Confess Ideas Novels & Stories

The fact someone like Danielle and her question what she meant to me left me with my own rising upset. “Tell me I'm not better off with Andrew then! Maybe I should go after him and back to my father because at least I'll know what to expect with them..All so you can be free to fuck who you want.” This comment and the imagery it caused snapped my final resolve. With her upper arm in my grasp, I confessed my most private secret to her aloud in a verbal current impossible to stop. “I’ve never fucked anyone, let alone Danielle because my desperate ass has always been waiting for you!” My words stunned her.

And so they removed it. Of course, ideas have the potential to be as helpful as they can be damning. Or racist. Or biggoted. Or ignorant or misguided or cruel or any combination therein. And while we may not support them or agree with them, we are aware of them. We gain enough understanding to evaluate, judge, and decide. But that all starts with knowing what the issue is. Keeping secrets doesn’t help. “You’re thinking more like a journalist than a researcher!” My advisor had scolded me at one point.

This was a career-ending sermon. Confessions were just as bad. As a priest, I obviously could not judge them, but it was quite something. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I lusted after my neighbor’s wife with desire in my heart,” the man confessed. I nodded sagely, trying to focus. “And how many times—” “But she looks just like that dangerous-hot looking Norwegian ex I had. Her ass is round and perfect and…” I coughed to get him back in order.

My confession. “Did you write this?” Harwin asked. “I did,” I said, voice hoarse, but I held my chin up. “Yes. I wrote it.” “Then you confess to the killing?” “I confessed to the memory of what might have happened! I confessed to the guilt! I never said how. I never even understood how it happened—if it even did!” “So you confess without clarity?” Morten pressed. “You admit to hiding dangerous knowledge from your Alpha and this council?”

“Not at all,” “You do not need to hide it. I can see through you.” “Okay, maybe I am confused a little,” I admit to the allegation. “But I think I understand what you are driving at. Still, I have no idea what everything you said entails. I am on the fence about both thoughts going through my mind at the moment.” something invades my mind instantly. An idea that I locked up in me because I was planning to talk about it with Kelvin later. “I have an idea, Kelvin. And I don’t know if it is the best of ideas because I don't think you might want to hear it.”

From anticipation to confusion, from disappointment to frustration, then to simmering anger. He must've been thinking we had agreed to go through our 144th declaration today. Why didn't I show up? Why would I humiliate him like this in front of the world? But Aldric, hadn't I gone through that same humiliation 143 times? Well, thank goodness, there wouldn't be a 144th time. This time, I was the one who was done. My resignation stirred quite a storm inside Cromwell LLP. Most of my colleagues never knew about my past with Aldric. But now, after everything that happened, the rumors have begun to swirl.

I ask him and he seems to stutter a moment, thinking of what lie he is going to spin. “My other investors are silent. They trust me to run things. Besides, everyone knows you give the pretty girls drinks to get the big spenders into a club.” “I didn’t know that.” I sip my drink through the itty bitty straw and slide a little bit away from him. He slides closer and his smell wafts over with the movement. An evil combination of cologne, marijuana, and desperation. I stuck the lime wedge in my mouth and sucked to fight the wave of nausea.

I'm confident that I can heal myself… on my own. ~

Her confession today was different; not the usual petty transgressions of thought, but something deeper, more unsettling. "I… I have been having… impure thoughts, Father," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Thoughts that shame me. Thoughts of… flesh. Of touch. Of wanting…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet visible even in the dim light. Father Michael clenched his fists, the cheap fabric of his cassock rough against his skin.