The Confession (2 page)

“Why did you leave me?” I
growl between thrusts. This is wrong. I know it’s wrong, but I
can’t stop now. My balls drew up quickly and when I come, I
feel…nothing. I thought I would feel something. I wrap up again and
go slow this time. She’s slipping in and out of consciousness, and
I feel like a stalker. I pull out,
tied
the
condom
and
collapsed
next to her. I’ve had too much alcohol and cocaine, and I feel
sick. I look over and she is lying motionless next to me. I panic
and reach out to feel her pulse, which is steady but a little slow.
Did I give her too much? Her soft hair is a tangled mess, and her
makeup smeared from my roughness. I can’t focus on her face. My
head is spinning. I close my eyes and drift off into
oblivion.

I awoke to a dark room. Fuck, my head
feels like it is in a vice. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus
and I realize I am still in their bed. Shit, it’s four in the
morning. I quickly dress and bend down to pick up the empty condom
wrappers from the floor, and emptied the wastebasket next to the
bed. I shove everything into my pocket and run for the door. I turn
one last time to look at her, and that’s when I see her eyes
staring at me. I am so fucked it’s not funny.

***Her***

I awake in the early hours
of the
morning
with a terrible hangover. What time is it? I roll
over and stare at the clock. It is four in the morning. The light
is on in the bedroom and I see John turning around to look at me.
He is partially dressed! Why is he in my bedroom? I panic when I
realize I’m naked under the sheet. The last thing I remember is
watching a movie with John. I scream at him. “What are you doing in
my bedroom?” The look he is giving me scares me. He looks
angry.

“You had no problem with me being in
your bedroom last night when I fucked you. Why question me
now?”

I stare at him as his words sink in. I
can’t remember what happened last night. “That’s not possible. I
would never cheat on my husband.”

I watch as he reaches into
his pocket and pulls out three tied condoms. “This is evidence that
I did fuck you, and you enjoyed it. You screamed my
name
and begged for more.
Why
deny it now?”

I sit up, not realizing that the sheet
is no longer covering my naked body. “Get the fuck out of my
apartment. If my husband sees you, he will kill you. Get out
now!”

He’s laughing at me, and
the sound of his voice makes me sick. “Deny it all you
want to
bitch. I have to say you were a shitty fuck. Do you satisfy
your husband?” He laughs again and walks towards the door. Turning,
he says to me, “I want you out of my life. Let’s not pretend we are
one big happy family. You know how I feel about you, and you
brushed me off as if I was dirt under your shoes. You never gave me
a chance. I’m done with you,” he says as he slams the bedroom
door.

My mind is racing as I try to
comprehend what just happened. What did I do that would make him so
angry with me? I never said I loved him. Did he do this to get back
at me? Why would he do this to me? I can’t remember what happened
last night. Why can’t I remember? I start to hyperventilate and I
pass out.

When I try to get out of
bed to grab my bathrobe, the room begins to sway. I feel
disoriented and open the window to air out the room, hoping the
fresh air will clear my head. I am sweating profusely and feel
dizzy. Bile rises in my
throat,
and I fall onto the bed. I
struggle to regain my
footing
and stumble into the bathroom
when I feel the sudden wave of nausea. Leaning over the toilet, I
empty what remains in my stomach.

He hears my retching as soon as he
enters our apartment. He finds me curled up on the bathroom floor.
“Honey, what happened? Are you sick?”

Unable to speak, I just nod my head. He
picks me up off the floor and carries me back to the bedroom. He
gently lays me on the bed and covers me with a sheet. “What
happened?”

Looking up at him hurts my
eyes. I cover them with my forearm. “I think I had too much drink
last night, and
probably
ate too much. I feel
awful.”

“I’ll get you something
for
nausea.”
He returns a few minutes later carrying a bottle
of liquid antacid. “Drink some of this while I make you a cup of
tea.” I stayed in bed for the next two days wondering what happened
to me.

***John***

How long have I been
sleeping? What day is it? I stumble out of bed and turn on the
television. It’s Tuesday! I’ve been sleeping for two days! It
didn’t take long for
remorse
to slam into me. How could I do
it? Do I really hate them so much I would hurt her? I know I hurt
her. I committed a crime for fucks sake. If she remembers, I could
go to prison. I pray she never remembers what happened between us.
What I said to her was horrible. As I stumble out of bed, I grab my
jeans from the floor and empty the pockets. There were three condom
wrappers in my pocket, and I counted three used condoms. My
heart
leaped
in my chest when I noticed one of them has a hole
in it. When did this happen? Did I rip it when I shoved them into
my pocket? I can’t remember.

The next few days pass in a blur. I
feel like a robot. I go to work, come home, and hide in my
apartment. I don’t answer the phone. I can’t face my family. I
can’t handle the guilt. Several days pass and I feel like I am
suffocating. I need to find absolution. I know of only one place
where I can beg for forgiveness.

I feel like a hypocrite as
I open the church doors. The church is empty so I walk over to
the
confessional
and push back the curtain. I kneel before the
screen and bless myself. “Bless
me,
Father, for I have sinned.
It has been several years since my last confession. Father…I…I
don’t know how to confess my sin.”

“Whatever you say to me
young man, know that Our Lord
will
absolve you of your sin
with penance and sacrifice.
Please,
tell
me,
son. What is your sin?”

“Father, I committed a crime. I put a
drug in her drink, and in a moment of anger and jealousy, I had sex
with her. The drug I gave her affects the memory. How can I live
with myself knowing the truth? I am hiding from everyone. I can’t
hurt my family. I don’t know what to do.”

“My son, I cannot tell you
what you want to hear. Forgiveness comes with sacrifice. What are
you willing to sacrifice
as penance for
your sin?”

“I have to go away. Where can I go? How
will God ever forgive me?”

“Let he
who is without sin cast the first stone,
young man. It is how you choose to absolve your sin that is a
testament to your love of Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

“I understand Father, and I know what I
need to do.” When I leave the confessional, I sit in my favorite
pew. I have so many happy memories of this church. I was proud to
be an altar boy. I felt important. When did my life spiral out of
control? When did I lose my faith? Thinking back, I remember the
exact moment when I lost my faith. Finding the adoption papers
changed me. I became resentful and bitter. It’s obvious to me that
I have to change my life. I am an addict, and as long as I stay
here, nothing will change. I am the only person who can change the
course of my life.

With a heavy heart, I walked away from
the church. I continue to avoid my family. I can’t face them. I
can’t face…her. I will have to live with this memory for the
remainder of my miserable fucking life. I know of only one way to
atone for my sin. I know this will change my life. Can I be happy
as a priest? I have no choice. I must leave.

My parents will never understand my
decision to become a priest. They are a religious family, however;
my father expects me to marry and have a family of my own. That
will never happen now, and I have to find a way to live with
myself. Acting like the coward that I am, I write a letter to my
parents rather than talking to them face to face.

Dear Mom and Dad,

“I know I have been absent
these past few weeks, and I apologize if it caused you to worry. I
have been thinking about the sorry state of my life. I have prayed
for guidance, and God has answered my prayers. I am leaving home in
an attempt to start a new life. I’m not happy with my life, and as
you have probably seen, my drinking and other vices have clouded my
judgment. I’m sorry that I do not have the courage to face you. By
the time you read this letter, I will be gone from your lives. I
have done something that causes me great distress. I hurt someone
that I love, and I hate myself. I can’t look at her without
screaming. I don’t like who I have become. Jealousy and bitterness
have consumed my soul. I will have to live with this memory until I
die. I feel like dying now. I loved
her,
and it destroyed me when
she married him. I was drunk and on cocaine and I drugged her wine
and had sex with her. The drug I used is supposed to prevent her
from remembering what happened that night. How could I do that to
her? I have no other choice but to leave.
Please,
do not try to
find me.”

I am sorry…John

I sneak into their house like a thief,
and leave the letter on the kitchen table. I know my father will
get up in the middle of the night for a cup of tea.

His father found the
letter, read it
, and
then
went upstairs to wake up his wife.
“Honey, wake up. I found a letter on the kitchen table from John.
He raped someone. He drugged her and raped her.”

“What did you say? John raped someone.
How could he tell us something like this in a letter?”

“I don’t know honey. What are you
doing?”

“I’m getting dressed. We need to go to
the police. We have to file a criminal report.”

John’s father shook his head. “What do
we tell the police? Our son raped someone, and we don’t know her
name. We also don’t know where he is. It’s pointless reporting this
without proof.”

She cried. “How could our son do
something like this?”

“I don’t know honey, but if he ever
shows his face in this house, I will kill him.”

“We still have to file a report. He
committed a crime, and if the girl should someday remember, we need
proof that we reported what he did to her.”

The next morning, John’s father made a
few copies of the letter, then drove over to District 24 station
and asked to speak to someone from the sex crime unit. Detective
Matthew Denton was the officer on duty that day.

“Sir, the desk officer informed me that
you want to report a rape. Who is the victim?”

“I don’t know the victim.
That’s the problem. My son left this letter for me before he left
town. I have no idea where he is, but I want to have this on
the
record
should he resurface.” He handed the letter to the
detective.

The detective read the
letter and made several notes. “I am sure you are aware we have no
official proof of a crime. You son was very
smart
in how he
divulged this information. You do know that without a name, we
cannot issue an arrest warrant.
Was
you son in a relationship
at the time this letter was written?”

“No. My son has been troubled this past
year, and has pretty much kept to himself.”

“The best I can do at this
point in time is a
search
for recent assault crimes. Do you
have a picture of your son?”

He opened his wallet and
retrieved
a photo from
a
recent family vacation. “This
photo
is about two years old, but he hasn’t changed much since then,
except that his hair is longer.”

“I’ll start a file. I want you to call
me should your son contact you.”