Confessing My Desire to the Priest

Evelyn's POV

“Mom, please, not here.”

“I don’t care who hears.” Her grip tightens on my arm as she drags me toward the confessionals. “You’re going to talk to Father Sebastian about those things I found in your drawer. Those…sex toys, Evelyn.”

My face burns with embarrassment. She said it loud enough that someone could hear.

“I’m twenty-one,” I say, trying to pull away. “You can’t make me do this.”

“I pay your tuition. Your rent. Everything.” She says, not even bothering to look at me. “So yes, I can.”

“Mrs. Victoria Archer? Evelyn?”

My body immediately goes rigid.

That voice. Deep and warm and too familiar.

I turn slowly.

Father Sebastian stands a few feet away. His hair is dark and slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s tall. Really tall, I have to crane my head to look at him. Those broad shoulders filling out the cassock in ways I’ve noticed too many times.

“Father.” Mom’s voice transforms to something sweet and respectful, and if I wasn’t so focused on cooling my heated face, I would have rolled my eyes. “Thank God. I was just bringing Evelyn to see you.”

“Is everything alright?” He looks between us, concerned.

“Evelyn needs to make a confession,” Mom says, her hand still on my arm. “It’s urgent.”

My face burns hotter. Did he hear her mention the toys? Please God, tell me he didn’t hear.

“I see.” His eyes find mine. Brown and kind. “Evelyn, would you like to talk?”

I shake my head quickly. “I’m fine. Really.”

“She’s not fine,” Mom cuts in, sternly. “She’s been avoiding church for months. She needs guidance.”

“Mom, stop.”

“No.” She pushes me forward slightly. “Father Sebastian, please. Talk to her.”

He looks at me again. That same gentle concern. “Only if Evelyn wants to.”

I should say no. I should turn around and leave. But Mom’s grip on my arm tightens and I know she won’t let this go. She’ll make my life hell until I do this.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The confessional is small. Cramped. I sit down on the wooden bench and the door closes behind me, shutting out the light.

I can hear him on the other side of the partition, settling into his seat. The rustle of his cassock. His breathing.

We’re so close. Just a thin wooden screen between us.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

Silence.

I press my palms against my thighs, trying to steady myself. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

“Take your time, Evelyn.” His voice is gentle and patient, again. It makes everything worse.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

“Start wherever feels right.”

I close my eyes. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three months since my last confession.”

“What’s been troubling you?”

Everything. You. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about you. The fact that I touch myself every night imagining it’s your hands instead of mine.

“I’ve been having… thoughts,” I say quietly. “Bad thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“About someone.” My voice cracks. “Someone I shouldn’t think about that way.”

“I see.” He pauses. “Can you tell me more?”

I swallow hard. “I’ve felt this way for a long time. Since I was a little girl. But it’s gotten worse lately. I can’t control it anymore.”

“These feelings you have. Are they romantic? Sexual?”

The bluntness of the question catches me off guard, and a rush of heat spreads through my chest.

“Both,” I whisper in shame.

“And this person. Do they know?”

Never! “No. I could never tell them.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong.” My hands clench into fists. “Because of who they are. What they are. It would ruin everything.”