His gaze moves, I feel it move, from my face to my neck to my chest, like I’m a slab of meat for him. Slowly, he steps forwards and reaches for me again, his hands on my hips this time, slipping his hands down to behind me. “You know, why don’t you just admit it; you like me.” I feel a hand slowly slide down and grip the bottom of my skirt. “That’s the reason you fight against me.” It pulls up, the fabric rolling up. “We are like… fire and water. The closer we are to each other the more we burn.”I’m panting now, not from anger but from something else, knowing my skirt has risen far too high but I can feel that he’s right. He burns against me. A brilliant fire that just wants to destroy everything it touches. I hate him. But this heat is delightful.His hand has moved, coming to the bottom of my shirt, sliding up wards. My eyes close again and I turn my head away as I feel him grope a breast over my bra. A second too late I realise and reach for his hand but he’s already found it.I. Anonymity, he supposed, was important if you’re going to pour your heart out and confess your sins. The panels separated the two sections of the confessional. One for the preacher man and one for the tormented creature who was confessing. There was a small rectangular hole in the center of the two panels at about knee height. The man in black could only imagine what the hole was for. Maybe holding hands while one prayed, he wondered? He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves then quickly slid his hands into them, drawing them snug with a snap. He patted the breast pocket of his jacket then took a deep breath, held it for several seconds then exhaled slowly. He was tired. Not just fatigue, but what his mama would have called bone tired. For several weeks he had been wrestling with the realization that the job was taking a hell of a lot more out of him than it used to, when the door of the other partition opened and a shadow stepped inside. There was a.
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