The building was ginormous; nothing like our small and humble little Baptist church. Just the entrance doors alone were huge and intimidating. God was big and almighty, so I guessed that these sorts of houses of prayer did Him better justice. Rosy followed Tristan and I inside and followed us to the cubicles I assumed were confessionals. My heart sprang into overdrive, pounding inside my chest. This moment could make or break me.

Tristan led me to a door and put his hand on my shoulder. "Father Michael is on the other side of this door. Me and mum will be close by. If you feel like you need to stop, just say the word, and come straight out. We can sit down in a pew once you're done so you can unwind. We can pray together if you want."

I nodded and offered a thankful smile as best as I could manage. His eyes flicked to my cheek before glancing back at me and giving a reluctant smile back. He opened the door and closed it behind me as I stepped inside and took a seat. It was a small little wooden cuticle with some old and archaic designs carved into it. There was a little window with wooden bars to my left, covered by a latch from the other side. In just a couple of moments, the latch slid open, and I could see a small portion of Father Michael's face.

He had white hair but smooth skin, and a very tiny face. My guess was that he was probably a really small man, but I'd only know that once he stepped out, afterward.

"I'm Father Michael as you probably already figured, and you must be Jude," he said, breaking the silence immediately. "What brings you here today, Jude? How can I help?"

"Um..." I started but didn't really know how to continue. "I think I maybe did something wrong and was punished by God. But I don't really know what. A lot of it is just accusation and not really true, as far as I'm aware, but––" I paused, realising I should probably double check that this wouldn't get me into trouble. "God's gonna be fine with me sharing this with you, even though I had to keep it a secret, right? God would be fine as long as it's in a confessional, right? I don't have to tell the whole story, I just need help getting answers."

Father Michael cleared his throat. "These answers you seek," he said. "Are you hoping to hear them from God?"

I nodded. Then remembering he can't see me, I answered, "Yes."

"Go ahead and tell me everything you feel is necessary," he said.

"This won't be shared with anyone, right?" I asked, paranoid that this would somehow get back to Josh.

"Priests are sworn to a seal of confession. We cannot give away any detail of any penitence, even if it meant death."

"Oh," I said. "Rest assured no one will try kill you for information. My brother is scary but he wouldn't do that."

Father Michael chuckled. "That's a relief to know. Now, what is it you wish to share or repent?"

"I... I think I made my brother... I made him want to hurt me. So he did that, but I want to know why God let that happen. Why he made things this way. If it was part of his plan, then what was I meant to learn from it. Y'know? And I need to repent because ever since that happened, I've been feeling so angry. So angry at God. If I did something wrong then I wish God just told me so I could fix it."

Father Michael was silent for a moment before he asked, "What was your brother's transgression against you?"

"What he did?" I asked, recalling what the word meant. "He um, he climbed on me and he, um, he touched his, y'know thing...on top of me. And when he finished, he said it was my fault because we're not really real brothers. But we grew up together, so I've never known the difference."

I could see Father Michael nodding through the bars as I spoke. "That would not have been pleasant for you, to be betrayed by your own brother."

I felt myself choke up and shook my head.

He continued, "Jesus knows of this betrayal. Judas betrayed him too, after all.

"Betrayed with a kiss," I vaguely recalled. The irony behind the comparison made me squeak, which I quickly covered up with a fake hiccup and a cough.

"The Bible tells us that while Judas did betray Jesus, Jesus in fact knew that it would happen first. Judas sold Jesus out in exchange for money, but Jesus did not seek out revenge or react with any sort of hostility. Judas was so overwhelmed with guilt that he begged for forgiveness afterwards. He truly loved Jesus."

"And did Jesus forgive him?" I asked. "Actually, that's a silly question. The Bible talks nonstop about the importance of forgiveness and turning the other cheek."

Father Michael's head turned up to the ceiling for a moment, and he sighed deeply. "Son, if you look back at the scriptures, you will find that there is no mention of Jesus ever forgiving Judas. Jesus says in John seventeen-twelve that all of his disciples are saved except 'the one doomed to destruction so that Scripture would be fulfilled.; I don't know about you, but I have always interpreted that as a lack of forgiveness.'"

So what did that mean for me? Could I also get away with not forgiving Josh? Could I hold onto this grudge and hate him for the rest of my life? It's not what I wanted, though. I didn't want to like or hate him. I just wanted to escape from him, and never see him again.

Father Michael continued, "Jesus went to the cross and bore your sin, and as bearing your sin, the Father in Heaven destroyed His only begotten son. On that cross, Jesus prayed for everybody's forgiveness for they knew not what they had done. That is part of the beauty of his sacrifice; the hard choices are left to Him. We can release our own pain and our own anguish, and we can choose whether to forgive those transgressions made against us or we can choose to forget, because the power to be saved comes from repentance. That is your brother's burden, not yours."

"So God made him do that to me so I could learn to not forgive him?"

Father Michael chuckled and shook his head. "If that is one lesson you take away from this, then by all means, do so. I don't believe God carried out the orders for your brother to betray you. I believe that the devil has worked in him."

I shook my head. "There's no way. He's just been declared as anointed by God by my church leader. He just became a youth leader. Sure he's done some really shady, sinful things, but he's protected by God. There's no way the devil can work in him."

Father Michael looked a little puzzled, from the little I could see of him. "Is that what he's told you?" he asked. "That he is immediately exempt from any accountability of sin because of his anointing? That God will cover for him?"

"Is that not true?" I asked, confused. "Otherwise how can he finger girls at school, especially this one who has the same hair as me, and threaten and bully me all the time, and carry around the temptation to do what he did to me, all the while being anointed by God? And not be punished? Nothing bad ever happens to him. He only ever gets what he wants."

Father Michael sighed. "That sounds more like corruption, the devil working within your brother and within your Church. What I want you to take away from this, is that this may not be punishment, nor a lesson from God. It may just be the work of the devil and some horrible misfortune on your part. This might not be what you want to hear, but the cruel reality is, this only happened because it could. Because it's what your brother wanted. My advice would be to talk to somebody about this and get some help. Your brother may be dangerous."

"God would have protected me if that were true," I refuted, clenching my thighs. "I have to learn something from this otherwise why would it have happened? Why wouldn't God have protected me when I've been following him for most of my life? That doesn't make sense!"

"The lesson might be then," Father Michael said while remaining perfectly calm, "That everything doesn't have to be a lesson. God always has a plan, but those plans can be interrupted. That's the flow of the world. That's the result of free choice when Eve ate the forbidden fruit. Cruelty exists in this world. All we can do is repent and put ourselves in the best positions possible to be safe. That means helping yourself. Telling somebody who can help you. Maybe, at the end of this, you won't be fooled so easily anymore."

"I can't disclose this outside of this confession," I said, annoyed that I even had to say it again. Did I not make it clear before? "I don't want to make God angry, okay?"

"Those are the words from your brother, aren't they?" Father Michael asked. "Words spoken to your brother by the devil. He wants to continue asserting his power so he can take further advantage of you. Remember what's written in the Bible; God helps those who help themselves. I cannot breathe a word about this to anyone, but I want to give you the assurance you need that it is okay to tell somebody else. Anyone you feel can help you. God will not punish you for seeking help in a time of need, no matter what."

His words surprised me. While I kept a mostly quiet but firm relationship with God, Josh was always standing loud and proud at the forefront, advancing beyond his years into leadership at an early age. He had mum's confidence, the Christian groups confidence at school, and even Pastor Cordell who he'd only met around the same time I did. But he was always a hundred steps ahead of me, so I always took his word as God's word. I never questioned it.

I figured he was just anointed and protected by God because that's what he'd always suggest. To be told otherwise, by a religious leader I didn't know under a denomination I didn't follow, I felt somewhat confused now. Was this supposed to be liberating? Or was this meant to trap me and send me reeling even further from God's graces? I didn't want to defy God, or mum. I don't know what I wanted or expected to hear, but this wasn't it. I didn't feel better.

Father Michael took me through the steps for penance and after some minutes, we finished my confession. I muttered a thanks to Father Michael for his time and stepped out of the cubicle. We were located at the right of the building from where we walked in, and the hundreds of seats appeared so empty save for just a few people scattered in the first few pews. The giant building left me in awe with its giant stained glass filled with saint I didn't know. And even the ceiling had some Michelangelo level artwork going on.

Sitting closest to me was Tristan and Rosy, both heads bowed with their eyes closed. Father Michael stepped out of the confessional after me, and I was surprised to find that he was an incredibly tall man with a small and flat looking head, reminding me of an alien. But he had a gentle smile and shook my hand. "Wishing you all the best, son."

"Thank you," I answered, then sat down and watched him walk away. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, thankful that that was over. I learned nothing, I gained nothing.

Tristan had opened his eyes and was looking at me expectedly. I could see his quiet curiosity. "How'd you go?" he asked. "Father Michael's pretty smart, huh?"

I glanced down at my hands and fiddled with my fingernails. Honestly, how could I tell him that I didn't really hear anything good? How could that be it? It was so anticlimactic. To be told I didn't have to forgive Josh, that I didn't have a lesson to learn, that nothing good or worthwhile would come from what he did to me. That all this disgust, anger, and shame I couldn't escape from resulted from something that only happened because it could. Because of an apple.

Sadness crept over me. I wanted my dad.

"Honey," Rosy said, leaning across Tristan and gently placing her hand on mine. I glanced at her gentle, concerned expression. She always had a warm, safe feeling about her. The way I used to feel about my own mum. "If things are happening that make you unsafe, it is best to tell somebody right away. You know we care about you and will always help to keep you safe. You are welcome to tell us anything, and we will help you, okay?"

There was no reason for me to talk. There was way too much risk. I inhaled deeply and looked at the ceiling, feeling an indescribable pull that didn't match my feelings at all.

Maybe I'd give this thing a go.