Page 7 of Penance

Mercy

I sit huddled on the couch, the rough fabric scratching against my bare legs, a towel clutched around me like it’s the only thing holding me together. Tears carve hot paths down my cheeks, dripping from my chin, slipping down my neck and coming to rest on my chest.

The apartment is silent save for the distant hum of the city outside and the relentless ticking of the kitchen clock. My thoughts are a tangled mess, a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and shame.

How did I end up here?

What did I do to deserve this?

The questions claw at my mind, but there are no answers. Only the cold seeping into my bones and the glow of the lonely lamp in the corner.

Sudden, sharp knocks on the door jolt me from my thoughts, sending a shock wave of panic through my chest. My heart leaps into my throat, each beat choking off my breath. I freeze, every muscle tensing as I grip the towel tighter. I hold my breath, looking up at the door.

Maybe if I act like I’m not here, they’ll leave me alone.

The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent.

Who could be at my door at this hour?

My misty eyes scan the room, my eyes darting from the faded photographs on the wall to the small bookcase crammed with well-worn novels and Christianity based self-help books my mom gave me. There’s nothing here to defend me. I don’t have a weapon.

Should I call 911?

No.

It could be nothing.

Carefully, I get to my feet, clutching the towel to my body. My steps are slow, measured, as if walking towards an early grave.

The knock comes again.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

I reach out a trembling hand, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the doorknob. But I don’t turn it, not yet. Instead, I lean forward, pressing my eye to the peephole, pushing up onto my toes to get a better look.

My breath catches as I recognize who is standing outside.

Draco.

Draco is outside my door? His tall, wide frame fills the distorted view, his hood drawn up, casting shadows over his face.

What does he want from me?

Even through the tiny lens, I can see the annoyance etched into his features, the tense set of his jaw, the way his deep brown eyes narrowed intensely at the door.

“I know you’re there, Mercy,” he growls. “I can hear you.”

A gasp escapes my lips, and I step back, my heart racing for a different reason. Yet, there’s a spark of something else—curiosity, a pull that I can’t quite explain.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

I don’t have to open the door.

I don’t have to acknowledge him at all.

Yet, there’s a part of me that wants to open the door, to face him, to understand why he’s here.

But caution holds me back.

What if he’s here to hurt me?

The cold metal of the door chain bites into my fingers as I slide it silently into place—a thin thing, but something that will give me at least the illusion of safety. I turn the lock slowly, the soft click echoing in the silent apartment until I jump.

The door slips open just enough to show me a sliver of Draco’s intense gaze. Cold air slips in from outside, slithering up the bottom of my towel and sending a shiver through me. Draco’s eyes narrow as they meet mine, his annoyance pulsing between us.

“Your whining is keeping me up,” he says, his voice a low rumble. His words are clipped, tense, a stark contrast to the usual calmness that sends aches through my heart.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I hadn’t realized my crying had been loud enough to disturb anyone else. Part of me wants to shrink back, to hide, but another part bristles defensively.

“I-I didn’t mean to—” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. I catch myself, closing my jaw with a snap.

I don’t owe him an apology.

I don’t owe him anything.

“Sorry,” I say, the word short and cut.

Draco’s eyes bore into mine.

“It’s late, Mercy. Some of us have better things to do than listen to you cry yourself to sleep.” His voice drops lower, a dangerous edge creeping in.

The dim light of the hallway casts an eerie glow through the crack in the door, painting a stark line across his face. His gaze remains fixed on me, his eyes two dark pits that seem to swallow the light. I feel small, exposed, even with the door barely open and the chain secured tightly.

He could break it down if he tried.

He could reach through the door, wrap his hand around my throat, and squeeze until the light left me.

He could.

But he didn’t.

He could hurt me, but he didn’t.

Something about the thought calmed me, even if I didn’t know why.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat like thorns.

My voice is thin, reedy, cracked like the ice on a pond on the first warm spring day.

I hug the towel closer, as if layers of cotton could shield me from his piercing stare.

“I didn’t realize I was being so loud. I’ll quiet down. ”

Draco’s lips press into a thin line, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His gaze doesn’t waver, and I feel pinned in place. I want to shrink back, to retreat into the safety of my apartment, but his eyes hold me captive.

I can’t move.

I’m frozen.

How does he do that?

“It’s not just the noise, Mercy,” he says, his voice shifting, the rough edges smoothing out. Softer. “You seem… scared. ”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself. I am, more than he knows, more than I want to admit. But I can’t share that with him, of all people.

He would just laugh at me, and I would deserve it.

“I’m fine,” I lie. I try to make my voice stronger, to force conviction into my words, but I fail. I’m lying, and it’s living in the sound of my voice. “I just… I had a bad dream. It won’t happen again.”

Draco’s expression softens, the harsh lines of his face melting into something almost gentle. It’s a transformation that sends alarm bells ringing in my head. He’s a predator, but he’s wagging his tail and showing his belly like a puppy.

Why is he doing that?

“Mercy, you can talk to me, ya know,” he says. “We used to talk. Every day.”

He blinks, and something flashes in his eyes for just a second.

I shake my head, the movement jerky, unnatural. I feel like I’m panicking. I don’t want him here, but at the same time I want to cling to him, scream my heartbreak into his chest.

I want someone to understand me.

Someone who can’t judge me.

Like Draco…

Draco, of all people, can’t judge me.

“Really, I’m fine,” I insist, my voice trembling. “I should go. I… I need to get dressed.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, a desperate attempt to put some distance between us. But Draco doesn’t move. He remains rooted in place, his gaze never leaving mine, and I can feel the weight of his stare, and its crushing the life out of me.

He wants something from me, something more than just silence, more than just compliance. He wants my secrets, my fears, my vulnerabilities. He wants me to bare my soul to him, to lay myself open and exposed.

And I want to do it.

I want to tell him everything, and I don’t know why.

But I can’t. I won’t. Because if I let him in, if I give him even an inch, I know he’ll take a mile. And I can’t afford to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

I curl my toes into the faded rug, so I can feel something, anything to avoid the weight of Draco’s gaze. His eyes are like twin black holes, threatening to pull every secret from me if I dare to meet them.

“Mercy,” he says, my name a low rumble in his chest, like the distant promise of thunder. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

He leans in, the scent of him—leather and smoke and something darker—invading my senses.

“But I can see something’s wrong. You can talk to me, you know. I’m not the monster everyone thinks I am.”

Part of me wants to believe him, desperate to be heard. But another part, the part that still thinks clearly, knows better. I can’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone. Not with this.

“I… I can’t,” I stammer. “I just can’t, Draco. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, a casual lift of his broad shoulders, and takes a step back. The space he puts between us is a breath of fresh air, a moment of clarity, and I feel like something has been lifted off of me.

I can breathe again, even if it’s strained and tight.

“Fair enough,” he says, his tone light, almost flippant. “I tried. But remember, Mercy, I’m here if you need me. We all need someone to talk to sometimes. Someone who understands.”

I feel something swell in my chest, a mix of fear and something else—something dangerously close to hope.

No.

I couldn’t.

“And if anyone gets it, it’s me.”

That hurt.

I didn’t want to remember that.

“Thank you,” I whisper, as if anything louder might shatter the fragile illusion of his kindness. My hands clutch the door frame, knuckles white, as I struggle to reconcile the monster I know he is with the lifeline he’s thrown me.

He turns to leave, his shoulders rolling with a casual, nonchalant shrug. The pentagram tattoo on the back of his hand seems to wink at me, a mocking reminder of what he really is.

I can’t trust him.

The door clicks shut, the sound echoing through my apartment like a gunshot. I stand there, frozen, my heart pumping in my chest.

Why would he offer to help me?

The question nags at the back of my mind, a persistent itch I can’t scratch. Is this just one of his games? A trap?

But what if it’s not?

What if he really wants to save me?

I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door, my eyes fluttering closed.

My mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and fears that twist and turn.

I want to believe him, to grab onto that lifeline with both hands and hold on tight.

But I can’t silence the warning bells clanging in my head, the echoes of scripture that caution against the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The serpent may offer knowledge, but at what cost? The fall of man was not just a tale from the pulpit, but a stark reminder of the consequences of trusting the wrong entity.

And Draco is as close to a serpent as I’ve ever seen.

Yet, here I am, considering his offer.

Because despite everything, despite the fear and the doubt and the warnings screeching in my head, there’s a part of me that wonders… what if?