Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 23: Little Devil

Chapter 23: Little Devil

-Glyndon Walton: ( Song of the Chapter: Church by Chase Atlantic/ BABYDOLL by Ari Abdul)

It’s Sunday, and I’ve been waiting for today all week.

A part of me has been counting down the days, craving the quiet solace of the church and the chance to feel... lighter. Cleansed. Sinless.

And pure.

This week has been a mess, a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, and I need to let it all out.

Kathrine hasn’t tried to talk to me and hasn’t even looked my way since our picture circled around school.

She never tried to taunt me with our picture going around school or threaten to tell anyone about the identity of the girl that was with her, probably because she was too busy with her new little gang.

But her presence lingers like a shadow I can’t shake.

The pictures are still going around the school—her, bold as ever, standing in the shower, with me blurred beside her.

My face, my body, completely unrecognizable, thank God, but for how long the pictures are going to stay blurred?

The rumors haven’t stopped, though, and it’s like everyone is trying to piece together who the mystery girl is.

The principal called Kathrine to his office earlier this week, probably to talk about the pictures to tell her it’s forbidden to have any type of sexual activities at school.

I don’t know what was said because I wasn’t called in with her—thankfully. I don’t think I could’ve handled it.

If anyone found out it was me... My stomach twists at the thought.

I’ve been careful, so careful to not let anyone notice how shaken and rigid my body gets every time someone mentions those pictures or Kathrine, but the fear is always there, gnawing at me, waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down.

Right now, I’m sitting in the back of the car, my driver silently navigating the streets as we head to church.

The familiar rhythm of the city outside is comforting, but my nerves are still on edge.

Sundays are my sanctuary, my chance to confess my sins and let go of the guilt weighing on my chest. It feels heavier than ever today.

As the car came to a gentle stop in front of the church, I leaned forward, catching the driver’s attention. "I’ll just be a minute," I said softly, forcing a smile. "be right back."

The driver gave me a quick nod, his gaze returning to the road ahead as I stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind me.

The morning air was crisp, the faint smell of dew clinging to the stone steps leading up to the church.

The building stood tall and imposing, its spires piercing the pale sky like silent sentinels.

Its aged brickwork was weathered but proud, adorned with intricate carvings of angels and saints that seemed to watch over anyone who approached.

The large wooden doors, arched and dark, bore heavy iron handles that were polished smooth by years of use.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the massive stained-glass window above the entrance.

The colors glinted faintly in the sunlight, creating a halo-like effect that cast the entire facade in an ethereal glow.

My chest felt tight as I took a breath and began my ascent, the sound of my heels clicking against the stone steps echoing faintly in the stillness.

Once inside, the familiar scent of incense and old wood surrounded me, comforting and suffocating all at once.

The space was vast and solemn, with rows of dark pews stretching toward the altar.

Candles flickered gently, their warm light reflected on the polished marble floor.

The murmur of prayers filled the air like a whispering tide, mingling with the faint notes of a hymn playing in the background.

Near the side aisle, I spotted Sister Agnes, one of the nuns I had known since I was little.

Her presence was always calming her smile kind and understanding.

She was adjusting a candleholder when I approached her, and her eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Glyndon," she greeted warmly, her voice soft but firm. "It’s been a while. How are you?"

"I’m... okay," I replied, though the words felt hollow. I lowered my gaze, not wanting her to see the truth written on my face. "I need to confess, Sister. I need to."

Her expression grew serious, and she nodded, gesturing toward the back of the church. "Of course, Glyndon. Follow me."

She led me down a side hallway, away from the main congregation.

The sound of my footsteps softened against the worn carpet runner, and the walls grew narrower as we approached the confessionals.

The door to the small room was dark and unassuming, with a simple cross carved into its surface.

Sister Agnes paused, turning to me with a gentle smile.

"Take your time," she said. "God is always listening."

I nodded, my throat tight, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the confessional was dimly lit, with a faint golden glow from a single lamp mounted on the wall.

The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and incense, and the small space was separated by a lattice screen, offering a measure of privacy between the penitent and the priest.

A simple kneeler stood in front of the screen, worn smooth by countless knees before mine.

I lowered myself onto the kneeler, clasping my hands tightly in my lap as I stared at the screen.

The weight of my guilt pressed down on me like a stone, making it hard to breathe.

I closed my eyes, and the memories came rushing back—Kathrine in the shower, her hands on me, the way I had let her.

My heart pounded with shame as I remembered how I’d felt in that moment, torn between fear and... something else. Something darker. A desire for more.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I whispered, my voice trembling.

I heard the priest replying to me saying "When was your last confession, child?"

I gulped, pushing my hair behind my ear, and replied "It’s been... a week since my last confession, Father."

The priest’s voice came from the other side, calm and steady. "Speak freely, child. What troubles you?"

Tears burned my eyes as I struggled to find the words. "I... I let someone do something to me. Something I knew was wrong. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t fight her. And now... now I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel so guilty, so dirty for wanting more. I regret it so much, but I can’t make it go away. I keep seeing her and remembering how everything with her felt every night."

My hands tightened into fists as the weight of my confession sank in.

The silence from the other side of the screen was deafening, and I fought to keep my composure. "I’m so sorry," I choked out. "I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make it right."

The guilt was a storm inside me, raging and relentless.

I felt trapped by my actions, haunted by the choices I’d made and the things I’d allowed.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and all I could do was bow my head, begging silently for some kind of redemption.

As I was kneeling in the confessional, the air was thick with incense and tension.

My fingers dug into the worn fabric of the kneeler as I whispered, "I... I let her touch me... Sexually." My voice wavered, each word laced with shame. "Kathrine. She cornered me in the showers. I stayed late after my boyfriend was done showering, thinking I was alone there, but she..."

I trailed off, struggling to continue. The priest remained silent, his calm presence steadying me.

"She didn’t force me, well kind of did, but I could have pushed her away or told her to stop, she would have stopped if I asked... But I didn’t..." I said quickly, my hands twisting in my lap.

"That’s what makes it worse. She made me feel pleasure that I have never felt with someone else. She touched me. And I didn’t stop her." My voice cracked, tears threatening to spill.

"What did you feel in that moment, my child?" the priest asked gently.

"I... I felt wanted, I felt satisfied, addicted, obsessed, all I wanted was to do it again and never stop," I admitted, shame burning in my chest.

"I’m cruel to her, always mocking her with my boyfriend for being gay and poor, but then... everything changed after that day. Tables turned."

The confessional grew heavier, my guilt suffocating.

"Sin is not only in action but in intention," he said softly. "Do you feel trapped by her or by your feelings?"

I swallowed hard. "Both. She’s everywhere, Father. In my head, haunting me. She could ruin me if she wanted to. But I can’t stop thinking about her, and I hate that."

"You’re human," he said, his voice understanding. "Temptation doesn’t define us—what matters is how we move forward. Do you want to confront her or let this go?"

"I don’t know," I said, my voice breaking. "If I confront her, she might use it against me. But if I don’t, I’ll never feel free."

I don’t want to go to hell, I can’t be gay.

He paused. "Then start by forgiving yourself. Guilt will consume you if you let it. Pray for strength, and when you’re ready, decide how to face this—with courage, not fear. You are not alone in this. God is with you."

His words pierced through the haze of my thoughts, offering a flicker of hope. I wiped my tears and whispered, "Thank you, Father."

"Go in peace, my child," he said.

As the priest stepped out of the confessional, I stayed there alone in silence.

My guilt remained, I was scared.

" I didn’t know you liked it that much, little devil." The world stopped spinning, my body froze when Kathrine’s voice entered my ear.

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