Commissioned [completed]

Chapter 18 - Confessional

Google maps had you walking the rest of the way all night; you didn't feel it though. You had ditched the car in a field after Sodo had said it would be fun to do doughnuts. He was right; it was fun until part of his ashes got tipped from your shirt. And you were back to crying again. It was midday when you arrived at the church. You smelt like a sewer, and you cradled all you had left of Sodo.

You floated awkwardly in the pews, looking like a hollow, grieving ghost. The sun petered through the chapel's stained glass windows, washing the room in a golden glow. Any of its beauty was lost on you. Sodo was still dead.

A sister stepped from the confessions booth, and you moved like a shade, hunching into the safety of the small dark chamber.

You felt him beside you as you locked yourself in the cubical, and finally, you were safe. Your eyes welled. "Papa."

"Caro Pittore?"

You sniffed quietly as you wept. "Papa, I fucked up."

"Hey, there are no fucking judgements here; I support all that is human. If it is about kissing you... I'm so sorry, that was—I do stupid things. That's no excuse..."

"Sodo is dead," your voice was a whimper.

"Ah." Is all he thought to say for a moment, "I was beginning to wonder what happened to him; it was probably consensual, yes? He is very, uh, daring? Surprised it doesn't happen more often if I am honest."

"W..what?"

"He didn't tell you? He just went in with the ehuh... choking.. or stabbing? Drowning? I'm not into that hard of a kink thing, but I saw your knuckles one time... I know he has been enjoying his time with you."

"Papa, he's dead, ash," it's like there was some language barrier, "uh.." you quickly googled, "Morto?"

"Yes, Pittore, I know dead. And he isn't but is; he's a ghoul. They don't die, per se, well, not in all the usual ways. He more likely, uh, went back to hell for a bit. Just need to resummon him."

You swallowed and looked down at the mask in your bundle. "Asshole," you sniffed, but your eyes stung with relief; you couldn't bring yourself to be mad.

"Hey, I'm sorry he didn't tell you. I'm sure it just slipped his fucking mind."

You leaned your filth-matted head back against the wood of the confessional. You.. didn't have to tell Papa. He had already assumed the wrong answer—but you knew it was time. It was bigger than you could have expected.

"While I am here." You blew out your cheeks and tried to calm your voice. "Forgive me, Papa, for I have fucked up horrendously."

"That's is uh, close, but not what you're supposed to say. And now I know you only missed our painting session because you thought you had murdered your lover, so free pass." You can hear a smile in his voice.

He was back to joking with you... he trusted you on some level. "That was today? I am sorry I missed it. What am I supposed to say, Papa?" You felt a tear drip down your chin.

"Ah, mio caro Pittore, it's okay; just say what you need to, and I will listen."

You sniffed pitifully, "Please, tell me what to say, Papa."

"Bless me, Papa, for I have sinned; then we just talk. You tell me your human faults and guilts, and I praise you for your humanity—help you see yourself as loved. If you put the free will of yourself and others first, you will always be loved."

"Sounds nice," you wiped at your face and swallowed, "bless me, Papa, for I have sinned," you whispered.

"Tell me your trespasses, Caro," he replied in the same covert tone.