Page 11 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

“Where in the fuck have you been? You’re late! Way past late!”

The night was long, and a terrible dread came.

I got caught dead in daylight.

One minute ago, I stumbled at the grand set of white gateway doors, almost bloomed like the pearly gates of heaven; I pressed the asterisk button and entered the unlocked gates with ease, and stepping in next on the grand marble staircases, around swerving my sports car around a glorious old-fashioned fountain.

Not one minute in, my mom was already yapping her ass off through the foyer, caffeine intake was kicking my ass preventing from a near car accident, and Mom’s words were making no sense, each word punching a hole on my skull.

Here in this lovely residence, here lies the aristocratic, sophisticated Rivers family, in a total of four.

We weren’t the only ones who live in a rural town.

The rest of the Rivers family are currently living in chateau in a country side, some live in penthouses and some resided in gated communities and some live by the open water as if vacation never left.

To top it all off, we lived by a slopped hill above the rest, with a roadway slope behind the guarded gates, leading up to a house—grass were freshly cut.

In other words, we never ran out of money, refill after refill, and did everything we can to survive.

Flaunt the reputation, more like. Dad’s a well-known business man, flit one thing to another, whichever business he’s interested in, stick into business where it doesn’t belong and yap his way in for whatever interests and incomes he could receive from his well- patron clients.

Rivers family took their pride and money to a highly consideration, too, cautious on how to spend on who, where and what.

He received from his last job, in an estimation of $98,000 dollars per month or week, being the CEO of the company; Dad decided to ship the belongings and move here at a large town area in, a stark contrast from a crowded, bright-lighted resorted city—hopping into the plane and skipped two states.

Mom never had an opinion, she stayed hollow on the outside, and Bjorn was minding his own personal bubble as a stuck up goody-goody, but is a great helper to Dad—or a great servant, butler, whichever Bjorn is—neither contradict nor in agreement.

Whatever Dad’s reason behind this were either his intentions were to retire early or he likes to play the hero before his retirement—probably both, I can’t be certain to his intentions—it’s been a mixed signal or narrative.

A welcoming atmosphere hasn’t felt since the day we departed the sunny side in Los Angeles—from a perfect climate and night lights in Los Angeles and all its beauty. Beverly Hills was a quintessential of paradise until Dad was replicating it here when we moved.

Nothing interesting to go for except for little stores I never knew, not a well-known brand like Target or Costco , and attractions in the middle of an unpredictable weather on a wildlife—endless resources and shopping districts and attractions—but nothing came close to form a replicated perfect paradise close surrounded by the forest, trees and bugs, and not a sign of suburban city known for casinos, glamourous hotels and over-the-top entertainment.

God, what a pain.

My grandmother wouldn’t approve of this, of living in a place where it lacks life, loudness and vibrancy and endless possibility of exploration.

California is the closest thing to perfection, aside the famous Sin City and known habits for smoking in casinos, extensional options in resorts and slot machines, but California was entirely distinct—sandy beaches, natural landscapes blending in resorts and penthouses, night lights in the city and possibilities in opportunities and pure money talks.

She’ll disapprove of the nippy climate, surrounded in wildlife and lesser opportunities—she assumed the worst, as she often does. I also missed the littered areas in the casino, smokers littering the streets and suburban life and coastal beach.

In Fort Heaven, there were no luxurious resorts only one beach, but it’s not Riviera, though the clean water in Fort Heaven sounded nice since Fort Heaven is known for its river-flowing section.

Sooner or later, Dad might be planning on extending his business here, a large resort.

Also, the large town is known for rainy days.

I sighed, shutting the door, and faced the opposite direction instead of directing eye contact towards my mother.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” my mother ranted, I nearly saw vivid flames on her head, earning streaks of white hair.

“For me to go to sleep,” I answered, walking off. Each time I strode a small movement, my arms and legs were about to fall off from hopping house to house for burglary and good payment towards the end.

“So, where’s Bjorn?” I asked, though I bother myself to not care of my older brother’s existence.

“You missed dinner,” she retorted, foot tapping. “You missed everything last night—you didn’t come straight here in the estate.”

Still, Mom didn’t give me a straight answer I hoped for.

“Did you even realize what you’ve done?!” she ranted on.

My heart skipped a beat for a moment. A level of shock shouldn’t be this big since I lived with the family for so long.

“What is it this time?”

Mom shook her head. “Unbelievable. You came back here around seven in the morning and you act like nothing’s wrong. Do you have any fucking clue what’s been going on around the house?”

A faint smirk flicked on the corners of my lips. “Should I care to know what happened?”

Without backing down, she followed me to the kitchen, all in gunmetal grey, paired with the silvery marble island the handles at the cabinetry decorated in bronze.

Lights above dimmed, and turned it all the way up as I entered to grab a drink and snack in the built-in refrigerator.

Illuminated lights on the ceiling buzzed for quick seconds before it went quiet.

As for the smoke detector, Dad managed to buy spare batteries in case it beeped again.

First thing I opened; I saw the fridge restocked fresh food, filling every corners and shelf inside.

Proteins and vegetables stacked. White cartons of coconut pressed milk filed into an organized line on the side.

Sometimes I feel like whether I’m entering in a house or in a manufactured company for achieving an unattainable perfection.

Fruits and vegetables were all lined up in neat formation; imperfection is non-existent, according to the household and who laid these rules.

Healthy beverages and non-carbonated drinks don’t last long in the fridge.

So does the fruits and vegetables. No unhealthy portions and carbonated drinks to soothe famine in the system.

Every single item in the fridge was straight up superficial—all color coordinated—a sight for sore eyes to anyone who visits the Rivers residence.

Each fruits, vegetables and meat stacked separately, fruits and vegetables stored into the containers and resalable bags and air-locked jars while the meat stored in the freezer, and fridge for what meat to cook.

As for the refresher, drinks, it’s all a different story.

While Dad’s was on a greener side and Bjorn’s side was in a collection of blue bottles, Mom’s color-coordinated drinks stacked in all shades of pink to a deep shade of a dark pomegranate.

As for me, I’ve chosen a shade of red, which my mom despised.

She advised a shade of purple or grey, but, I insisted on the crimson.

Honestly the color grey was ugly ever since I saw my aunt’s choice of decoration in her place, almost equivalent as a low-budget horror film, rather living one of the ancient houses at countryside.

Regardless, my stomach wasn’t in the mood for hunger and satisfaction.

“Have you had any shame? I don’t appreciate the way you unattended at the Thanksgiving dinner, and putting up a vulgar show at the church yesterday.

It’s fucking unethical, impure—filthy, I can’t even fucking look at you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Bringing your personal prostitute in the formal church was the last thing we needed in this fucking household. Not when your Dad is on his way to fix the reputation here in this town. He’s been struggling and far worse—he’s been working and riding back at the hospital.

We don’t need another problem like yours in the mix. ”

My eyes rolled at her antics. Though she has a dramatic effect, I give her credit when it’s due.

“She came to me, Mom,” I said to her, through placid tone, uninterested. “Madison just wanted company because she’s bored staying at her place.”

“Is that her name? I could’ve sworn she introduced herself as Samantha or Sam—whatever the fuck her name is—when she shook her slutty hand with your father yesterday,” she scorned.

“Are you horny so much you decided to take it out onto the Sunday Mass? Running off—having cold feet to Thanksgiving feast? You know that this family has a protocol when it comes to that shit.”

My brows knitted at her statement.

Nonchalantly, my shoulders bopped, pretending to not hear my mom’s attempt on keeping up with the modern slang.

“Look, I don’t care what you do or who you do it, it’s…whatever! But if you bring another slut into the holy steps and ground at the church or run off elsewhere again, I swear to God—”

“So you swear to God? Please, I didn’t know you love God that much.”

I’m no believer, but it’s was odd that Mom only uses this excuse to fit a beloved or loving reputation.

Something tells me she needed more than a good yell.

Her darkish eyes hardened. “I don’t appreciate your sarcastic tone, young man.”

I said nothing but a low groan, shaking my head as I distracted myself to keep busy by scouring every grub I could find in the cold, stacked fridge.