Page 22 of Penance

My gaze drifts to the screen again, watching as Mercy curls into a fetal position, her body wracked with sobs. The sight sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. She’s breaking, piece by piece, and I’m collecting each fragment, molding her into my own Greek goddess.

I put the angel down, and absentmindedly spin the snake ring on my finger.

“No one will believe you, Mercy,” I say, as if she could hear me through the screen. “Not your precious family, not your friends, and certainly not the judgmental whores that go to your church.”

A sudden thought slams into my head, and I sit straight up, staring at the screens.

She’s so scared.

She’s terrified.

She’s crying so loud that I could hear her this morning, laying in bed with all the curtains pulled tight, stroking my dick to the sound of her fear.

I couldhearher crying.

Jumping up out of my chair, I snatch my jacket off the back of it and hurry to the door, shrugging it on as I step out the door and yank it closed behind me, not bothering to lock it behind me.

It doesn’t matter.

I won’t be long, anyway.

Chapter 5

Mercy

Isit 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, everymuscle 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.

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