The Sins of the Father

Hands deftly lift to replicate the sign of the cross as the adjoining door, gives a low groan before it closes. "Its been twelve years since my last confession." A smile etches full velvet lips. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned." _______________________ Her familiar, throaty, seductive voice caress my ears. "In what way my child?" "In every way. I don't know what happened. I had everything under control. Everything was going smoothly. I-I slipped up." A pregnant pause then, "He used me. Again! I'm so stupid. How could I have been so- stupid?" The sound of phlegm rattles in her chest. I sense the tears cascading down her face, as my fingertips trace the brown edges of our wooden barrier. An image of her fracturing like the surrounding stain glass windows comes to mind. With her on the precipice of shattering under the weight of her repeated transgressions. The rosary beads echo in our small confine space. They roll around her palms like teeth chattering in the cold. Probably, bruising her delicate fingers with each subconscious flick. "I hate him. I hate his very being, his essence. Not because of what he did but that I could enjoy it. I enjoyed my body cumming and releasing from his ministrations. Even more so, the feeling of resentment and contempt filling my veins with each thrust. Flickers of apprehension begin to strum in the back of my mind. Her words permeate the air, like a haunting crescendo. The prickling overwhelming sensations halt thoughts from forming adequate reasoning. Claustrophobia. That, is what I am experiencing. This space is too tight. Too restricting. The walls crumble down as I fight to breathe under its suffocating imprisonment. "C-continue." The word forces pass my dry lips. The ear splitting silence draws out. My stomach recoils in itself as the inaudible intensity heightens. Time stands still as her exhale of oxygen, frames the words that suck the remaining life out of my vessel. "I'm pregnant Morgan."