Novel & Cerita Confession X

Tonight the church is empty and I’m sitting in his confession booth with my heart in my throat and my underwear already wet. The wood smells like incense and furniture polish, and when he settles on his side of the screen I hear his breathing change because he knows it’s me before I say a word. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” “How long since your last confession?” His voice is tight, careful, the way you handle something that might break if you hold it wrong. I give him the easy sins first because I want him comfortable. Missed mass, took the Lord’s name in vain, never visited my grandmother enough.

"That was never her problem." "I know that," I said. "And yet she paid for it." The room suddenly became stuffy. I had expected relief. People talked about confession as relief, as unburdening, as weight lifting. What I felt was neither of those things. What I felt was the exposure of someone who had been standing behind a wall for twenty years and had finally stepped out from behind it and discovered that the world on the other side was exactly as cold as they had always feared. "You said there was something even Jonathan doesn't know," she said. "You said it at the end of the last confession. Before you told us about the accident." She held my gaze. "What is it?"

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.

Shit shit shit! Hell! No freaking way, no no no, just pick your things and get the fuck outta here, Melanie, how can you make this terrible mistake, my cheeks burned with embarrassment, a video of my legs spread apart fucking… sucking… gods on their freaking bar as well!! Jezzz!!!!!! I just want to die right now. I tried to compose myself to text back, “I’m so sorry, Gabriel, hmm I was supposed to send it to Dan, please, I will delete the video and don’t tell Dan I accidentally sent it to you.”

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.

The mark of my betrayal. Gasps ripple through the air. Gerald’s is the loudest. “I need your confession,” he says, voice steady but trembling with the effort to stay calm. “Now.” And I break. Words spill from me like molten iron, searing everything they touch. I confess. Every lie, every act, every secret. The crowd’s whispers slice like knives, their gasps spreading like wildfire, feeding on my shame. But I keep speaking. I need to. It’s the only way I can beg for judgment; death or forgiveness.

Then, he furthered his confession by describing how he watched grown men fuck younger boys while pumping his own cock using his hand and soap. That confession just made me sweat a lot and my cock hard against my pants by the time it ended. I quickly walked away from the door before he could spot me, but the entire way home was hell, continuous flashes of imaginary scenarios of me fucking his ass hard till he begs for mercy. Micah was there, holding his rosary, very quietly. When we reached home and entered,the living room, I could not hold it in any longer. ''Micah, just wait," I began. "About your confession... I heard it."

Life was moving again, ordinary, quiet, and strangely comforting. I typed another sentence, then another, until the words began to flow like a river that had finally broken past its dam. Memories surfaced as I wrote not all pleasant ones, but necessary. The day I first met Xavier. The moment our fake vows became real in ways neither of us had planned. The night he looked at me and said he believed me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. My fingers slowed. I blinked away the sting in my eyes. I wasn’t writing a story anymore. I was writing a confession.

Tyler’s POV “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I breathed out as I sat in the confessional. The confessional was a small wooden box with a curtain separating the priest from the penitent. It felt more like a dark, cramped closet than a sacred space. If you stretched your hand forward, you wouldn’t even need to extend it fully before your fingers brushed the opposite wall. But the purpose of this place was not comfort, right? It was about truth. About release. I guessed that’s what made it enough for the many souls who came here daily to bare their burdens.

He said the crucifix was made out of the cross Jesus Christ was crucified on and that it is sure to ward off demonic attacks and possessions as long as she has it on her always. .................................. ✍🏾 Jessica goes to St Paul’s Parish to have a confession, she walks into the church with a veil over her face and goes into the confession box and removes the veil. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been far too long since my last confession,” she says. “No sin is too great for God to forgive, my child,” he says. “What if I said I didn’t come to confess my sins?” “Then what are you here for?”