Confessions Novels & Stories

"You can't possibly do that. What about school?" "I don't care as long as you learn that your confessions are non-negotiable." "You're fucking crazy." I shoved his chest, but he didn't move an inch. He leaned into me. "Tell me the truth dorogoy. What are you really afraid of? Are you afraid that you don't like it or is it that you're afraid that you like it too much? That it makes you wet?" I gaped at him. "You're delusional." I tipped my chin and straightened my back. I didn't falter as I took determined steps towards his confession room.

I revealed everything—the secret conversations with Stanley, the allure of power, and the dangerous dance on the brink of treachery—every word a wrenching confession of my misplaced goals. Rose listened with unblinking eyes, and I told her about the plans that had pushed me to the verge of betrayal as well as my acts. The tension in my chest was matched by the amount of her comprehension. The discharge of emotions that had been festering in the dark for so long was therapeutic. Rose's reactions changed as I spoke, going from worry to comprehension, from shock to a serious recognition of the nuance that surrounded our decisions. The atmosphere in the room changed to one of confessionality as

“We know, Dave. We know everything. Stop lying to yourself. Stop lying to us.” “We’ve got witnesses, evidence, alibis—everything points to you,” the tall one said. “You think you can keep denying it? This is your chance to make things right. Tell us the truth.” “I’m innocent,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’ve just made things a lot easier for us,” the tall one said. “We’ll be back.” As they left the room, I collapsed onto the table, sobbing. I’d cracked. I’d confessed. And now, there was no turning back.

“We are doing everything right now because by morning you might change your mind. Listen. As soon as we end this call, I will send you the write up of what you will have to say while making the videotape. I felt my breath hitch. “What write-up?” I asked though deep down I already knew what he was talking about. “The confession,” he said smoothly. “The one where you accuse Leo of rape so he gets charged. There is concrete evidence to back it up so don’t worry. Even your parents will be proud of you.” I shut my eyes, the weight of guilt pressing down on me as I bit my lower lips listening to my heart thumping really fast. “But he didnt rape me.” I whispered.

I pushed him away, bile rising in my throat. "You reek of sweat. Go shower." Frank snuggled closer, playing coy. "Work was brutal. Let me hold you for a while." As we tussled, my fingers brushed something crusty on his pants, dried evidence of his betrayal. "Kid spilled oatmeal on me last night," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll change." As he showered, I doubled over, vomiting into the sink, my stomach churning from more than just my condition. I grabbed his phone and opened his chat with Lila.

His confession comes in ragged bursts, each word a nail driven into the coffin of his ego, a testament to the years of cruelty, arrogance, and betrayal that I have finally broken open. I let him take a shallow breath, letting the truth sink into the cold night, letting him feel that confession is meaningless without the consequence, letting Sean and Roman stare, horror etched into every line of their faces as they realise that their father and Owen, the man who raised me and Sean, has finally been exposed.

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."

“I believed lies because I wanted certainty more than truth. I was arrogant. Blind. Foolish.” The confession scraped raw on the way out. “I want you to see it so you understand how thoroughly I was manipulated. Not to forgive me. Not to absolve me.” I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the worn leather journal. It looked harmless. Small. Ordinary. Yet it had destroyed us once. I held it toward her, my hand unsteady. “This is my confession,” I said quietly. “Everything Edmund used against you. Everything I failed to question.” My voice dropped.

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.

The three of them shared the same breath, the same residual heat, the same knowledge that the night was no longer something that could be walked back. Dominic was the first to speak, voice low and rough from everything already spent. “You’re still marrying him in the morning.” Mara’s answer came without hesitation. “Yes.” “And you’re still going to let me do this to you until the sun comes up.” “Yes.” Julian’s arm tightened around her. His voice was quieter than Dominic’s, but no less certain. “Tell him what you told me in the shower last month. The thing you said you were ashamed of.”