The Pope

by L.P. Lovell

We’re fundamentally flawed, drawn to the darkness. Bad people. But it’s often said that God loves the sinner. He just hates the Sin.

That deep melodic voice washes over my senses like a soothing balm, and I release a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. I almost forget why I even came, as though my purpose was simply to hear his voice.

I’m in the confessional box. I know it from the distinctive scent of wood polish and old moth-eaten material that’s hoarding a lifetime’s worth of dust. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I realise I’m not alone in the tiny space. I can feel the heat of another body. The subtle smell of citrus and incense slowly filter through until it dominates everything else. Stark blue eyes become visible in the darkness, so beautiful that they steal my breath. “Judas.”

“Because he is bound by a vow that I know he would not wish to break. I think…I think that I am simply an unwanted temptation to him.”

“Dance with me in the dark, little lamb,” he whispers, like a demon tempting me to hell. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

I spot my mother talking to Mrs Jones, no doubt about their book club. Dad says all they do is drink wine and read porn. That’s got to be worth at least three Hail Marys.

shouldn’t turn me on this much, but I think I love the idea of desecrating sacred ground every bit as much as I love Judas defiling me. I want a witness to our depravity. Two bad souls who shouldn’t be in the house of the Lord, soiling it.

It’s dirty and sordid, sinful in every way, and I want it. I’d say a thousand Hail Mary’s for this, for him. He makes me feel owned and yet cherished, tarnished and yet born anew. In his arms, I’m lost and found all at once. The pieces of me that were once broken are now simply his.

Judas is a bad man, and it’s that which keeps me safe. The devil protects his own.

And here we are, two damned souls bound together, the blood of my last sin still trickling in watery pink lines over my skin. Nothing can tear us apart now. Nothing.

And so like her namesake, Delilah who cut off Samson’s hair and stole his strength, she is his weakness. Interesting.