Page 20 of Penance

Draco

T he rain-streaked window reflects in Mercy’s glasses.

Her eyes are distant as the world outside blurs into a wash of gray.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, stealing glances at her as we pull away from the doctor’s office.

The ultrasound is still fresh in my mind, a tiny blip pulsating with life, tethering Mercy to me for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t notice my grin. She’s too caught up in her pain, clutching the ultrasound pictures so tight that her fingers shake. Her long hair hangs over one shoulder, a thick veil that obscures her face.

She looks so delicate, so breakable.

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Mercy,” I say. “It’s not good for the baby. Not good for you, either.”

She doesn’t respond, just continues to stare out the window. Her silence is a symphony. I can taste her fear, her apprehension, and it’s so fucking sweet. I can hear her swallow, hard, and then sniffle.

She’s crying again.

Hearing her struggle is amazing to me. She’s a moth, trapped in my flames, frantically beating her wings. But she can’t get away, not now that she’s pregnant.

I fucking own her.

I reach over, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She flinches, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my hand linger, tracing the shell of her ear, enjoying the way she shakes. It’s like poking an old bruise, except the pain isn’t mine to savor.

“Everything will be fine, Mercy. I promise.”

She turns to look at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. There’s a silent plea in her gaze, a desperate hope that I’ll be her savior rather than her downfall.

It’s hilarious, really.

But I don’t laugh, not yet.

Soon.

“You should rest when we get home,” I tell her. “You need to take care of yourself. I’ll make lunch, okay?”

She nods, her eyes dropping to the ultrasound picture again. Her fingers trace the tiny shape, a mixture of fear and something else—reluctant affection, maybe.

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and I take the opportunity to stare at her. Her cheeks are pale, her lips slightly parted as she takes shallow breaths. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and her chest swells with every breath she gasps for.

She’s beautiful.

My fucking masterpiece.

The rain pours down around us, like her God is crying along with her. The raindrops drum on the roof of the car, like the sound of stampeding hooves. Water slides down the windshield in a torrent, splashed away now and then by the swipe of the wipers, groaning in displeasure.

“Draco?” she says, looking over at me.

We lock eyes, and if I had been standing, I would have hit the fucking ground.

How did she do that?

Fuck, what was wrong with me?

“Yeah?”

Her mouth drops open, and then snaps closed, over and over again, like a fish gasping for breath.

She shakes her head.

“Never mind.”

I can see the war raging within her.

It’s a beautiful sight.

The light turns green, and I press the accelerator.

We jerk forward, sliding through the intersection and turning towards home.

Mercy turns back to the window, sucking in a deep, shaking breath.

I reach over, and squeeze her thigh gently, in an attempt to be comforting. She tenses but doesn’t pull away.

The rain-soaked streets glisten like black mirrors, reflecting the stark silhouettes of barren trees, striped bare by autumn.

My hands grip the steering wheel, the leather creaking beneath my fingers as I navigate the final turn.

The parking lot stretches ahead—asphalt dotted with faded white lines.

As we pull into our designated spot, the engine purrs softly, a contented beast settling into its lair.

I had been searching for a car like this one before I found it last year—a 1969 Camaro, black and silver.

Thankfully, money wasn’t an issue thanks to my inheritance.

The best thing my dad ever did for me was die.

I came across it on a whim, driving down a rural country road. I saw it parked in the driveway with a ‘for sale’ card in the window. The minute I had the chance, I snapped it right up.

Kind of like I did with Mercy.

I had a tendency to get what I wanted.

I shift the car into park, but my mind is far from idle.

The car falls silent as I turn off the ignition. Mercy’s breath hitches, a soft, broken sound that tells me she’s still fighting her tears.

“Mercy,” I say, turning to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, her lips trembling as she struggles to find her voice. I reach out and cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear that got past her barricade and slipped down her cheek. Her skin is cold beneath my touch.

I could warm her up.

I could, but I won’t.

The rain racing down the windows casts fractured shadows across her face. She’s trying to speak, her lips trembling like hummingbird wings, but all that escapes is a choked sob.

“Shh, it’s okay.” I can feel her shiver at my touch. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

She tries to look away, but I hold her, my eyes locking onto hers. I can see the desperation in her eyes, the desperate search for safety.

But I am not her savior.

I am the riptide, pulling her under.

She will drown before she breaks the surface.

“But… but I…”

She sucks in a deep breath and then breaks, her sobs ripping through her.

Seizing the opportunity, I reach over her and unbuckle her seatbelt, pulling her over the center console and into my lap.

She doesn’t resist, she just folds into me.

I can feel her warmth, her soft curves pressed against me.

Her hair that is damp from the rain, brushes against my cheek, and the scent of it—like delicate jasmine and something sweeter—reaches all the way down to the pit in my gut where my soul used to be.

Her hands clutch at my shirt, balling the fabric into her fists as she buries her face in the webbing between my neck and shoulder.

I can feel her tears, hot and seeping through my shirt and branding my skin.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as she breaks.

Her body heaves against mine, shaking so much that it’s hard to hold on to her.

I stroke her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine, feeling her tremble beneath my touch.

She’s mine, this broken, sobbing angel in my arms.

Mine to mold, mine to keep.

“I’ve got you, Mercy,” I tell her. “I’m right here. Just breathe. I’ll always be here for you.”

And I will.

I’ll be her shadow, her stalker.

She’ll never escape me—never escape this.

I hold her tighter, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine. Two hearts beating as one. Two souls entwined, one light, one dark. And I am the serpent that’s forced my way into her garden, and our seed will grow with blood and tears as its fertilizer.

“Draco,” she whispers, her voice raw. “I’m so scared.”

Her fingers twist around my shirt, anchoring her to me.

“This baby, it’s… it’s a product of…” She swallows hard. “It’s a rapist’s baby.”

A rapist’s baby.

The words hang in the air, a poisonous cloud that threatens to suffocate us both. I feel a sting at her words, a barb that pricks at something deep within me, something raw and infected and bleeding, but I don’t let it show.

I can’t.

“Mercy, I know you’re gonna hate what I’m about to say, but…” I pause, my hands cradling her face. “But have you thought… maybe this is too much for you? Maybe you shouldn’t go through with this?”

Her eyes widen, shock and horror writhing inside her.

“You mean… abortion?”

I shrug. “It’s an option, Mercy.”

Except it’s not.

I’d never allow that. I’d keep her tied up in my bedroom if she tried.

“No, Draco. I can’t. I won’t do that.”

Inside, I smile. The serpent coils tighter, drawing her closer to the flames.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I already love this baby so much,” she says with a sigh. “It’s… complicated.”

I let my hand cover hers, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my palm.

“Complicated,” I say with a snort. “That’s one way to put it.”

She snorts a laugh.

I wasn’t quite expecting that.

“Yeah,” she says. “I just wish I knew what to do.”

“What can you do?” I shrug. “Have you told your parents?”

Her reaction is instantaneous, just as I had been expecting. She recoils, ripping herself away from me, her back pressing against the car door, eyes wide.

“No,” she gasps. “I can’t. They won’t understand. They’ll…”

I know what she’s thinking, but I want to hear her say it.

“They’ll what, Mercy? They’ll support you. It’s their grandchild too.”

She shakes her head.

“They won’t see it that way. They’ll see the sin. They’ll call my baby a bastard. They’ll say it’s m-my f-fault.”

Her voice breaks, and she covers her face with her hands, the ultrasound photo laying forgotten in my lap.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says again. “I’ll be showing soon, and I won’t be able to hide it anymore.”

I reach over, pry her hands away from her face, and hold them in mine.

Her fingers are ice cold.

Perfect.

“That’s true,” I say, my voice steady, calm.

“They’ll hate me. The church will disown me.”

I sigh, and it’s forced.

“Because you’re not married.”

She nods, sniffling.

“I can fix this.”

She looks at me, confusion etched on her face.

“What?”

“I’ll marry you, Mercy.”

Her eyes widen, shock written all over her face. She tries to pull her hands away but I hold them fast.

“What?” she breathes, disbelief thick in her voice.

Inside, I’m celebrating.

This is it.

I can see my future unfolding.

“I’ll marry you,” I repeat, my voice firm. “If it will make you happy, I’ll do that for you. For your baby.”

I need her to say yes, but I need it to be her choice.

She’s shaking her head, but her protests are weak.

“Draco, we can’t do that.”

“Why not? We’re adults.”

I can see the struggle in her eyes, the battle between her principles and her fear.

I know which one will win.

I know her too well.

She’s crying again, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

But she’s not pulling away.

She’s not saying no.

I’ve won.

I imagine the future, Mercy in a white dress, her eyes filled with tears as she pledges her life to me. I see her belly swollen with my child. Then when it’s born, I’ll fuck her again.

Keep her pregnant.

Keep her mine.