Page 13 of Penance

She’s trapped.

I stroke myself, hard, just once, and a pearly bead of pre-cum drools from the tip and slides over my fingers.

Maybe I’ll fuck her again tonight.

Her frantic pacing slows, and she comes to a stop as she passes her bedroom. Her eyes linger on the rumpled bed, fear etched in every line of her body. She knows something is wrong, something is off. But she can’t put her finger on it.

“That’s right, Mercy”, I say, my smile widening. “Feel it. Feel that something is wrong. That weight, like someone’s watching you—because someoneis. Get scared baby. You taste so fucking good when you’re scared.”

She stops in the living room this time, still holding her bible.

What’s she looking at? Something on the coffee table?

My gaze lands on her phone, the simple pink case looking up at me through the monitor. She reaches for her phone, her hands trembling. I know who she’s going to call—her lifeline, her best friend since youth group as a teenager, Emma.

A smirk plays on my lips as I listen. I wiretapped her phone weeks ago. The whole thing will play through my speakers.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Pick up, Em,” Mercy pleads, her voice a soft whisper.

But Emma won’t answer.

Not today.

Never again.

I’ve made sure of that.

The way I scared her runs deep. She’ll remember the way I climbed into her bedroom window and held a knife to her throat.She’ll remember the way I told her to stay the fuck away from my girl, or I’d carve her into pieces and fuck her corpse.

She’ll remember.

She’ll remember that for the rest of her life.

Mercy’s support network is small, but it’s there. One friend, maybe two. Her parents. Her church.

It’s time to start cutting those ties.

One by one.

I’ll isolate her, bit by bit, until she has no one left to turn to.

Until she has no choice but to turn tome.

Isolate. Control. Manipulate.

Mercy’s breath hitches as the call goes to voicemail. She looks so small, so fragile, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to hold herself the way I should be holding her.

It’s pathetic.

Her eyes flutter closed, and she shakes her head.

I watch her sink to her knees, her hands clasped tightly together. Her prayers grow more desperate, her words tumbling out in desperate pleas. Her hands are shaking. Her stomach is blowing out and hollowing in, over and over again as she fights to keep herself calm.

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