mean?

The room is a blur of muted colors and sterile scents as the screen goes black. The sound of her snapping off her gloves brings me back to reality with a jerk.

“Based on the measurements, you’re around eleven weeks along.

You most likely conceived sometime this summer, early August maybe.

So that puts your due date at around February 14th.

Valentine’s day baby!” She smiles, handing me a strip of glossy black-and-white images.

“Here are your ultrasound pictures, Mom.”

Mom?

Mom?

I stare at the prints, my fingers trembling as I trace the tiny shadow in the static.

Eleven weeks.

That’s… almost three months?

“Would you like to schedule your next appointment?” The nurse asks.

I nod, my voice lodged in my throat.

She rattles off a date and time, jotting it down on a small reminder card.

The next thing I know, we’re stepping out of the office.

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 hurt so 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.

A gentle touch on my back startles me, and I realize Draco is crouched beside me, his hand on my back. He gathers my hair, holding it back as I gasp for breath, my stomach clenching painfully. His other hand rests on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

“It’s alright, Mercy,” he says. “Let it out.”

I shudder, my body wracked with sobs as I spill my guts onto the concrete. It splatters across the sidewalk and tears stream from my eyes. I gulp hard, fighting for my breath.

The wave passes, and I look over at him.

“Why are you doing this, Draco?” I whisper. “Why are you helping me?”

His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of… something? But it’s gone before I can even realize what it is.

“Because you need me to,” he says simply, and he reaches up, his thumb brushing away a tear that lingers on my cheek.