Page 25 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

On another day settled in, I didn’t mind noises, as long as my mom wasn’t scolding anyone, especially me.

My mood often gets flipped if someone who I don’t wish to see ended up scolding me, but more so, on Eva’s part.

She does her occupation well, but whenever Mom shows up to criticize Eva, it stirred and poked anger easily, getting the better off me.

I’ve seen Eva doing her business around the place.

I’d say she’s pretty decent; she took the challenges well and exceeded.

I knew this of course, based on how she polished the statue at the church before her near-death fall.

But to Mother’s standard was unattainably high she had to excuse herself to go out and shop.

Her addiction has gone off the radar pretty badly.

Quietude was my ideal type when it comes to relaxing time. But with Sister Eva—Eva—being present, my mind wondered elsewhere, somewhere nice…and unholy.

Unholy things I could think of each time she bends down on all fours, scrubbing the stubborn stains and washes the floor with a mop, my consciousness deliberately looking at her.

Unholy things I wanted to have her show her skin and what her hands felt like touching me.

But she’s a nun, not a girl I regularly hang out with.

But with Eva’s presence, the house was oddly calming.

And when she snooped into my room, reading the poetries I’ve written about her and my drawing of her, my excitement shot through the roof, but even more ecstatic when she doesn’t question me, and gazed at me, something I couldn’t place.

But I admire how she cleaned my room. I couldn’t resist; if I have a clean room, she wouldn’t bother touching it, so I messed it up on purpose so she would come in.

Every single one of my belongings has been touched by her, and I never felt happier!

Oh, why must I have these nasty thoughts to a nun who I only spoke three times—in Thanksgiving and the day when she came here as a housekeeper and when she had my room spotless?

Surely someone knows about her, right? But she doesn’t seem the type to be talkative and is good at following orders, like Bjorn, but there’s something I can’t pinpoint on.

She was being driven with order her to follow, while Bjorn was mainly a natural lapdog.

She’s devoted to God, as I am devoted to all things pretty and tasteful, but a tinge of…

rebellious nature has been resided in her that it wouldn’t reach to a full potential.

After polishing the kitchen tiles, I went up to her, not in front of her, behind her, my stature hovered over her focused self.

Whenever I’m near her, I became possessive, an uncontrollable freak who likes to watch her from behind or whenever she’s asleep or to capture her and had her ways to stick close to me, never run away.

I cleared my throat, hoping she would hear what I have to say.

“Eva, I was thinking,” I began, swallowing my trepidations down in hopes for her to catch my attention.

She pivoted around to face me, slowly but surely, a sullen, terrorizing expression waited for me, her slouching form grew weary from exhaustion, energy drained life from her eyes.

She must’ve been having anxiety when I caught her snooping around my room, not that I don’t mind; I thoroughly enjoy her nosy escapade on exploring and touching my stuff.

The words got caught in my throat; my brain malfunctioned in a quick second before readjusting my composure.

“I was thinking that maybe you can stay here and hang out with me for a while,” I suggested, talking like a school boy.

She turned back around, detecting if anyone was spying on us, wondering if trouble will come sooner than later.

“I’m not sure, sir,” she said sheepishly, her hands held the wet rug on her gloved hand. “Mrs. Rivers might get angry if she sees me not finishing up the housekeeping services for tonight.”

I formed a soft snort. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She bit her lip nervously. “Um, what are we doing then?”

I smiled at her question. “We’re going to watch a movie.”

Her head gently tilted. “Watching?”

“Yeah, just sit on a couch and munch some snacks and drinking a fizzled soda or a slushy while watching the film,” I explained, leaning at a pillar column that the fridge was wedged in between.

Looking behind her, I came to her closely. “She won’t know. Mom’s at the meeting with her friends from this club.”

“What about Mr. Rivers?” she stammered.

“Busy. But don’t mind that,” I said with brief.

She gulped. “I’m not sure if I could...”

“It won’t take long,” I interjected.

As my hand reached out, she flinched, eyes widened in horror, despite I was reaching for the mop to set aside.

“I’ll take care of this. Just go and sit down,” I said to her as gently as possible.

At once, she sat down and waited. By the time I came back, my eyes roamed over her. Her posture was as stiff as a pillar, having her gloved hands neatly tucked over her lap, eyeing me.

For someone who reminded me of a statue, I enjoyed the way she stared at me with her pale emerald eyes, the purple gemstone on her crucifix pendant gleamed from the bright television.

I was watching a dating show since nothing interesting came up, since people’s drama was more interesting at its peak.

Everything else got boring. I wondered if Eva felt the same as I do.

But according to her reactions, it was somehow relieved and terrified, like as if she doesn’t know the concept of television and snacks.

Maybe she knows but doesn’t like to admit. But my house wasn’t a confession box.

“So what do you want to watch?” I inquired, lounging with a groan as I plopped down on a couch.

“What?” she stammered, stiffening at my voice.

“What show or movie do you want to watch?” I repeated, waiting patiently.

Completely still, she hadn’t given an indication to let me know she’s interested. In fact, it felt like she was…clueless, stagnant in a way.

“Guess I’ll pick,” I said, pressing the buttons and checked the shows on Netflix . By then, I chose a movie for her, one that she might enjoy, hoping she might have the similar tastes as me.

The movie I picked was Kill Bill Pt.2 . Smirking; I got myself a bowl of popcorn and munched on a buttery and spicy substance, and drink a cool beverage, one I hid from my strict mother. After a long day, watching a Quentin Tarantino film can do no wrong.

Mother is always so paranoid with one portion of sweetness or savory flavors. Luckily, I’m not her, nor is my dearest father, in a strict diet of scotch and office work.

Sometimes being young had its advantages, and being carefree and rebellious nature is one of them.

Until now, the way old people lived by the fantasies of their ridiculous standards against youth still baffled me in the worst possible way.

As I munched, I offered her the buttery popcorn and a flavored drink to share, but she refused, sat still like a waxed doll, refused to move and refused to accept.

She’s a pretty doll, but it somehow freaked me out to bits when she wasn’t making any expressions on her youthful visage.

She’s pretty, but I was afraid she might be a doll all along, so I kept on watching the scenes.

Before I get a chance to communicate with her, she sat still, motionless, but her hands wavered, rubbing the small motions with her thumbs.

When a scene came on, my eyes fixated at hers, who was averting, held her runny nose in, coiling her hands harder.

I guess she didn’t like the film I set up.

So I changed it to Titanic . Titanic wasn’t the cup of my tea, but I heard girls loved Leonardo DiCaprio when he was young, what he was like in the film, and as it droned on, I checked on Eva’s reaction.

She seemed relaxed. Her back pressed onto the couch cushions, and my shoulders sank in relief.

At that moment she doesn’t resembled as a waxed doll from a museum.

She’s prettier and her emerald eyes were glinting, flickered with life.

Three hours later, when the movie ended, I beheld her visage contorted, but in a quick second.

I stood up and stretched, asking, “So, what do you think? Do you like it?”

Then Eva, in a smallest motion, she indicated with her a nod.

“Good, I’m glad you like it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen this movie. It’s a classic. How come you’re not eating?”

She shook her head. “I ate already.”

“But you came here since this morning, and I haven’t seen you eaten anything, even I offered some popcorn,” I clocked her.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered in a softest tone, somehow it was shaky, but she hid it well, almost too well. “But I don’t want to eat.”

My heart saddened at her reply. I sat down beside her and said, “You can trust me. I won’t tell a soul.”

She angled her face, studying me, long enough to process whether she chooses to trust me.

“I don’t wish to bother anyone,” she uttered again.

As cautious as I could be, I took her hand, but before that I asked for her consent, based on the little flinch on her shoulders.

It took a moment for her to nod before touching hers.

“Whatever it is that you do or say, I want you to say it freely. I know it might be strange for you. But everything we do is normal. I want you to relax and place your trust on me.”

She watched me carefully, weighing on my words.

I sighed. “It’ll take time. Don’t be a stranger around me. If you mess up something, I’ll make an excuse for my mom to get off of your back, like how I did earlier.”

She watched me, and watched me, until I decided to say a final advice.

“Tell you what, each time you come here, I’ll pick a movie for us to watch and we’ll experiment everything, see what you like, see what you hate, and let me know.

Don’t be afraid to share your opinions. I can’t stand the extreme silence from you, so, I want you to be opinionated when you’re around me. Got it?”

Finally, she nodded. “Got it, sir.”