Cantrell stepped into the closet and pulled the door shut behind him. “Would you like to tell me why you and Charity were in here with the door closed?”
Illias shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. “Would you like to tell me why you're jealous?”
“I asked first.” Cantrell took a step towards Illias, shortening the distance between them.
“We were discussing a private matter,” he answered coolly despite the rapid beat of his heart.
“Is that so?” Cantrell took another step. They were mere inches apart. “Is it something you should be confessing to?”
Despite already being in a compromising enough position, Illias grabbed Cantrell’s rosary and pulled him closer. Their noses brushed against one another. Cantrell’s breath smelled like dark chocolate and Earl Gray tea. “Maybe we should skip confession and get straight to me on my knees asking forforgiveness,” Illias whispered. “What do you say, Father?” Illias moved his head to speak directly in Cantrell’s ear. “Should I get down and beg here?” He slipped his free hand behind Cantrell and plucked the priest’s phone from his back pocket. Illias leaned back then pressed the phone into Cantrell’s chest. “Or should I wait for you to come over?”
Cantrell snatched his phone back, sliding it back in its original place. “Wicked little minx, aren’t you?”
“You like it.” Illias’ phone jingled in his back pocket, and he repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He pulled it out to see a message from Jasmine asking if he could cover for her. With a dramatic sigh, Illias peeled himself back from Cantrell. “Afraid I’ve got to get going.” Illias shifted to the side and took the two short steps to the door. He looked over his shoulder at Cantrell. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Father.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cantrell
“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
- 1 John 1:9 KJV
Parking directly in front of Illias’ townhouse may not have been the smartest decision, but given that Cantrell was wearing his clerical uniform, he figured most would assume he was there on church matters. In a way, he was, given the fact he was doing a private confession. A private confession in the house of a man that he was actively engaged in a loosely negotiated no-strings-attached arrangement with. Cantrell’s heart thudded as he walked up to the door.What could possibly go wrong?His mouth filled with sand.So, so much.He knocked. The door swung open and there Illias stood with damp hair and the slight sheen of post-shower perspiration on his forehead.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve fallen ill, Illias,” Cantrell said as casually as he could muster.
“I appreciate you making the visit, Father.”
Illias stepped to the side. Cantrell inspected the living room as he walked in, taking in the miscellaneous posters and photos that littered the wall along with the various knickknacks that were scattered across different shelves. The furniture was modest but mismatched: an orange loveseat and a brown recliner sat around a wooden coffee table. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he arrived, but this felt right for Illias. He was eclectic after all. Cantrell turned around to see where Illias was, only to find him still standing by the door, shifting his weight between his feet. His usual cocky façade nowhere to be seen, like it had been stripped away in the comforts of his own home. It brought a small smirk to Cantrell’s lips.He’s nervous, how precious, he thought.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Illias offered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not exactly sure what I should be doing right now to be honest.”
“A cup of water would be nice, thank you.”
Cantrell hoped the simple task would help ease Illias before initiating anything. Cantrell sat in the recliner and ran his hand across the worn leather of the arm. It was similar to something he owned before the church. He tilted his head to the side to peer into the kitchen just as Illias was reaching into the cabinets to grab a cup. His shirt rose up to reveal a small lower back tattoo that made Cantrell hot under the collar. He couldn’t make out what the tattoo was exactly, but he could tell it was text. He averted his eyes and looked at the books that packed the shelves of the bookshelf behind the couch. Illias walked into the living room then placed the cup of water on the table. He waited by the table as if waiting to be given instructions on what to do next.
“Is there a, um, a special way that in-home confessions work?” he asked, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.
“I’ve only done two before. One had me stand outside the bathroom door while they confessed, the other sat behind my chair.” Cantrell grabbed the glass. “Or perhaps you would prefer to be blindfolded?” He sipped on his water, amused by how quickly Illias’s cheeks darkened. “My apologies, was I wrong in assuming?”
He looked off to the side. “No, I-I have one.”
“Go fetch it, I’ll put it on for you if you kneel for your confessional.”
Cantrell was sure the poor man was going to trip over his own two feet in his haste. Illias turned a few moments later, the black and red blindfold clutched in his hand. He knelt in front of the recliner and held out the blindfold. It was a rather basic blindfold aside from the dual colors of the satin that served to cover the eyes. Cantrell made a small noise of approval before he leaned forward and took it. He tied the satin ribbon around Illias’ head. Cantrell took a moment to admire Illias in this position; cheeks dark, hands clasping and unclasping in his lap, breath already deepened. Satisfaction bubbled in his chest to have brought a man such as Illias to this state just by blindfolding him.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Cantrell murmured, leaning back into the recliner.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Illias’s voice wavered and he licked his lips, “It’s been a while since my last confession. I don’t know if this counts as a sin, but lately I’ve felt like a really fucking shitty son. I had another family brunch last Monday. We got into a disagreement. Not a full argument, but things were…tense. Then when I saw my mom again yesterday, her smile wouldn’t reach her eyes and I knew it was because of me.” Illias swallowed. “I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror tobe honest. All I see is my stepdad. And I don’t know what to do because I still carry all this anger towards him and myself for being just like him despite trying so hard not to be.” He dropped his head.
Cantrell frowned. “Illias—”
“Sorry, um,” Illias’ voice cracked. “I don’t know why I brought that up.”
“It’s okay, you’re safe with me,” Cantrell comforted. “You can use this time to talk about anything that’s been bothering you. It doesn’t have to be a game of any sort.”
“I don’t want to think about it. Not when I have you in front of me like this. Which, I guess, brings me to my second sin, envy.” Illias lifted his head, a small but coy half-smile on his lips despite the wetness on his cheeks. “You saw how I was staring at Jasmine that night. I wanted to rip her off that fucking counter the minute she touched you. And pride, because I knew you’d take me up on my offer eventually.”
