Page 77 of Broken

When my knees collide with the wooden floor, I bow over, pressing my forehead to her thighs. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Her fingers stroke through my hair, mimicking the touch I gave her earlier. “You absolved them,” she intones calmly.

“Y-Yes. I couldn’t let them?—”

She hushes me, then she reaches for my chin, tugging my head back until I’m staring up at her. She leans over until our foreheads can press together.

“And they did it anyway?”

Tears burn.

I can’t answer.

“This is why you struggle with your faith,” she whispers. “This is why you go through the motions, because you know that confession means nothing. If you truly believe that God will allow those monsters into Heaven because you absolved them, then I’m not the one who’s crazy here, my darling.”

I flinch at her endearment, but the rest of her words sink into me like a stone through water.

Is she right?

I’ve never thought of it that way.

When all I heard was the child.

And those fucking animals.

No.

Sheisright.

God wouldn’t...

He couldn’t.

Would He?

He doesn’t absolve me. So, why would?—

And if He did, if we’re wrong, what use is this faith? What point is there to my position as a priest if the God we cherish andreverewould allow that?

How do I only see this now?

Confession is a pivotal point of the religion I preach, but I can’t believe in it.

If I do, my shattered sanity will tumble around me until I’m nothing more than a walking skin suit.

It’s only now when she says this, phrases it in this way, that I hear the truth.

Confession is more than just an act. Without the desire for forgiveness in one’s heart, it means nothing, and if anyone is going to know that, it’s God.

As a crisis of faith that’s thirteen years in the making blows me apart, my arms slip around her thighs. While the broken fractures in my mind cluster together like cancer, tossing out poison for me to process, I croak, “The screams.”

Another husky hum escapes her—there’s acceptance in that hum. Understanding. Compassion. Both sink into me like I want to sink into her.

“You’re not a priest, my love.” A kiss goes to my forehead as she pulls away. “You’re not. You’ve seen the reality of life. Just as I have. I didn’t hear it or endure it like you, but I saw the aftermath. I see it now. In you.”

“I’m not a victim?—”

“If you can’t hear the lie in those words, then, love, you need me more than I even realized.” She sighs, her breath brushing over my forehead. “The past skews your vision. You see everyone as a sinner with no hope of redemption... Does that mean you have no hope of redemption either?”

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