Page 163 of Penance

“Draco, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so,sosorry!”

Her tears are a flood now, and she’s trembling under my hands.

A sound escapes me, something between a laugh and a sob, and I hate myself for it, hate the weakness.

I hate myself.

“Don’t,” I spit. “Don’t you dare apologize to me.”

But she doesn’t stop. The words pour from her lips like the rains poured over Noah. She’s drowning me with them, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, please, Draco. I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry?! You’re fucking SORRY?!”

“Draco! I was scared!” She sucks in a breath, and it’s so forceful that it shakes both of us.

“You saw what happened!” My voice tears out of me so hard that it hurts. My heart hurts, but the flood has broken the dam, and I can’t stop it. “You saw what he was doing to me! You saw me crying, and bleeding, and asking for help, and you didn’t do anything! You walked out! You ran away!”

“I was scared, Draco! I was so scared! I’m sorry!” Her hand lifts to her face and covers her eyes. I let go of her arm and reach up, tearing her hand away from her face.

No.

She can’t hide.

I have to see her eyes.

“I was scared too! I ran to you for help, and you fucking lied to everyone and told them I was lying! I needed you, Mercy! Goddamn it, I needed you, and you just fucking left me there! You ran away and LEFT ME!”

“I’m sorry! Draco, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t say that! Stop saying that!”

“Draco, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please believe me! Please?! I’m sorry! I’m so, SO SORRY.”

Each and every time she says it is like a hammer striking the same bruise, and something in me snaps. The rage that’s been simmering boils over. My fist flies past her head, connecting with the wall with a sickening crunch. Pain explodes through my knuckles, sharp and clarifying. Plaster cracks and crumbles, white dust raining down like snow, like ash, and it pours over her, stark white against the dark coils of her hair.

“Stop it!” I roar, my voice bouncing off the walls of the apartment, coming back to me distorted and strange. “Stop looking at me like that!”

Like I’m worth saving.

Like I’m something more than my scars and my rage.

Like I’m still human.

Like I’m forgivable.

She flinches, her body jerking against the wall, but her eyes—those damn beautiful eyes—never leave mine. Even now, even with my fist embedded in the wall inches from her head, even with the evidence of my violence literally falling around us, she looks at me with something that isn’t just fear.

She looks at me like she needs me.

The silence is deafening.

I can hear my own ragged breathing, the pounding of my heart, the soft tapping of plaster settling on the floor beneath us. My hand throbs and I can feel warm blood trickling between my knuckles.

Blood, to atone for an eternal sin.

I pull my fist from the wall, slowly, wincing at the pain as my fingers flex and extend.

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