Chapter Text
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
His hand wrapped around a little metal cross. It dug deep into his skin as he gripped it tight, hard enough to draw blood.
He slided his stained fingers against the fresh, warm liquid. Because he just can't seem to get rid of the feeling of dried, sticky crimson on his hands, fingers, nails.
Hopefully his own will numb it out. Make it stop attacking his senses. Even though he knows it won't.
The old man on the other side of the booth was waiting patiently for his confession.
Someone who always listens, a shoulder to lean on. Keeping his secret, guiding him through his doubts. Trying to tame the demon within.
And it was hard. It was almost impossible.
His feelings were just as intense as his hearing. No amount of training could change that.
At first it was one cold night. Running through the streets, following the fading echo of a gunshot, the sounds of police circling the corpse of his father. He was filled with sorrow.
Then it was a scared little girl, confused by the wrongful touch of her father, all hidden too well from the mother, from CPS. He was filled with anger. Anger which drove him to take matters to his own hands.
Then it was Frank Castle, who put into question all the hard work he's done for his city. He was filled with hate. Towards himself. Because Frank was right.
And then it was you. You made him feel all of that. And despite everything you put him through, despite what you made him become... He was filled with love.
Fighting his violent urges was one of the only constants in his life, apart from being blind.
One would think it's natural to be constantly struggling with such tendencies, for a kid who grew up with a boxer father and witnessed violence on a daily basis. Or for a kid who grew up in the crime-ridden Hell's Kitchen, where alarms blare to no end.
But that's not why he's like that.
All his life he had to hold himself back, choke back this hellish flame.
It had nothing to do with showing no weakness. It's about control, because if he ever gives in, there's no way back.
And he had crossed that point of no return.
The burden was heavy, itching to spill from his lips. It hurt so bad, scorching him from within as the cold shell unfroze.
The grief, the guilt, the wish of things ending differently...
He parted his lips. He needed to let the air carry the weights of this confession.
Tears stung at his tired, heavy eyes. He might never rest again. He can't.
Can't get himself to speak.
Can't spit out the suffocating fire, not when it's such a deep part of him. Not when he had already succumbed to it.
"Matthew..." Father Lantom's hushed voice cut through the sound of a heartbeat, which had picked up as the silence stretched. "What have you done?"
He had gone cold again.
Confessing won't change the past, nor repent his sin.
The only sounds that followed were the rustling of fabric as he stood up, a small metal item clinging against the marble floor, and a whispered vow to never set foot into this holy place ever again.