Confessed Novels & Stories

"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.

“You can start whenever you’re ready.” I swallowed hard. “It’s not… it’s not an ordinary confession.” He tilted his head slightly. “Go on.” I looked down at my hands, then back up at him. Every question I’d written earlier rushed through my mind, but the words came out softer, more real than I expected. “I think I’ve done something I can’t undo,” I said. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.” His brow furrowed. “What is it you’ve done?”

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.

“Kael had confessed.” His face was drained of color. His eyes widened before he could catch himself, before he could mask it with the usual calmness. That one flicker of shock was all the confirmation I needed. “What did you just say?” his voice shaking as he asked. “Kael had confessed.”

The prosecutor played portions of the recording again. “You’ve heard Mr. Pembroke’s own words. His confession. His pride in what he did. He didn’t just admit to the crime. He bragged about it. Called it ‘solving a problem.’ Called Arthur Lockwood a ‘liability’ that needed to be ‘eliminated.’” “This isn’t a case of reasonable doubt. This is a case where the defendant recorded his own confession. Where he admitted, in detail, to conspiracy to commit murder. Where he showed no remorse, no regret, no recognition that he’d taken a human life.”

Then all eyes turn to me. “You may speak, my son.” The Father’s voice makes my breath cease. Unlinking my fingers, I fist them at my sides, gathering all the courage I can muster. “I-I’ve killed, stolen, and am guilty of the seven deadly sins. But I don’t want to be free from them, except one… Lust.” The silence is jarring. Nothing moves. What are they thinking? They better not judge me. Confession Tuesdays are highly confidential. It better stay that way.

I take my time selecting a bottle. When I turn around, the energy in the room has shifted. Something has changed while my back was turned. They're all looking at Cole now, some silent conversation happening between them. "What?" I crack open my beer. "You guys look weird." "Cole was just telling us," Marcus says slowly, "about your little confession last Thanksgiving." My blood goes cold. "What confession?" "The one where you got drunk and told him you'd been having dreams about all of us." Theo's smile is different now. Hungry. "The dirty kind."

"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.

I ask as we sit in a chair outside the emergency room. “Yes, because you pressed your button. When the police come, it is very important that you tell the whole truth,” Marcel says. “But you’ll be in trouble,” I reply. “Nothing Anton can’t help me with. Freya, you need to tell them everything. Whatever the adults were saying, who approached who, don’t leave anything out. It’s how you can help your mommy right now. I don’t care that I’ll be in trouble, okay.”

He was in a profound depressive state, the 'black' side of his splitting now entirely focused on himself. "The source is me," he whispered. "I'm defective. They always knew it." "Who is 'they'?" "My parents," he said, the name tasting like ash. "Tessa and John. They saw the differences, and they amplified them." Anna knew she was on dangerous, necessary ground. "Tell me." Dylan stared into his coffee, beginning a confession so raw and honest that it sounded rehearsed—the narrative of a trauma victim who has analyzed his own pain but never shared it.