Page 118 of Forgive Me Father
“Maybe it is,” I sigh. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck in this ridiculous costume serving coffee at nine in themorning,” I add, handing a drink to a customer with a forced smile.
“Mass is tonight,” Aiden whispers. “And Roman’s meeting—”
“I know what tonight is, Aiden,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “I don’t need a reminder.”
“I just thought you might need some mental preparation. It’s a lot,” He says with genuine sympathy.
“It’ll be okay,” I say for what feels like the millionth time. “Roman will be okay.”
The deeper my attachment to Roman grows, the more I worry about his well-being.
“I almost want to show up in this costume,” Zoey says with a touch of defiance. “Elf hat and all, flipping off anyone who looks at me wrong.”
“Have you talked to your father?” I ask, noticing her expression falter.
“No, not my stepmother either. My mom has added extra locks and alarms, and she even keeps a gun under her pillow. If my dad tries to reach out, she’ll make sure to keep him at bay.”
It’s hard to see Zoey going to such lengths for her own safety. She puts on a brave front, but I can see the fear beneath.
We’re all scared.
As the espresso flows into the cup, I fiddle with Roman’s ring, counting to ten in my head.
It will all be over soon.
As I get dressed, I cinch the rope belt around my waist, pulling it tight.
The church is already alive with the festive cheer of Christmas, even though it’s still early in the month.
I glance in the mirror, and for the first time in a while, my reflection doesn’t look so weary. My eyes are bright with a newfound energy, something I’ve been missing for too long.
All thanks to Roman.
I hear the murmurs of people gathering in the waiting area as the doors to Mass prepare to open. Checking the time, I note that Roman still has twenty-five minutes left in confession.
Perhaps it’s time for me to unburden myself of some sins.
In the dimly lit room, I look at the divider that separates Roman from his confessional. It casts an ominous shadow, adding gravity to the act of confessing one’s deepest secrets. I shut the door with a deliberate noise to let him know I’d arrived.
“Take a seat, my child, and—”
“I’ve sinned terribly, Father,” I interject, my voice smooth and teasing as I hear him shift behind the divider.
“Really?” He responds, his professional tone slipping into something more intimate. “What have you done Angel?” His question stirs a thrill within me.
“Let’s see,” I begin, sighing provocatively. “I can’t seem to get my priest out of my mind. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, wondering what his touch would feel like.”
A soft laugh escapes him as he continues.
“You want him to touch you?”
“Desperately,” I reply, pushing further. “I’m consumed by sinful thoughts of his touch, his tongue exploring every inch of my body.”
He shifts again, the tension palpable.
“I don’t think I can help you from behind this divider,” He murmurs. “What you need is some one-on-one prayer.”
Smiling, I step past the divider and close it behind me. Roman leans casually in his chair, his eyes heavy with frustration and desire.
