Chapter 56 Chapel Confession

• I went to confession wet.
• Not figuratively. Not emotionally. I mean I was wet between my thighs, soaking the inside of my thighs, my slit open and greedy, throbbing with every step I took through the heavy chapel doors. I didn’t even bother with panties. Just a black skirt and a sin-stained heart.
• St. Augustine’s was quiet this late. Candlelight flickered along the stone walls like it was holding secrets. I walked slow, heels soft against the floor, the silence thick with old prayers and dust. The confessional sat like a shadow at the back—polished wood, doors closed shut.