Page 77 of Penance

We lock eyes, and if I had been standing, I would have hit the fucking ground.

How did she do that?

Fuck, what was wrong with me?

“Yeah?”

Her mouth drops open, and then snaps closed, over and over again, like a fish gasping for breath.

She shakes her head.

“Never mind.”

I can see the war raging within her.

It’s a beautiful sight.

The light turns green, and I press the accelerator. We jerk forward, sliding through the intersection and turning towards home. Mercy turns back to the window, sucking in a deep, shaking breath. I reach over, and squeeze her thigh gently, in an attempt to be comforting. She tenses but doesn’t pull away.

The rain-soaked streets glisten like black mirrors, reflecting the stark silhouettes of barren trees, striped bare by autumn. My hands grip the steering wheel, the leather creaking beneath my fingers as I navigate the final turn. The parking lot stretches ahead—asphalt dotted with faded white lines. As we pull into our designated spot, the engine purrs softly, a contented beast settling into its lair. I had been searching for a car like this one before I found it last year—a 1969 Camaro, black and silver. Thankfully, money wasn’t an issue thanks to my inheritance. The best thing my dad ever did for me was die.

I came across it on a whim, driving down a rural country road. I saw it parked in the driveway with a ‘for sale’ card in the window. The minute I had the chance, I snapped it right up.

Kind of like I did with Mercy.

I had a tendency to get what I wanted.

I shift the car into park, but my mind is far from idle.

The car falls silent as I turn off the ignition. Mercy’s breath hitches, a soft, broken sound that tells me she’s still fighting her tears.

“Mercy,” I say, turning to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, her lips trembling as she struggles to find her voice. I reach out and cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear that got past her barricade and slipped down her cheek. Her skin is cold beneath my touch.

I could warm her up.

I could, but I won’t.

The rain racing down the windows casts fractured shadows across her face. She’s trying to speak, her lips trembling like hummingbird wings, but all that escapes is a choked sob.

“Shh, it’s okay.” I can feel her shiver at my touch. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

She tries to look away, but I hold her, my eyes locking onto hers. I can see the desperation in her eyes, the desperate search for safety.

But I am not her savior.

I am the riptide, pulling her under.

She will drown before she breaks the surface.

“But… but I…”

She sucks in a deep breath and then breaks, her sobs ripping through her. Seizing the opportunity, I reach over her and unbuckle her seatbelt, pulling her over the center console and into my lap. She doesn’t resist, she just folds into me. I can feel her warmth, her soft curves pressed against me. Her hair that is damp from the rain, brushes against my cheek, and the scent of it—like delicate jasmine and something sweeter—reaches all the way down to the pit in my gut where my soul used to be.

Her hands clutch at my shirt, balling the fabric into her fists as she buries her face in the webbing between my neck and shoulder. I can feel her tears, hot and seeping through my shirtand branding my skin. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as she breaks. Her body heaves against mine, shaking so much that it’s hard to hold on to her. I stroke her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine, feeling her tremble beneath my touch.

She’s mine, this broken, sobbing angel in my arms.

---