image of women sitting in armchair writing

Confide In Me

Polished, burnished oak and dust motes floating. Afternoon light streaming through stained glass the Blessed Virgin and the Saints stare beatifically forward. Sanctuary. Or so they think. A child lights a candle and Kate wants to grab him, shake him.

-- The monsters are real and this is all illusion. --

Instead she touches the scar on her throat, remembers his teeth sinking into her and how fear dissipated into something perverse, something desperate.

She steps into the confessional box. Self flagellation fits like a glove. "It's been twelve years since my last confession, Father."

She's always been a good girl.

The End