Page 24 of Penance

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.

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