Page 40 of Taken By Sin

Taking a deep breath, I clutch my hands together, my fingers entwined in a silent prayer. I stay this way for a long time, attempting to muster the courage to speak.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy on my soul, but there's a yearning, an urgency to release the secrets that are beginning to affect me to my core.

"I have done terrible things the past few weeks," I confess, the admission a speck of the truth.

The voice on the other side is kind and soothing. "Go on, my child," the priest encourages, granting me the space to share my burdens.

Taking a deep breath, I begin. "I left the only home I’ve ever known and moved in with a man I barely knew,” I admit, my eyes welling up with tears. This is a very rushed version of the truth, but the real story would take too long. He may know someone at Saint Mary’s, and I don’t want to be forced to leave Sin. Maybe he and I can come into common ground so that I won't have to feel this way.

"I have shared my first kiss, and we have done… other unspeakable things."

"You are brave for admitting this,” the priest reassures. "God's grace is here for you, ready to embrace you in forgiveness and healing."

Tears slip down my cheeks as I unburden myself. "I feel like I’m straying.”

The priest's voice is gentle and understanding. "Recognizing our failures is the first step towards redemption. God's love is vast, my child, and through genuine repentance, we find the strength to change."

“Please help me lift this burden of guilt. What do I need to do Father, to repent?” The words hurt my heart because the things I feel for Sin don’t feel wrong.

“Pray for forgiveness.”

I listen to his advice, but it doesn’t feel right. “I have something else to confess,” I admit.

“Go on.”

“I don’t feel bad for any of it, I feel guilty, but I think that’s just fear that was instilled in me. But deep into my core, I do not feel bad.”

Silence follows. “Have you been in bed with him?”

I adjust myself in the seat. “Not in that way.”

“Have you thought about it?” An Italian accent sneaks its way through the booth.

That’s when I recognize the earthy rumble of his voice, the familiar tune. I look through the thin slits for the first time, adjusting my eyes until I see him.

“Come here, Magnolia,” he purrs, tapping his knee.

“Sin!” I know how ironic it is to shout that name inside of a confessional booth, but I am so caught off guard. I confessed my darkest sins to the dark knight of New York City.

“I won't ask again,” he states.

I stand up quickly, my gaze still peering through the tiny slivers on the elaborate brass wall between us. “We have to go!”

“No one is here. I locked the door.”

“Seriously!” I breathe out. “How did I not know that was you?”

“I have practiced an English accent for years that would confuse even my family. Now, come”

I whisper back, not believing that we’re alone at all, “It’s wrong.”

“Don’t play that bullshit with me, Magnolia,” he growls. “I heard you say you don’t feel guilty for feeling these things about me.”

“I can’t,” I say, but I blush. Thinking of how exciting this is. I’m a terrible person.

“I’m dead serious, come here or I’ll come to you.”

“You lied.”

---