When Enzo said he wanted to change his life, I didn’t realize Father Andrew would be rooting for the evil underdogs in this world so much. It fills me with enlightenment to know that there is a comeback from the darkest depth this world has to offer.
But as I hold the book, my hands begin to sweat and my palms become clammy. Putting the bible back down, I begin to rub both hands against the skirt of my dress. It’s hot outside, but the church is surprisingly cool. My sudden hot sweat is brought on by the rapid nerves consuming me. They’re invading my system and with it, my throat begins to feel tight.
I begin to reach up, prepared to pull the screen away, but decide I would really rather not see Father Andrew try to keep his emotions in check. I don’t want to be stopped from executing my confession because I fear what I might see glance across his face.
As I see the light embrace the opposite side, I know Father Andrew is about to enter. I see his form move into the box and hear him settling. Taking difficult inhales, I close my eyes, remembering all the times I have sat outside confessional when my mother and father would repent their penance and hope nothing has changed. I reach again for the bible, using it as an aid, but ultimately I draw from things I remember.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I have never been granted the opportunity to confess my sins." I close my eyes, clasp my hands together, and strive for the strength I just prayed for. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” I start my confession and these words in themselves are on the lips of a notorious sinner. “I’m struggling to decide where to start with this. I have been asked to do the absolute worst in this life and I fear I am past saving.”
“No one is ever past saving if they are a child of God,” Father Andrew speaks, his tone kept calm and soothing. “Start wherever you need to.”
“I feel like I’ve become a monster,” I remark, drawing on my confessions to Enzo. “My father took advantage of my grief after my mother died, and since then, I’ve become someone I don’t want to be. I allowed him to use every moment of heartbreak to create me into something he would idolize, but ultimately, I do not.” I can feel my fingers tightening around the bible as I continue to tense up. “He forces me to do the deeds he doesn’t, in order for him to reap the rewards and the shame it puts on me is too much. I feel like I’m suffocating and I don’t want to anymore. I want to live a life without having to execute others at another’s will. I want to live my life how I want to.”
The silence that follows between us is earth shattering. I know he passes no verbal judgment, and I need to continue.
“But I know God cannot forgive murderers who take the lives of innocent people.” I feel a ravaging roar of culpability assault me. I remember when Zane had told me that some of the men I killed had no connection to my father whatsoever, how he only wanted me to do the dirty work. “I have been a victim of exploitation and abuse for years without knowing it, and now I am fully aware of what my actions have done, of how I have destroyed people’s lives. I’m worried I’ll never be able to live with myself.” Now, the tears fall. I don’t cave to the ever-growing sob building in me, but the tears silently fall. “And I hate myself most for becoming something my mother fought so hard for us not to become. She was the one who made sure we were somewhat sheltered and protected and given the best of the life our father created. After her death, we all forgot that moral goodness she made sure we thrived on. I feel like she would hate what we’ve become. She would be rolling over in her grave if she were knew what has become of us.” I leave the bible sitting on my lap as I reach up to wipe away my tears. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to turn my life around and make it something beautiful. I want a chance to live my life how I want to, not how others want me to. I’m not prepared to kill anyone else anymore or deceive them in any way. I want to lead a good life. I want to be free, and I can’t be that if I continue to live this life. I can’t be what I’m not meant to be.” I sniffle, worried my confession won’t grant me access to the good life. “I just want to start to turn my life around. I want to save my family how they have me. I want my brothers to live a good life with me where we aren’t worried about what we’re doing, and we don’t drive fear into others. I want the life our mother set out for us. I want to be a better person because I have a man who strives to see the good in me. I know I said murderers don’t deserve to be saved, but if a man can love me wholeheartedly after knowing what I have done in the past, then I have to believe I am due love and freedom elsewhere.” When I finish, my heart is racing fiercely, and my ribcage begins to ache. I take a moment to steady myself before I say the last part of my confession. "I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life."