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"Have you seen Connor?" I ask one of the drivers outside, standing next to the limo as he smokes a cigarette. As he sees me get out of the house, he throws the cigarette onto the ground and crushes it under his foot.
"No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him all day," he responds, taking his hat off and clutching it to his chest. "Have you tried the chapel? I’ve seen him around there a lot lately."
"The chapel…" I whisper to myself, turning my head toward the building flanking Connor’s guest house. His car is parked in front of the house, so he should be around. "Thank you," I tell the driver with a quick nod, and then I start making my way down the cobbled road that leads to both the guest house and the chapel, my heels clicking anxiously against the ground.
Just to make sure, I stop in front of his house and knock, rapping my knuckles against the frame of the door. "Connor!" I call, but silence is my only response. "Crap!" I mutter, and then hurry down to the chapel.
The two double doors are closed, but as I reach for the handle and turn, one of them swings back. The shadows loom large inside the chapel, and that familiar silence wraps itself around me like a long lost friend. Careful to not disturb that silence, I start walking down the small aisle, looking from one side to the other in the hopes of seeing Connor.
But, no, he doesn’t seem to be anywhere.
And that’s when I see him; he’s kneeling just to the side of the altar, inside the large confessionary that was set up there. He’s whispering so softly that I can’t make out his words, but it seems like he’s confessing his sins. Which is kinda weird, we don’t have a ‘round-the-clock pastor, so who the hell is he confessing to?
He has his back turned to me, and it seems like he didn’t hear me walk in. As such, I walk silently toward him, and then I stop as I realize that he’s completely alone. There’s no one on the other side of the confessionary…
He’s confessing to himself. We’re alone in the chapel, again.
Well, you know what?
It’s been too long since I last confessed my sins. Maybe it’s time I fix that.
Connor
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…" I whisper, but the only answer I get is the echo of my own words. "I screwed up… I really did," I continue to whisper, closing my eyes and laying my forehead over my folded hands. I’m kneeling inside the confessionary and, even though there’s no one in here with me, it still feels good to let it all out.
I believe in confession; I think it does a man good to air out his sins and let some sunshine into his soul. But I never believed in confessing to another man; my sins are between me and God, and I don’t like to share them with a third party. Despite what some people might say, I don’t think that when it comes to your relationship with God, you need a middleman.
And that’s exactly why I’m alone right now.
That’s also what I need—to be alone. Ever since I got here I’ve been making mistake after mistake. How could I have let things progress to such a state? I’ve fucked Clarise in a chapel and in a church. How can I even call myself a man of God? I’ve crossed a line and, more than anything else, I’m disappointed with myself.
This is why I’m confessing; I’ve spent three months repressing all these feelings, but I just can’t do it anymore. No, these feelings are gripping my heart so tightly that I can’t even think straight. I had to let it all out, even if the only way to do it was to confess to an empty wall.
I thought I was stronger… I thought I was the kind of man to whom temptation meant nothing. But, of course, I had never met a woman like Clarise. How was I even supposed to resist her advances? I might be a spiritual guy, but I sure as hell am not holy.
To make matters worse, I know that all I need to do is look into Clarise’s eyes for her to come after me. And, from there, it’s only a matter of time until I pin her against the wall and rip the clothes off her body. Her delicious, sweet, body. Everything in her seems to have been designed by God’s hand itself—her perky breasts, her rosy nipples, the delicious mound between her thighs… Just thinking of that is enough
to make me rock hard.
Jesus, I’m so lost that I --
I stop thinking when I see a shadow moving on the other side of the confessionary. There’s a wooden panel separating the confessee from the confessor, and so I can’t see who has just sat down on the other side; all is can see is … her shadow.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," I hear Clarise’s voice coming from the other side, and my heart jumps inside my chest so hard that I can almost feel it beating in my throat.
"Clarise, what are you doing?" I hiss, raising my head and looking straight at the panel separating us.
"What does it look like? Confessing my sins, of course," she whispers, and the sweet sound of her voice makes me run my tongue between my lips with anticipation.
"I’m not a priest, Clarise, I can’t --"
"You don’t need to be a priest. God will forgive me, or not. All I want is for someone to hear my confession," she continues and, even though I know it must be a trap, I simply can’t make my body respond to the frightened commands of my brain. As such, I keep my knees on the padded support underneath me, swallowing hard as I feel a feverish warmness taking over my body.
"Confess then," I find myself saying, straining to get the words out.
"I’ve met a man…" she starts, her words coming out more like a purr than a whisper. "And I’ve sinned with that man. I’ve offered him my body and he took it…"
"You shouldn’t have done it," I tell her, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. I’m not sure what kind of game we’re playing right now, but one thing I know: it’s not going to end well.
