Novel & Cerita This Confession Has Meant Nothing

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.

He just kept on climbing; his silence was more deafening than any insult. And I knew when I made this confession, the confession wasn’t for him. It was the truth that I had denied myself. I had no intentions to actually say those words out loud. Perhaps it was the casual insults I got from Caspian. Perhaps it was just the truth sneaking through my defenses at last.

There I said it. I don't have a wolf, anymore. I am smart enough to know not say the last word. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stared into Terry's cold eyes. The tension hung heavy in the room. I practically yelled when I finally confessed, "I don't have a wolf." He blinked, staring at me in disbelief. I knew how it sounded. It was almost unheard of for someone like me not to have a wolf. But it was the truth. And with everything that's happened lately, I can't afford to keep this secret any longer.

How do you confess something you didn’t choose. My chest felt tight, not dramatic, just quietly suffocating. Like someone had pressed pause on my lungs. I opened my notes app because that felt safer than talking. I typed. I need to tell you something. Deleted. Please don’t be angry. Deleted. I didn’t cheat. I swear I didn’t cheat. Deleted. My fingers hovered, useless. There was no version of the truth that came out clean. There was no sentence that did not end in loss. Another message buzzed in.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> I've been saying those words every week for the past three months. Every Friday evening, I slip into the confessional at St. Augustine's, kneel on the worn velvet cushion, and whisper my sins through the latticed screen to Father Michael. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> At first, my confessions were ordinary. I lied to my mother. I took the Lord's name in vain. I had impure thoughts about my coworker.

"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.

Finally, as silence filled the room, he spoke softly to himself, a confession meant for no one but the empty air. “If she’s his…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “…then I’ve already lost everything.”

Like the confession had taken more out of him than any bottle ever could. I turned my gaze to the table again. The moisture from my glass had left a ring there—perfect and clean. Everything else felt messy. Blurred. Complicated. “I don’t know what we are,” I admitted, voice soft. “I don’t even know what we’re doing.” “Neither do I.” “Great,” I scoffed, finishing the last sip of whiskey. “We’re fucked.” He laughed. Actually laughed. A real, low laugh that tugged something loose in my chest.

Just let my eyes fill with tears. "I don't know what to believe anymore," I whisper. "Believe that I made a mistake." His grip tightens. "Believe that I see clearly now. That Vivienne was a distraction. A poor substitute for what I really wanted." "And what did you really want?" "You." He says it simply. "I wanted you. I still want you." There it is. The confession I came for. I should feel triumphant. Powerful. Instead, I feel... nothing.

The sadness in his voice almost destroyed my composure entirely, because if Matteo felt it too, then maybe we were both drowning more deeply than either of us had admitted aloud. "I went into another church today," I confessed. "Why another one?" "Because I couldn't look at you at the altar." The honesty shocked even me, and a long, heavy silence followed before he finally spoke my name again. "I keep resenting the Church," I whispered, my voice unsteady now. "There are moments I look at your collar and feel angry at it." The confession sounded monstrous aloud, almost blasphemous, but hiding it had become impossible. "I don't want to become this person."