Sweetest Sin(55)

It focused on myself.

Because she was absolutely right.

“You came to me in a moment of confusion,” I said. “You confessed those feelings, those urges. I did what I thought was right.”

“I don’t know if you’re lying or delusional.”

Neither, but I was angry now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you wanted to help me. Maybe you wanted to guide me away from damnation.” She hesitated, her voice aching in betrayal. “Or maybe you thought it was a good opportunity to test your faith.”

“You think I’d willingly lead you into sin?”

“I think you’d lord your power over me. You already believe you’re stronger than me. You think you can confront sin and head-on, like it’s a battle to win or a war to wage.”

“It is.”

“It’s not! Run from temptations that capture young people. Timothy, 2:22.”

I’d never fought another person with the scripture before, and I wasn’t starting now. I stayed silent. Honor’s eyes widened. Weeping in anger and pain. Not sorrow. Not yet.

“You said it yourself.” She held her arms open. “We are human. We sin. We fail. We have to ask forgiveness for the urges that command us. But you? You treat it like it’s a decision. Like it’s something willingly entered into and willingly fought. It’s not, Father. And I see through you now.”

My voice lowered. “See through what?”

“You’re in pain.”

I turned away, clenching my jaw. The urge to lose my temper was beaten out of me at a young age, but some instincts were hard to abandon. Even the comforts of prayer and a life far from the abuse wouldn’t soothe what rage created in me.

Honor suffered from her own confusion. Her own pain.

It wasn’t anything like my pain. It wasn’t anything I’d ever admit again.

“Am I right, Father?”

Honor took no pleasure in her verbal castrations. And I gave her no indication of whether she was right, wrong, or completely inappropriate.

It didn’t matter. Her voice trembled without my reaction.

I marveled in my silence, almost amused as she berated me, herself, any sins of mine she thought caused her own disillusionment.

This was why I wanted to protect her. To spare her from these thoughts—such worry and needless posturing.

Honor quieted, but she still held my gaze.

Brave little angel.

“You’re hurting, Father. And you’re taking it out on me. You blame lust and sex for it, but that isn’t the full truth.”

“And what would you know of the truth?”

“Sex is power.” She shrugged. “Of course it is. I’ve realized that since the moment I confessed my desires to you. Sex is power…and you’re the one commanding it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You love that this lust is cast between us. You get to be the hero. You’re the godly one, the virtuous one. The only holy warrior who can reject the lust of man and the sins of another.”

“Easy, Honor.”

“I’m just the Eve to your Adam. The faith you’d have me reaffirm is the same damn story told thousands of times. Except in this retelling, you’d have me eat from the tree so you can refuse it. So you redeem yourself of whatever it was in your past that hurt you. And the only way to do that is by making me falter.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You’ve thought it.”

I clenched a fist. My fingers trembled, but this wasn’t my fight. It was Honor’s battle. She was the one who needed to speak, to be heard, to be respected in her fears.

I prayed for patience.

And I was ignored.

Nothing shielded me from my angel. Not the way her eyebrow arched as she spoke my name. Not how her body trembled, ached, and nearly crumbled as she revealed more of her soul to me now than she had ever shown in confession.

Except last night when her body, mind, and soul surrendered to me. I had worshiped her in that moment. Prized her. Owned her pleasure like it had always belonged to me and my sins.

“You’ve used me since the day we met,” she whispered. “You tricked me into thinking we could control ourselves and this passion. The only reason you’re encouraging this ridiculous test of faith is so that I fail.”

Nonsense. “Why would I want you to fail?”

“So you could be the one to save me.”

“Save you?” Now my voice did harden. I shed the patience and the kindness, the self-imposed softness and any bindings of my own invention which contained my rage. “My soul is just as endangered as yours.”

“And here I thought you’d learned how to combat your sins.”