Forgive Me Father

Word count = 1,671

Splinters dug into her knuckles as she knocked on the door, but Dolce didn't notice. Her stomach was swirling so fast that she thought it might leap right out of her throat. She knew this was wrong, in so many ways, but she couldn't restrain herself. If nothing else, at least she would accomplish one of her goals tonight: Revealing the truth.

Marcovaldo opened the door, his eyebrows pulled together, but his eyes doubled in size when he saw Dolce standing before him. His eyes darted all over at nothing in particular until he finally grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his room. He closed the door noiselessly, then turned to face the woman who had been haunting his dreams.

"What are you doing here? This is improper."

"I know, padre, but I had to come. Please, I need you." She approached him, but he grabbed her shoulders.

"You must leave. I cannot allow this." His forehead produced a tiny layer of cold sweat like a morning dew. His pulse beat in his ears, and Dolce closed her eyes and inhaled, leaning towards him. A waft of cinnamon climbed into his nostrils, but he shoved Dolce as hard as he could, and she staggered backward.

"Please padre, you're the only one who can help." Her larger bottom lip began to shake, and her eyes filled with tears. The ounce of fear that always tickled his neck when he saw her multiplied tenfold. "I need you to administer confession to me."

"Now?" he cried. He looked around, hoping no one heard him, then lowered his voice. "Right now? Here? Have you gone mad?"

"I have, padre, and I need confession to relieve me." Her face had become pink, and he saw no other remedy but to oblige her request, then get her out of the monastery as quietly as possible. He led her to the corner where there was a chair and a small table. He sat down and she kneeled in front of the table, crossing herself. "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession."

"Tell me your sins." He placed his elbow on the table and leaned his forehead into his hand, still not believing what was happening. He couldn't ignore the sentiments that reverberated inside of him every time he stood close to this woman, but he certainly couldn't and wouldn't act on them.

"I can't tell you, padre." He lifted his head and stared at her, his teeth grinding.

"What trick is this?" he asked.

"Rather, I must show you." He watched her, speechless, as she removed the long cloak and placed it on the bed. She grabbed the brown material that was right under her throat and ripped it down to her belly button. Marcovaldo's mouth hung open at the sight in front of him, and he thought perhaps he was dreaming. If indeed it was a dream, perhaps he couldn't control what happened. He watched her long fingers grasp the edges of the material at the top of her dress and slowly pull them down, stopping when only a fraction of her bosom had been exposed. His eyes lingered on that part of her skin until they climbed back up towards her throat, and his own throat closed. He opened his mouth wide to inhale but couldn't breathe. Three scars embellished Dolce's chest where she had endured terrible burns, burns that wished to remain visible. The metal cross that had bathed in blue flames before being used to kill her only left her with a constant reminder of that day. The distorted flesh in the shape of a cross seemed almost designed, for they were evenly spaced. She hadn't resisted that night, knowing that her punishment could have been worse. What was unbearable for her was the look of repulsion in Marcovaldo's eyes.

"You -- you --" he sputtered as he rose from his chair, backing up to the wall. She rose to her feet, and teardrops were absorbed into her dress.

"I felt I had to tell you, padre," she whispered. She approached him, but he kicked her in the stomach and ran to his bed and brought out various ornaments for fighting evil.

"Get out of here!" he yelled. "Be gone, you evil thing!" He held out a cross towards her, but the only damage it did was to her ego. He produced a vial of holy water and tossed it onto her, but it only got her hair wet. He cried out in rage and fear as he threw the glass vial at her, and then his cross. She kept walking towards him, the objects bouncing off of her and onto the floor. He braced himself against the wall, truly cornered, and closed his eyes. He was ready to die, if it was necessary.

Dolce dropped to her knees and gently touched his hands that were glued to the wall. He turned his face away, not wanting to watch it as it happened, and felt his hands being brought together in front of him. He inhaled sharply, waiting for the pain, and was confused when he felt something warm touching the top of his hand. He peeked down only to find Dolce's lips there.

"You were the only one who could help me, padre," she continued. "No one else would listen, but I knew you had a kind heart." He was shocked to hear her words, because everyone in the city thought the exact opposite of him. "I need salvation. I need you to tell me I'm not condemned to the hellfire."

His mind spun as he thought of what to say. "Don't touch me." He looked down at her now, slightly confident that she just might not kill him if she's seeking redemption for her soul. She began to cry more, touching her forehead to the top of his hands.

"Please, padre, you know me." Her words pleaded with his mind as her tears pleaded to his soul, and he was dumbfounded. She began to rise, and he pressed his back harder against the wall. She wiped her face with her dress, and leaned against him, her lips touching his left ear. "Do you remember when I confessed that I loved a priest?"

He nodded his head, frightened to move too much.

"I was confessing about you." He knew in that instant that he really must be dreaming. None of this made sense, but dreams never do. She pulled her head back to look at his face, and their eyes met straight on. She found a renewed strength since he wasn't repulsed by her anymore, and leaned to the left, her lips finding his neck. He gasped at the touch, but if it was the fear of her biting him or the fear of her kissing him that left him breathless, even he didn't know. She pulled back and looked into his eyes again, then went for his jaw line. The sweet kiss didn't go unnoticed by him, and his hand reached up to touch her neck.

She pulled back, almost equally as shocked, and looked down at his hand. She closed her eyes as his hand touched her neck for what seemed like hours. His other hand touched her waist and he pulled her closer to him, but immediately he dropped his arms to his sides and looked away. "You must go."

"I understand," she whispered. Her newfound confidence allowed her to dare to try one more thing. "If you wish to never see me again, I understand, and I will grant you that. However, there is one condition you have to meet."

"What is it?" he whispered. She stared him in the eyes, and it didn't take long for him to have a panic attack. "Oh no, no, I can't! Please, you can't!"

"Shhh, calm down," she whispered. She grabbed his arms and held them to his sides, and he finally felt the force of her strength. "I don't want to kill you, padre."

"You don't?"

"How could you think that, after everything I've told you?" She was slightly offended, but reminded herself of who this was. "But I do want to...well, only a tiny bit. I promise. I can control myself."

"And you promise to uphold your end of the deal?"

"I do." He closed his eyes in submission, and she leaned into his neck again. He gasped despite himself when her lips found his skin again, but the kiss lingered, and moved down to his shoulder. Dolce grabbed the robe he was wearing and gracefully plucked it off of him. Her hands found the top of his shirt and she ripped that one in half as well. She parted the sides to look at his chest and abdomen, and saw the essence of his life in motion beneath his skin. She leaned down to embrace his chest with her mouth, and held his hips as she slowly approached his abdomen. She knelt before him now, and having found the perfect spot, sprung forth her canines.

Her wet lips touched the spot only moments before her upper teeth pierced the skin, and he let out a soft cry. She watched the two punctures produce his very life essence, and she slowly ran her tongue up towards the holes. She watched as the blood ran down his abdomen again, and she wiped them again. By the third time, Marcovaldo was hyperventilating, and she felt an awful remorse at having been so selfish and putting him through this trauma. She took his shirt off and bunched it up against his wounds, and he opened his eyes. She stood up and ran her fingers through his hair before grabbing her cloak from the bed. She leaned against him for the last time, and she felt his hands touch her lower hips.

"Goodbye forever," she whispered, and in the next instant, leaves were blowing into his room from where his door stood ajar.