Confessions Novels & Stories

-"Why? What did you want?" -"I thought you've left" David explained. -"I would never leave without you, you silly!" I reassured him giving him a toothy smile. -"I'm sorry. I got scared" David said ashamed. -"Scared? Of what?" I asked. -"Of you betraying us" David confessed lowering his head in shame. -"I would never betray you or any other member of my pack. You know that. Don't you?" I reassured him.

Joseph's countenance held a peculiar mix of emotions, pausing for a brief moment before he responded, "Africa." A hush descended upon the room at this revelation. Africa? The incredulity was palpable. Clearly, this was a deliberate ploy orchestrated by the unknown adversary. "Who could secretly be assisting us?" Shiloh's murmured query reflected his contemplation. Suddenly, a memory stirred—he recalled Julia's words from the previous day. She had insinuated that hypnosis was sufficient, asserting that Jared need not resort to extreme measures. Glancing at the video's entranced subjects, he found their behavior consistent with hypnotic influence. Then, there was the enigmatic figure from the

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, the gravity of his past actions casting a shadow over their present interaction. Audrey inhales deeply, her composure a fragile shield against the flood of emotions threatening to engulf her. Paul's confession hangs between them, his admission of shame and a loss of control laying bare the depths of his remorse. "Audrey, I am ashamed. I was out of control," he confesses, his voice laced with vulnerability as he lays bare his inner turmoil.

Sometimes I would grind against my pillow, imagining his touch, imagining riding him, moaning his name, taking him deep inside me as I shivered and came. I knew it was wrong, horrible even, considering he was a priest, someone the town respected. But I couldn’t stop myself. Today, I had decided to come clean, to confess my sins to him, certain that as a priest, he would forgive me. Forgive me for my lewd thoughts, my sinful actions, and guide me back to the right path. So when the silence in the confessional booth stretched long enough, I parted my lips, my voice soft and nervous, and tried to spill everything.

Maybe for once I could be honest and say that my marriage was not getting better; it was falling further and further into misery. “I told mine that it was over,” Russell said. “Let me just say, it was fucking liberating. Saying the words was like loosening a damn vise from my chest.” I wasn’t sure what it was about the anonymity of conversing with a stranger, but for the next hour or so, both Russell Collins and I took full advantage. We said things that cleansed and relieved. I wasn’t a fucking priest, but maybe, just maybe, I was able to help him, because I knew that come tomorrow, his time for absolution would be over.

"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.

“That’s why I left New York. I couldn’t stand the city anymore. The guilt followed me here.” Silence filled the room, thick, and suffocating. Finally, I spoke. “Do you have proof?” He looked up. “You think I’d live this long if I didn’t keep something?” He limped to a drawer and pulled out a sealed brown envelope. Inside were faded photographs, an old badge, and a cassette tape. “His confession,” he said quietly. “Barry’s. I recorded it that night. I thought I’d use it someday, but fear’s a funny thing. You tell yourself you’ll do the right thing tomorrow. After how many years, I still couldn't do anything.”

I cackled, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Rudolf! You're lying to me! You keep on lying to me! How long do you plan to keep lying to me?!" My hysteria left Rudolf stunned, his breath caught, frozen in place. He opened his mouth, but there were no words. It was as if he sensed something yet lacked the courage to confront it, choosing instead to feign ignorance. "Rudolf! Sean fainted! Come over and take a look right now!" Vivian suddenly screamed.

Not impatiently, but with the measured assurance of a surgeon asking where it hurt. The question was the pinprick that burst the dam. The words, bottled so long, brimming with guilt and fear and nightmare thrill, burst out. They were not loud. They were a whisper, torn from the darkest, most fragmented part of him, a confession whispered into the holy quiet of their common ground. "I don't know who I am anymore."

I exhaled only when the doors shut. He knows. Or worse, he suspects. ★ That night, I went to the confessional. I locked the doors, shut the screens, and knelt in the darkness. “Forgive me, Father,” I whispered, voice hoarse, “for I have sinned. I am a liar. A hypocrite. A coward.” My hands gripped the lattice until my knuckles whitened. “I let him touch me. I let him break me. I let him—God forgive me—I wanted it. I still want it.”