Confession
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…nearly one month since my last confession." Jean squirmed slightly in the hard wooden seat of the confession booth inside Sacred Heart.
"Proceed," the priest replied in a very professional, almost bored tone.
"I have been…" Lustful, Jean's mind shouted. Her mind was bombarded with flashes of images. Gentle hands holding test tubes, scribbling notes. A bright smile behind a neatly trimmed beard. Impossibly blue eyes, wide with awe. Rippling muscles hidden underneath a waistcoat. The feeling of a light touch on her elbow, a kind squeeze on her shoulder. The smell of soap and brill cream and lingering scotch whiskey. The sound of a muttering, warbling voice in between improvised notes on the piano. Everything about Lucien Blake that at first had confused, frustrated, and interested her. Now everything about him made her go weak at the knees and feel hot all over.
Jean suddenly realized that she had been about to voice her feelings for him aloud. To a priest. Who, despite the protection of the confession booth, knew exactly who she was and to whom she'd be referring. Jean was about to confess it all, if only to hear herself say the words.
But instead she quickly said, "Prideful. I gave an old dress of mine to a young woman because she complimented me on my sewing, so I wanted to show off."