The Nature Of My Sins
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own anything connected to Divine: the series.
Summery: A short story set in the Divine Universe, featuring Father Christopher. First fic in the "Sins" series.
I breathe in through my mouth, careful not to slip and inhale his scent, careful to keep silent as I exhale, so he won’t notice how I’m shaking with want, hunger. I breathe in again, just to steel myself.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It’s been one year since my last confession.”
I hear him go silent and I feel the air suddenly turn icy and searing at the same time. He knows who’s in the confessional now, and all he can do is to wait, wait to hear the nature of my sins. And he already knows them so well.
“Go on, my child.” His voice is forced, rough. In all fairness I should not even be in a church, and he knows it. For a second I’m sure I can’t do this. I breathe in a third time, my mouth dry now.
"Father Christopher, I don’t know if I can be redeemed this time. I don’t know if I can ever be forgiven.”
“Do you regret the sins you have committed?”
“You know I do.” I close my eyes, wishing I could close my ears; I can hear his every heartbeat. “Every time.”
"Then tell me your sins, child, so God may forgive you.”
I smile at the lies in his words. I want to point out that the fear in his voice leaves me with little faith that forgiveness can be achieved. Not now, not when I’m about to commit a new sin, here in this empty church.
Instead I take my fourth breath. “You know I’m no child. Especially not one of God, Father Christopher.” He doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s weighing his options, but we both know he has none.
Then. “I don’t want it to happen in the church.”
“It doesn’t have to happen at all.” I try to sound sincere, honest. The lies fall easily from my mouth.
“You’ll just go to someone else, take an innocent.” He’s clutching his Rosary now, and I know him well enough, knows that Hail Mary is rushing though his thoughts.
“You are right.” I try not to smile as I finally let myself breathe in the scent of him; warm, salty, delicious. “And I wanted you.”
It takes me seconds to move from the confessional to his lap. “I always wanted you.” I whisper before I bury my fangs in his jugular, listening to his ragged breathing as I draw life from him.