Marco Bocelli walked into the confessional on shaky legs, silently praying that he would not hear Father Joseph’s voice on the other side of the screen. After he quietly shut the door behind him, and took a few deep breaths, he greeted the priest hesitantly.
“Good morning.” the priest responded in a voice deeper than that of Father Joseph’s. Marco exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…Amen.”
Marco unsteadily blessed himself, hands sweating. Before he began with a trembling voice, he ran his palms over his thighs. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” Marco thought back, quick. “Two months ago.”
He saw the very faint outline of the priest nod slightly, and was instantly thankful for the screen. Marco didn’t want the priest to see the sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. He didn’t want him to watch his hands quake.
The priest would’ve been able to see the crime written on his face.
Just when he was about to talk, he paused, contemplating his sins. The one sin that rode on his conscious so harshly, he was positive he was condemned to hell already.
“Father, I…” he started. “I have a problem.”
“Is it a sin,” Marco whispered. “To lie with another man?” He stared down at his hands, folded in his lap, wishing he was anywhere else but there. A lump was stuck in his throat, and he was sure he was blushing a bright crimson. Tears lined his dark brown eyes.
“Yes, it is.” the priest replied. There was a pause where Marco tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Even if you didn’t want to?”
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