Page 43 of Of Angels & Absolution

“Lying is a sin,” my brother taunts in my ear. “Now pull aside your panties and show him that glistening, wet pussy, or I will.”

I swallow hard, my finger trembling as I obey, drowning in humiliation, unable to breathe as Father Salvatore watches. I spread my knees, and I pull aside the wet fabric, and I let Father Salvatore see the depth of my shame. Unlike when he saw me in the library, this time it’s up close and personal, with just the three of us. The secret coils inside me like a snake, like victory and defiance twined with my shame. Some sick part of me wants him to see, just as it wanted him to be as excited by our time in the confessional as I am. Just as part of me was always sick, sick enough to like what Heath did to me on Eternity’s bedroom floor that day six years ago.

“Look at that disgusting display,” Saint says with scorn. “Her pussy is drenched. She would fuck anything right now. You, a goddamn priest. Me, her own brother.”

“How do you feel about that?” Father Salvatore asks gently.

“What?” Saint demands.

“Does that make you feel good, that she wants you?” Father asks. “Do you feel ashamed that you want her too?”

“You do?” I whisper, looking up at my brother with so much hope it rends my heart in two.

“Of course not,” Saint snaps. “I’m not a freak like you.”

“Your desires are not a sin,” Father says. “Nor are hers. They are a natural expression of the body God gave you.”

Saint huffs out a breath. “You want me to fuck my sister?”

“I want you to listen to God when He speaks to you,” Father says. “We know what she wants. What do you want, my son? You would not have come to this confession if you didn’t also have something to confess. Perhaps you share her forbidden desire?”

“I don’t,” Saint snaps, dumping me off his lap.

I tumble to the floor on all fours, my skirt in disarray, my hair coming askew and sliding down the side of my face.

“Do you believe what you’re saying?” Father asks. “Do you think she believes it? Who are you lying for?”

“For—for the sake of decency,” my brother says.

“Who told you deceit was decent?” Father asks. “Look at your sister there, on her knees. What gave you the desire you feel for her, if not God?”

A troubled frown knits Saint’s fine brow as he studies me.

“Lamb, tell your brother what you told me,” Father says. “Let there be no deceit between you. You may lay yourself bare before him, as you have me.”

“Don’t tell me,” Saint says, glancing from me to the priest.

He was always so good, too good. And it strikes me now that he’s not the one leading me into sin, the one destroying and defiling me one encounter at a time. I am the temptress, Eve with her apple, promising him the sweetest bite.

“You,” I say simply, sitting back on my heels. “I want you, Saint. We both know it’s a sin, but we don’t have to pretend we don’t feel it.”

They both stare at me a second, and then Father Salvatore nods, his lips tight.

I know then that I said the right thing. Pride swells inside me. I pleased him, and he’s proud of me. I told the truth, and that’s always right. This time, I don’t have to tell it alone. I have someone on my side, someone who supports me the way a father should.

“Kneel before your brother,” Father commands.

I obey his command eagerly, wanting to see him nod his approval again, for him to say I did something right. It’s an urgent need, one that has me crawling on my knees to Saint’s feet, kneeling as I do every Sunday when the priests tell me to.

“This is sick,” Saint says. “She’s my sister.”

“Mercy?” Father says, raising a brow at me. “Do you have something to say to your brother?”

“It’s okay,” I say, touching Saint’s thigh gently. “I want you to.”

“Nothing you desire is sinful,” Father says. “You were given these cravings of the flesh for a reason. Don’t fight them. Give them over to God.”

“I don’t want to touch her,” Saint says, stepping back, his lip curled in disgust.

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