Page 97 of Penance

He looks devastating.

He turns to face me fully, his eyes narrowing as they rake over me. I feel his eyes on every inch of me, and I like it.

“And you look like an angel.”

I blush, my stomach twisting in knots.

I glance down at my dress, suddenly self-conscious. The white fabric feels too bright, too pure against the darkness of his suit. I’m a lamb being led to the slaughter, and I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of the sacrifice or the fact that a part of me wants to throw myself onto the blade.

He steps towards me, and I can smell his cologne now.

It’s like a forest at night, and it swims straight to my brain.

“Let’s go,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “After you, Mercy.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s coming—for the eyes on me, the judgment, the stares.

But I’m not sure I care anymore, and that’s even scarier.

He offers his arm, a gesture that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes. I hesitate, then slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the firm muscle beneath his suit jacket. I can feel his warmth seeping into me.

We step out the door, and the chill of late October slithers over me like a dead serpent. I steal a glance at him again, taking in his profile as he locks the door. There’s a sense of pride at being seen with him.

That’s weird.

Just a few days ago I was terrified to be seen with him.

Now?

I want them to see us.

Why?

“You look beautiful, Mercy.”

I shouldn’t want his compliments.

I shouldn’t crave his approval.

But I do.

God help me, I do.

I blush as he guides me down the hallway, my heels clicking over the uneven tiles.

We make our way down the stairs, and out the front door, and I suck down a breath of the fresh air outside, so maybe I’m not drowning in his cologne anymore.

No, that doesn’t work.

I keep my eyes forward, focusing on the crunch of gravel as we step into the parking lot. But I keep glancing over at him.

I’m a moth drawn to his flame, and I’m going to burn for this, I just know it.

We step around the side of his car, and he pulls the door open for me, gently guiding me inside.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s all I can manage, a feeble attempt to not pant at him like a bitch in heat.

His chuckle is soft, knowing.

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