Immoral Confessions - R. Holmes

To those who aren’t afraid of what lurks in the darkness. For the lovers of the villains, the monsters, the broken. This one’s for you.

Everyone wants what they can't have. But, when it’s forbidden and illicit, our darkest desires stay hidden somewhere we never expect someone to look.

Veiled by the dark of night, all of those shameful desires stay tucked away.

We hide behind illusions. Perfectly constructed, never showing what's lurking beneath the surface. We’re scared to let the world see who we really are, what we truly desire.

People run from those desires because they're fearful of what it makes them.

They're afraid of the wickedness that has taken root in their hearts, to show anyone the ugliness that taints their souls.

A sin is a sin, no matter which way you try to disguise it.

Mortals have surrendered into temptation to sin for as long as time.

It’s what God made us to do. Fall, only to be forgiven.

Eve and the forbidden apple. David and Bathsheba.

But what immoral confessions deem you unforgivable?

How many times can you be tempted to sin before you're dancing with the devil and there's no redemption for your soul?

Then… you're fallen.

"Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead us not into temptation." Luke 11:4

"Move it, bitch." A hard, sharp shoulder connects with mine, causing me to drop the armful of books I was scarcely hanging onto right into the mud beside the walkway.

Of course.

The group of girls in their St. Augustine uniforms—red and navy plaid skirts, blazers adorned with the silver school crest, and signature red bottoms—snicker and giggle together as they stand there and watch as I begin to pick up all of my books they purposefully knocked out of my hands. But, not before throwing more insults my way.

"Go back to Hollywood, whore. Daddy might have paid your way in here, but there's no room for trash like you," their head bitch in charge, Mara, spits my way. She gives me a snide, cold grin before turning on her heel and leaving me there with my jaw clenched so tightly, the pain radiates up the side of my head. Her posse of mean girls follow closely behind her.

It takes strength from Jesus Christ himself not to cry in the middle of the courtyard, but I know it'll just make life worse. Then, not only will I be the outsider who wants to steal the most popular girl in the school's boyfriend, but I'll be the laughingstock of the entire school.

Getting paired with Mara's boyfriend in chemistry and texting him to try and set up a time to complete said project, apparently made me want to sleep with him and, therefore, be shunned by basically anyone and everyone who was anyone at St. Augustine.

Just another day at St. Augustine Catholic Academy, Catholic boarding schools’ very own version of the Upper East Side.

Where the girls are ten times bitchier, and unless you come from one of the founding families, you're not worthy of the ground their Louboutins walk on.

And me?

I'm a nobody. People look right through me like I don't even exist. Seriously, someone tried to sit in my chair yesterday in the library because they, and I quote, “didn't see me."

They couldn't see an actual person. One who was occupying a chair that they wanted to sit in.

Most days, being the nobody is exactly how I want it. I want to keep my head down, focus on my studies, and pass my senior year unscathed. Then I’ll get my one-way ticket to Harvard Law and never look back.

Until the chemistry fiasco, I was happy being a nobody. Now, everywhere I turn, Mara Mikaleson is determined to make me as miserable as she possibly can. Her, and her posse of mean girls.

It’s like they seek me out just to make my life a living hell. I'm lucky if I finish an entire day without being tripped, finding gum in my seat after I sit, or even better yet, having "slut" written on my locker in bright red lipstick. Mara's signature YSL color, of course. There is no doubt whenever I’m targeted by them, they make sure I—and everyone around—know they have struck.

I bend down and retrieve the now soaking wet, muddy books from the puddle. Completely ruined. Great. Not only do I have to buy new ones, but they had all of my highlighted notes from weeks of studying. Down the drain in a matter of seconds.

The huge bell that sits high in the