CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 21

EZRA

I knew what I was doing.

I knew exactly who would be in the booth at this hour.

And still—I walked in.

The church was quiet. Evening light spilled through the stained glass, painting the walls red and gold. My footsteps echoed too loud.

I reached the confessional and slid inside. The wood creaked. The little window was closed on the other side, but I could feel him there.

I crossed myself. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

A pause. His voice, low, calm. “Go on, my child.”

My heart thudded. My palms were sweaty.

“I’ve been… struggling.” My voice cracked. “With thoughts.”

“Thoughts?” he repeated, steady.

“Yes. Lustful thoughts.”

Silence.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I—I touched myself. Last night. And before. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s a sin. But I couldn’t stop. I wanted to. I swear I tried to pray it away. I fasted. I begged God to take it from me. But it keeps coming back.”

I swallowed hard, words tumbling out. “Every time I close my eyes, it’s there. My body wants what my soul says I shouldn’t. And I hate myself for it. I’m so ashamed.”

I heard him breathe. Deep. Slow. Then sharper. Like he was trying to control it.

My chest tightened.

“I don’t even know if I’m… normal,” I whispered. “I watch things I shouldn’t. I imagine things I shouldn’t. My thoughts—God, my thoughts—they’re so dirty. I can’t stop.”

The air felt heavy. His breath was louder now, right on the other side of the wood.

“I think about hands on me. Kissing me. Holding me down. I think about—” I broke off, trembling.

“Go on,” he said. His voice wasn’t calm anymore. It was low. Rough.

I shivered.

“I think about someone I shouldn’t,” I whispered. “Someone forbidden. And it makes me feel alive. And sick. At the same time.”

The booth went quiet. Too quiet.

Then—

The door on my side opened.

I gasped, spinning, and he was there.

Father Dorian.

His collar still on, but his eyes were dark.

“Father—” I started.

He didn’t let me finish.

He grabbed me by the jaw and kissed me. Hard.

I whimpered against his mouth, my body going weak instantly. His hand slid to my throat, squeezing just enough to make my head spin.

“Shut up,” he growled against my lips.

My knees buckled. I clutched his shirt, dizzy from how hot it was, how wrong it was. His tongue slid against mine and I moaned before I could stop myself.

He pressed me back against the wooden wall, choking me just enough that my vision blurred. My whole body burned.

When he finally pulled back, I was panting, dazed.

He studied me, eyes sharp. His hand lingered on my throat, then slowly released.

“Father—” My voice was wrecked.

He leaned close, lips brushing my ear. “Say ten Hail Marys.”

“What?” I blinked.

“Ten Hail Marys,” he repeated, voice flat. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just kissed me senseless.

And then—he stepped back. Closed the little booth door.

I sat there trembling, my lips swollen, my whole body shaking.

Like nothing had happened.

Like I hadn’t just drowned in sin.

I pressed my hands together, whispering the prayer through broken breaths.

But every word felt pointless.

Because all I could think about was his mouth. His hand on my throat.

And how badly I wanted more.