It's nearing noon as the young man enters a church. He brushes back his blonde hair with a rough hand, a hand holding many secrets. He strides to the confession stand, staring in admiration at the stained glass windows.

The blond stands outside of the seemingly empty confessions box, shifting from one foot to the other. He grabs a hold of the small handle that opens into the box and pulls it open. Stepping inside, the door swings shut behind him. Thoughts played in his mind, he did not know where to start. Pressing a palm against his leg, he begins.

"Hey, father. So, I'll begin with a plain fact. What I do for a living? Not something I'm proud of. But I can't stop because it's all I know." He drops his head to his hands, staring for a moment at the black shoes of the priest behind the velvet curtain. He says the next statement in a whisper. "Every night, I commit adultery. Every night, I get paid to let someone fuck me, excuse my language, sir. I can't keep living this way." His voice breaks as he says the last sentence.

The priest stayed silent behind the curtain, the only sounds where the young man's breathes. He felt like he was about to cry, but Striders didn't cry, so he dug his nails into his arms. Weren't the priests supposed to talk? Didn't you confess and then they punish you? After regaining his composure, he straighten his back. "I don't know how to change."

After a large intake of breath, he hears a voice almost younger than his own say "You can believe in the lord." The priest has a warm voice that shocked the young man to his very core. He immediately knew what had to be said next, damn the consequences. He had already confessed to breaking one of the ten commandments daily.

"Father," he says, "if this matters to the lord, the people I adulterize every night are men." He did not know what else to say. He wanted to be punished, he wanted them to punish him for living this way. Maybe if he said the right things then they would, maybe. He heard the priest shifting on the other side as though he was about to speak.

"Child," the other man says, "it is my belief that the lord does not discriminate. So if you prefer men to women, god will love you just the same." There is a slightly awkward pause. His mind is racing. He can't believe that god does not care about sexuality, but he dares not to jinx himself. After some thought, the priest says "The only way the lord can help to change your life is if you help him. Be the person that you want to be to the lord."

Surprisingly, the priest says "Show me your hands, boy." So he puts his hands through the curtain. carefully, trying not to jerk anything. He feels a set of warm soft hands prod his own. "You have great, strong hands. You should use them for good." The blond is puzzled. Weren't the priests supposed to tell you how you were bound for hell?

"Do you mean like farming," he asked. "Because I will tell you right now, I am not a farmer." The priest released his hands. The only sounds in the church were the steady breaths of the Strider and the buzz of his thoughts. Was he or was he not going to hell? Maybe that's what the priest was implying when he said he had strong hands. Maybe he was saying that he would be doing work for Satan in hell. He sighed. His imagination was getting the best of him.

"I am not going to tell you what to do. I am just going to tell you facts, let you put them together, and let the Lord decide what is best for you." With that, the blond man sits for only a few more moments before rising.

He exits the small black box, still thinking of what the priest said. He had to let the lord decide. Going over all possibilities, he found that prayer was probably the best path to go. Kneeling down onto a pew he began his pray for guidance.

"Father, forgive me for my sins. I have no idea how to fix them, but I hope to outweigh them with good. So I have to ask of you: what good can ever replace the sins I have committed." He laughs lightly, a broken laugh that hurt just a little bit for him to hear. "I am so fucking screwed. I am a gay prostitute, for crying out loud. So..." He has to stop taking for a small sob to leave his throat. "What do I do?"

He didn't know what to expect, but the deafening silence that followed was not it. It seemed that even the shadows were judging him. He stood quickly, nobody was around to see or hear, but it felt like everybody was staring. Everybody was telling him how awful he was and how much he was sinning but nobody was offering help, it's as though they enjoyed watching him struggle.

He left the church quickly, straightening his pants nervously. He realized that he was still in his "work clothes" and at that point, he snaps. The blond man sits down on a bench outside of the church and takes off his pointed anime sunglasses, rubbing his strange orange colored eyes. Regaining composure, he places his shades on his face again and rises. And then he begins to laugh. The brittle, bitter sound makes him laugh even harder. A church, he thinks, in this city. What idiot…

A dark shadow above him interrupts his train of thought. He looks up slowly. Above him, he sees a priest. He takes in a deep breath slowly, apologizing to God already for the sin he wanted to commit. The priest was young, younger than himself, in fact, with pitch black styled hair and practically glowing green eyes. His deep tan suggested that he was Native, but his accent spoke otherwise. "Hello. I couldn't help but hear your prayer, you know?" The man's lungs burn for a moment at what he had said, and at what the priest now knew.

"Sir," he says, "I believe I can explain if you are angry at me-"

"I am not angry," the priest says in a level voice. "But I would like you to come to mass tomorrow."

For a moment, the blond man says nothing. Then, in a shaky voice, he says "My real name is Dirk Strider. No one calls me that anymore."

The priest chuckles a little, then grasps Dirk's hand. "My name is Father Jake English." Dirk shook the his hand almost hesitantly. "Will I see you in mass tomorrow?"

"Yes," Dirk says with a nod. Father Jake smiled and patted his shoulder before turning and going back into the chapel. Dirk turned around and started on his way home. He was going to church in the morning, what had he agreed to?

A/N: It'd be great if you guys could review, constructive criticism is welcome. Your feedback means a lot to us, especially since we are unsure if it is all that good. :)
chapters will be posted every Saturday. Thanks for reading :)