Confess Quotes Novels & Stories

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Neisha.” She raised her head then, meeting his gaze with a hollow-eyed stare. “I can’t keep it inside anymore. I’m not Catholic or anything, and I don’t know if confession is indeed good for the soul, but it certainly can’t be any worse than living with the secrets eating me from the inside out.”

she said calmly, “it will be revealed, and you will remain exiled. But if you speak the truth, the moon will reveal that as well.” I stared out at the sea and looked into the waters to see my distorted reflection. For a moment I felt fear, not fear of the truth, but fear of being judged. That maybe everything I would say was not going to be honest. But then I inhaled deeply. “I acknowledge my past,” I began, my voice steady. “I was exiled under false judgment, punished for a crime I did not commit. I stand before the sea and the moon and confess that I had no hand in the attack of Damien Blackthorne. I did not harm him. I did not conspire against him. I did not wish him death.”

“I…I…” God of heaven, how do I confess this? How can I shamelessly admit that I want this abomination? How can I right this? How can I toss aside the pain that this will bring to those who matter so much to us and the catastrophe it will cause? The consequences? How can I trash that and act like this will be roses and sunshine and the so-called happy ever after? How can I let us walk into our early graves? “We can’t, Joe!” I finally murmur, my voice betraying me just as I had expected, but the heavens know this is the sane thing to say and do.

"Tell us you still want us." I close my eyes. A second. Two. Then I give in. In a breath, a broken confession. "No." And everything tips over.

Silence settled—not awkward, not tense. Honest. “I wasn’t sure if I should say this,” he continued. “I’ve practiced it a dozen times. Every version sounded wrong.” I felt my pulse quicken. “You don’t have to—” “I do,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve waited long enough.” My fingers curled around the edge of the table. This was it. Not the beginning. The reckoning. “I used to think confessions were selfish,” Darius said. “That telling someone how you feel only shifts the burden onto them.”

"I already said I didn't plagiarize. Since you keep claiming this proposal is yours, let me ask you a few questions." I picked out several data points from the proposal and questioned her. She fumbled every answer. Clearly, she had no clue. By then, everyone knew who the proposal really belonged to.

SARAH Confess. To openly admit something or declare something that you’ve been hiding, keeping secret, or feeling guilty about. Turns out what the rest of the world knows—and that includes their psychotic foster father who has been out of touch with the world, their world, for almost twenty fucking years—that I don’t, exists. It is not just a concept I made up in my head. It is not an abstract. It is a thing. It is their history, their truth.

Edward and I used to message each other on it all the time. It happened the day we’d just finished an exam. After roughly estimating my score, I couldn’t wait to chat with him. As we talked, I got caught up in the moment and blurted out a confession. And then… I never got a reply. At first, I thought maybe something had come up, so I waited. I waited quietly, from seven in the evening until midnight. But still, nothing. I went from anxiously tossing and turning on my bed to feeling so miserable I wanted to cry.

I wanted to block it all out, the memory of the projection, the blur on the screen, the certainty in Xander’s voice, but it wouldn’t leave me. “Not just accused,” I rasped, each syllable raw. “He showed me a shadow on a screen and called it to him. My Liam.” My breath caught, and I forced myself to continue even as my throat tightened. “The only person who, who once made me believe I wasn’t completely worthless.” The confession bled out of me, softer now, as though speaking it aloud might somehow undo it. Sophie stepped closer, her gaze never leaving my face, searching, perhaps hoping for an answer I couldn’t give. Her voice was quiet, but firm. “And you don’t believe it?”

“It all points to you.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a hush. “Raziela, listen to me. There might be a way. If you confess… if you show remorse, plead that it was a moment of madness… maybe they’ll show mercy. Exile, perhaps, instead of… instead of the alternative.” I stared at him, my chest burning as his words settled within me. “Confess?” I hissed, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “You want me to confess to a crime I didn’t commit?“