I can’t leave now without making everything worse.
“Several months,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I see. And what brings you to confession today?”
I close my eyes, trying to think past the panic flooding my system. “I’ve been…struggling. With inappropriate feelings.”
The silence that follows feels eternal. I can hear my own heartbeat, can feel sweat trickling down my spine beneath my dress.
“Inappropriate feelings,” the Bishop repeats slowly. “Can you elaborate?”
“I just…I care about people I shouldn’t care about. In ways I shouldn’t.” My hands twist in my lap, fingers knotting together. “I’m trying to do the right thing, but I don’t know what that is anymore.”
“Do these feelings involve anyone at this parish?” His voice remains gentle, but there’s steel underneath. “Anyone in a position of authority?”
My throat closes completely. I can’t answer that.
Can’t confirm what he’s clearly already suspecting.
But I can’t lie in a confessional either, can I? Isn’t that its own kind of sin?
“I’m just confused,” I whisper finally. “I’m trying to figure out what’s right.”
“Confusion often stems from allowing ourselves to entertain thoughts we know are wrong.” The Bishop’s tone shifts slightly, becoming more pointed. “Young women sometimes develop attachments to priests and deacons. It’s natural, in a way. These men represent authority, guidance, and safety. But such attachments, if indulged, can become dangerous. For everyone involved.”
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper.
He knows.
Maybe not everything, but enough.
Enough to be asking these questions, enough to be sitting in this confessional instead of Adrian.
“I understand,” I manage.
“Do you?” There’s a pause, and I can almost feel him studying my shadow through the screen. “Because I’ve observed certain…patterns during my time here.”
My hands are shaking now, trembling so hard I have to press them against my thighs to still them. The dress fabric is damp with sweat beneath my palms.
“I’m trying to be good,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve said. “I’m trying so hard to be good.”
“Then perhaps you should consider whether your presence here is helping or hindering that goal.” His voice softens slightly, almost kind. “Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is remove ourselves from situations that lead us into temptation. For our own sake, and for the sake of those we care about.”
The words hit like a physical blow. He’s telling me to leave. To walk away from Adrian, Marcus, and Elijah. From the only place I’ve ever felt like I belonged besides my grandmother. From the men who’ve become my entire world.
“I’ll…I’ll think about it,” I manage past the lump in my throat.
“Good. I’ll expect to speak with you again soon. In the meantime, I suggest you examine your conscience carefully. And perhaps maintain more appropriate distance from the clergy.”
He gives me a standard penance, three Hail Marys and an Our Father, like this was just a normal confession instead of an interrogation that’s left me feeling flayed open and exposed.
I stumble from the booth on unsteady legs, my vision blurring at the edges.
The church hallway tilts sideways, and I put one hand against the wall to steady myself.
“Charlie?”
Elijah’s voice cuts through the fog. I look up to find him standing a few feet away, his soft gaze widening with concern as he takes in whatever he sees on my face. His golden hair catches the afternoon light streaming through the stained glass, making him look angelic and untouchable, and I want nothing more than to collapse into his arms.
