Speaker 1: The church was almost empty, just the faint smell of
Speaker 1: wax and old wood and the red glow of the
Speaker 1: sanctuary lamp, watching like a single unblinking eye. Father Patrick
Speaker 1: was only thirty one, the youngest priest Saint Agnes had
Speaker 1: ever ordained. They still whispered about why a man that
Speaker 1: beautiful had taken vows. Ten years ago. He'd been just Patrick,
Speaker 1: the kind of boy who made sorority girls drop their
Speaker 1: books in the quad. He'd loved one woman with every
Speaker 1: reckless beat of his heart. She left him at the
Speaker 1: altar in front of four hundred guests, veil fluttering behind
Speaker 1: her like surrender. The humiliation carved something raw inside him.
Speaker 1: He disappeared into seminary the same week, shaved his head
Speaker 1: for a while, starved himself on bread and silence until
Speaker 1: the ache dulled to a bruise he could carry. He
Speaker 1: thought the collar would protect him. He thought desire had
Speaker 1: died with that abandoned wedding. Until tonight, eleven seven pm.
Speaker 1: The church was cold. The Radiator's long dead Father Patrick
Speaker 1: knelt in the confessional, rosary wrapped tight around his knuckles,
Speaker 1: rehearsing the Act of contrition under his breath, like armor.
Speaker 1: Then the other door opened. Bless me, father, for I
Speaker 1: have sinned. The voice shot straight to his heart. He froze,
Speaker 1: how long since your last confession? A low laugh, Ha,
Speaker 1: since before you put on that collar? Patrick. His heart's
Speaker 1: slammed once, hard enough to crack a rib through the lattice.
Speaker 1: He saw only shadow in the glint of a silver
Speaker 1: chain disappearing into cleavage. But he knew that perfume, He
Speaker 1: knew that laugh ten years dissolved like incense in water.
Speaker 1: Say my name, she whispered, Say it like you used
Speaker 1: to when you begged me not to leave. His throat worked.
Speaker 1: Then he whispered defensively. This, this is a sacrilege. Sacrilege,
Speaker 1: she echoed softly, almost tenderly, then let out a shuddering
Speaker 1: sigh as her hand moved. Listen, that's the sound of
Speaker 1: the girl who should have been your wife, touching the
Speaker 1: place you first claimed. The wet circles grew faster, obscene,
Speaker 1: in the hush of the church. I ran because I
Speaker 1: was terrified of how much I needed you. I've been
Speaker 1: empty for ten years. Fail me again, Patrick, even if
Speaker 1: it's only with your voice, your forgiveness. I'm on my knees, pleading,
Speaker 1: ruin your vows for me, I'm yours. He listened attentively.
Speaker 1: He could hear the fabric of her dress shifting and
Speaker 1: a soft, deliberate sigh. Then she whispered back, I'm touching
Speaker 1: myself right now, Patrick, ride here in your sacred little box.
Speaker 1: Do you want to hear how wet confessing to you
Speaker 1: makes me? He should have rung the bell for the Sacristan,
Speaker 1: should have fled into the night instead, his forehead pressed
Speaker 1: to the wood partition as if he could reach through it.
Speaker 1: I left because I was weak, he rasped, controlling his voice,
Speaker 1: still whispering. I swore i'd never you swore a lot
Speaker 1: of things. She cut in gently, by your body, never
Speaker 1: lied to me. Then Patrick heard a slick sound, slow,
Speaker 1: filthy circles. His eyes widened, staring hard through the lattice,
Speaker 1: unsure what he might see. She continued, her voice cracking
Speaker 1: with something deeper than lust, regret, raw and aching Patrick.
Speaker 1: I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life,
Speaker 1: leaving you that day. I was scared, stupid, running from
Speaker 1: something too real. I'm so sorry, God, I'm so sorry.
Speaker 1: The words hung in the dark, mingling with the wet
Speaker 1: rhythm of her fingers, plunging deeper faster now, as if
Speaker 1: punishing herself with pleasure. I want you back, she begged,
Speaker 1: voice trembling on the edge of tears and ecstasy. I
Speaker 1: never stopped wanting you. No one else ever came close.
Speaker 1: Please forgive me, take me back. I'm yours, Patrick always was.
Speaker 1: I'm fingering myself thinking of you, begging you like this
Speaker 1: because I can't live without you any more. Her please
Speaker 1: turned desperate, hips grinding against her hand, the slick sounds
Speaker 1: growing louder, obscene. In the holy silence, she continued begging him, desperately,
Speaker 1: trying to seduce him. Remember the night before our weddin,
Speaker 1: we took each other's virginity. You fucked me in the bridle,
Speaker 1: sweet Patrick, Remember against the mirror so I could watch
Speaker 1: you lose control. His cock surged so fast it hurt,
Speaker 1: Trapped beneath layers of black wool and guilt. He bit
Speaker 1: down on his fist to keep from groaning. Tell me
Speaker 1: to stop, she breathed, and I will or tell me
Speaker 1: to keep going until I come screaming the name of
Speaker 1: the man who should have been my husband. His hand
Speaker 1: moved without permission, fumbling buttons, shoving fabric aside. When he
Speaker 1: wrapped trembling fingers around himself, it felt like the first
Speaker 1: mortal sin he'd ever truly wanted describe it. He heard
Speaker 1: himself beg the same broken voice that had pleaded with
Speaker 1: her not to leave him a decade ago. I have
Speaker 1: three fingers inside me now, she whimpered, voice shaking with
Speaker 1: pleasure and sorrow, stretching myself the way you used to.
Speaker 1: I'm dripping down my thighs onto your pretty velvet kneeler
Speaker 1: when I come. I want you to come with me.
Speaker 1: I want you to ruin those perfect vows the same
Speaker 1: way you ruined me for any other man. Please, Patrick,
Speaker 1: come back to me. He stroked himself in frantic silence.
Speaker 1: Every pump a betrayal, every breath of prayer turned inside out.
Speaker 1: The lattice rattled faintly. He realized he was thrusting against
Speaker 1: it like an animal. I'm close, she whimpered, Patrick, look
Speaker 1: at me, forgive me, love me again, against every shred
Speaker 1: of sanity. He leaned closer to the screen. The dim
Speaker 1: red glow painted his face in blood light, and there
Speaker 1: she was, her eyes, those same, lost, desperate eyes staring
Speaker 1: back at him, repentant. The silence stretched, why now, after
Speaker 1: all this time? But the answer was already burning in
Speaker 1: those eyes. Come for me, father, she ordered through her begging.
Speaker 1: Come while you damn your soul and take me back.
Speaker 1: He broke with a strangled cry, spilling hot over his fist,
Speaker 1: his cassock, the confessional floor, ten years of penance dissolving
Speaker 1: in ropes of white. On her side. She arched thighs, trembling,
Speaker 1: a low keen tearing from her throat as she followed
Speaker 1: him over silence, only the wet sound of their breathing
Speaker 1: and the slow drip of what they'd done. Her voice
Speaker 1: drifted through the lattice, soft and loving, almost a prayer.
Speaker 1: I'll keep coming back every Saturday on my knees until
Speaker 1: you absolve me, my love, until you come back to me.
Speaker 1: The door closed, heels faded down the aisle. Father Patrick
Speaker 1: stayed on his knees until dawn, sticky and shaking, the
Speaker 1: scent of her perfume and spit and sin thick in
Speaker 1: the air. He did not rise to say mattens. He
Speaker 1: did not wash, He did not pray for strength or
Speaker 1: deliverance or the grace to resist. Instead, he pressed his
Speaker 1: forehead to the cold lattice one last time, breathing in
Speaker 1: the fading trace of her spent desire, and whispered into
Speaker 1: the empty confessional the only prayer left to him, Come
Speaker 1: back to me, ruin me again. Then he stood, legs trembling,
Speaker 1: and walked to the sacristy door. He left it unlocked.
Speaker 1: He no longer feared damnation. He craved her absolution, and
Speaker 1: she always came.