Confessions Novels & Stories

From anticipation to confusion, from disappointment to frustration, then to simmering anger. He must've been thinking we had agreed to go through our 144th declaration today. Why didn't I show up? Why would I humiliate him like this in front of the world? But Aldric, hadn't I gone through that same humiliation 143 times? Well, thank goodness, there wouldn't be a 144th time. This time, I was the one who was done. My resignation stirred quite a storm inside Cromwell LLP. Most of my colleagues never knew about my past with Aldric. But now, after everything that happened, the rumors have begun to swirl.

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.

And they want me to know they know. I grab my phone. Hands shaking. I should call Jamie. I should call Marcus. Hell, I should call the damn FBI. But all I do is stare at my screen, with the draft confession blinking back at me from my notes app. Suddenly the lies aren’t just lies anymore. They’re leverage. And I’m not the only one holding them.

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.

His voice cracked under the weight of truth. The confession opened a floodgate of emotions: fear of losing his family, shame for betraying their trust, and the gnawing realization that responsibility carried more than just financial or social weight. Abby recognized that the choices he had made to escape pressure only compounded it, creating a spiral that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Ruth repeatedly played the recording. Each time, Esmerelda's voice filled the air again. The hospital room was eerily silent, except for the recording playing on repeat. Minutes dragged by until, all of a sudden, Ruth hurled the phone against the wall. She then turned her cold eyes on Esmerelda. "Do you have anything left to say?" Esmerelda frantically shook her head. This time, her tears were real. "Mom, I was wrong. I was joking. I didn't think Clara would take it seriously… I really didn't mean it…"

I pumped my fingers in and out of myself, my hips rolling off the hard bench. "It feels so good, Father Edmund," I gasped out, panting as I kept my eyes locked on his shadow through the screen. "I’m fingering myself right in front of you. Come on, tell me I'm going to hell. Tell me I'm a sinner while you listen to me fuck myself like a dirty little whore I am." The booth rattled violently, making me jump. A loud bang echoed through the small space as he slammed his door shut, leaving the confession booth.

This was a career-ending sermon. Confessions were just as bad. As a priest, I obviously could not judge them, but it was quite something. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I lusted after my neighbor’s wife with desire in my heart,” the man confessed. I nodded sagely, trying to focus. “And how many times—” “But she looks just like that dangerous-hot looking Norwegian ex I had. Her ass is round and perfect and…” I coughed to get him back in order.

I had four days left before the poison consumed my organs entirely. All I wanted was to spend whatever time I had left with the woman I loved, but I could not reach her. The next day, I learned that Enzo Marchetti, the first love she had never forgotten, had returned from overseas. "Let's get divorced. The love of my life is back." I clutched my chest as a searing pain tore through it. "I'm at the family hospital. I've been poisoned. The doctors won't let me leave.” Her voice turned sharp and cruel. "I don't care if you're poisoned or dying. Even if you drop dead the next second, you need to come back and sign the papers." The last trace of warmth inside me went cold. I answered calmly,

“Would you believe it worked? He was so frightened when he saw the nude photos.” Her laughter bubbled through the speaker, bright and victorious, a sound of pure malice and delight. “Trust me,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr that vibrated with shared intent, “when we are done with him, he would be all yours.” I moved to my bed and collapsed onto it, staring up at the ceiling, imagining Bro Nelson in his room right now, pacing, sweating, checking his phone every thirty seconds, running through scenarios of exposure and ruin. The image of him tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, imagining his life ending in disgrace and prison—it was too much. We both burst into