Page 3 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

His right hand—where he once rested underneath a girl’s skirt—took a piece of communion wine and sipped to the last drop, eyes remain pierced, motionless.

And out of polite, he snatched a piece of bread and ate, savoring the lacking ingredient of church bread, taking it in smaller bites, nibbling it as his eyes closed to slow and melt in his taste buds, when the communion bread is in the same size as a pebble.

Normally, a person would obtain the bread and wine, they eat it in quick precision and head straight back to their pew chairs and say their holy rites, but he took longer to digest the offering.

With a last sip of red wine—which was actually a simple swill of cranberry juice—savored, hum vibrated in his mouth where I perceived his smile stifled, Aaron’s apple bobbed in delightful taste from a last quench.

My lips curled in slight disgust.

This man made a mockery out of me. Whatever his intentions, it will be rid by evil.

But evil must show their tainted ways first. Evil prevailed when temptations are set in motion, in chaos, in all sorts of selfishness.

An animosity instilled, looking past over his lean frame, several people who I never once spoke, aside from the priest and the sisters or the choir of the holy church.

On the last row of the pew seat at center, the family—his family—three members sat tall and proud.

One man, who I assumed is the father, had dark suit, contrast to the young man’s red suit and an expensive silver watch as his lips curled into annoyance as he checked the time.

The man beside him was an older woman, clad in rosy pink suit and gold buttons, beaded diamonds clasped on her neck, straightening her rosy pencil skirt and tucked a layered hair strand touched behind her slim collarbone.

She was thinly as a twig, but nonetheless, her skin is flawless and taintless down to perfection.

Beside the older woman, a younger man, probably older and clean-shaven, wore an office suit like the other two men, except his was in a pin-striped suit with a green brooch and a black watch on his right hand.

His hair was short like his dad’s, maintaining a sleeked side part; his locks were on a brighter side of golden-blond.

One thing men have in common is their sharp, lidded, dead-stare gaze and their neat, tucked hairstyle.

The father had gray streaks on his jet-black hair, all slicked back to a neat tuck, but the boys have yellowish contrast hair were light-blond, the purest color in a possible closest to a shade of silver-blond—white, to be exact, whereas the mother is chestnut, but rather likeness on a silk of caramel shade.

Two men possessed honey-colored eyes whereas the mother’s eyes are pale blue.

However, the man in a dark, fancy velvet red suit who was standing before is unstirred, eyeing up onto my withered form with his pitch-black hues, glinting in mockery. I was anything but a mere joke to him.

Frightened, I stared at his tall figure, inclining his head downward in slight motion, and his posture forward, unable for me to step back, afraid I might trip and fall back on a stair podium.

“ Thank you, Sister , for this blessed offer ,” he said in a husky voice, his lips somewhat stained in a reddish lipstick smudged on his smooth lips.

The mole under his eye crinkled.

I frowned in thought.

You didn’t clean yourself properly , is what I wanted to say, but made no effort on pointing it out, not cause any scene, watching him leaned back on his towering form shadowed over me, his silk hair flowed over his broad shoulder, the red ribbon illuminated as his persistent smile grinned ear-to-ear, eyeing me, anticipating to what I should say.

But I gave no satisfaction he longed for.

“The body of Christ, given to you,” was all I uttered, drained, teeth gritted, chills in my body heated rapidly, given a soft polite answer, but my annoyance chimed faster than a calm restraint.

His long, light golden lashes fluttered. “The body of Christ,” he said, rather teasing. His voice carried in softness, stilted and refined, raspy and soft, not obnoxiously deafening like the boys or men I have spoken to who desperately to shout to anyone who cares enough to lend their ear.

Despite the sound, he wasn’t supposed to say it back, not following the spiritual aspects of communion, the normalcy on a Sunday Mass. My guess was he’s a first timer for attendance to praise Almighty Lord and his angelic servants, the carriers of wisdom to guide the lost and innocent.

This man was certainly, positively lost.

In some aspects, he might’ve enjoyed this.

My eye twitched, held back an unwelcoming rage prickling in my tightened chest. I grew paler in comparison to a normality of my ivory complexion.

I could picture it at this moment, but I have no mirror to inspect.

And if I were to inspect, it would be a disaster—summoning my own downfall to spectate my disgrace.

His smirk widened and his pitch-black eyes twinkled, locking onto mine.

For a shameless man, his friendly shined, not a simple flirtation.

He inclined his head forward again, slightly stepped into the shade, trancing myself to stare at the blackest shade; this time it was warmer, not empty to his usual empty shell of darkest void, not a usual absence of light in his eyes—the greyish ring accentuated, perked like something had lifted his life up.

Under an afternoon sunlight, regardless on a rainy weather, his eyes angled on a lighter tinge, more greyish, the ringed metal grey shone brighter, outstood the emptiness and blankness in his stare.

The church bells rang.

The domed paintings on the ceilings had gotten higher, as my head span.

He was taking it all in.

However his personal share of his pleasantries came to an end.

Slender arms linked his and tugged out from the line, a slight high-pitched grunt interrupted.

A young woman beside him, she was wearing a ivory tank top, devoid of wearing a bra, and a three-layered ruffled denim skirt with red kitten heels and a red dainty choker on her neck, similar shade as the man’s red ring on his index finger.

What could possibly in her right mind she wears a thin fabric to the whole world?

“Come on, babe. Your parents are waiting for you,” she said with an amiable smile.

“I haven’t give my blessings yet,” he protested, whining almost, eyeing me with a faint smile on his lips, to which I delicately observed him with a frown, shifting my focus to the next person in line, offering the bread and wine and verses to recite.

“It’s inappropriate for them to wait,” she replied in tight grin. “Trust me.”

Frustratingly awkward, I watched them leave back to the seats at the last row as the girl with a long strawberry-blonde hair wrapped in half-up do braid shot her glare back at me, wrapping her arms surrounded his waist as his other arm, as he wiped the stained color on his lips on his red sleeve.

As soon as he sat back with a girl, the rest of the family stood up and got into a separate line with another nun or who proffered bread and wine to another nun beside me.

Before that, all three members gave a withered yet fuming mien in their dreary eyes.

The man in red was making a scene by staying put, not allowing for everyone’s turn.

After all, the people in the church are compacted in a total to two hundred fifty people, but in an ordinary scenario, approximate of one hundred.

The faces that are unfamiliar, it meant that they’re busy with their whole lives, or not once spared a consideration of coming to church for a special occasion unless being forced in my assumption.

The children, on the other hand, can’t grasp the concept of religion and its holy rules, divined and bounded by historic rules.

For somebodies who were lost, they’ve found solace in the hands of a Holy God. As for me, my mind is occupied with the thoughts of a man in red, no matter how many attempts to return to recite a bible verse, my conscious reverted back to brightest honey eyes and light-blond colored hair.

A smooth golden bowl of bread and wine on a tray close to being empty, lightness of my emerald-colored eyes darted to them once more, except he was already looking at me.

The girl beside him, in fury, locked lips with him in an instance with her hand angled his face at hers.

In return, with pure ecstasy, his rosy lips smeared against hers, making another set red tinges, smudged, hungrily, never bothered to see their surroundings, especially with children.

Their lust was oozing to a highest point where I want to turn away, but couldn’t—attempted layered in curiosity and shallow admiration, in disgust and outraged.

How could they have done this so bravely, so confidently, including the elderly and children and strict mothers and all?

Possibly for them, life was too short to care about the nonsense where it doesn’t revolve around them.

They serve their own pleasure, their time, in a house of holiness.

Despite how many times my mind itched on averting away, I’m interested to see their willingness unfold.

While he kissed the girl, his pitch-black eyes darted onto me again, his long pale strand fell onto the frame of his face, and his lips almost curled to a grin at my natural reaction.

It’s a soft, coy one, nonetheless, but with a face like his, the girl was unable to resist and strengthened the temptation and her salacious desires win—letting it happen because it’s a natural instinct.

Turning his hollow-like eyes focused back onto me, he slithered his hand again back, but this time he laid it on her thigh, caressing it with his slender fingers kneading her flesh, and the girl subdued her moans, nipples hardened, writhing in her seat.

He tapped her lightly, whispering to her.

The girl huffed, and positioned herself back.

She doesn’t seem to be satisfied with current events. Towards his treatment, more like.

The bowl and tray on my hands were empty; I settled back the belongings at the table and strode back at the chair I assigned myself at.

Under a final hour in the church, the priest enunciated his closing words as people held their heads high with a gladdened smile—tears of joy, and others bowed their heads in prayer as I watched the jaded man in red, who had his arm linked across the girl’s slender shoulders with her hand clutched to his wrist, leaning her body against his, unbothered by the climate as the others held their hands in another prayer in a final hour.

“We thank you, dear Almighty God, on this blessed day. For giving us courage and wisdom, for love and prosperity, for our sins is purified and we rejoice. Your love and your power amazed and bestowed us with grace, and never fail us. May you go and find peace and spread love and happiness, to share our strength into the cruel world and rid from evil of this world. Amen!”

When the crowd shouted, “Amen!” my eyes swept across the cheered crowd once more and willingly glimpsed the man in red, absentmindedly surveying the crowd.

My wavered eyes soon trailed down onto his hand, holding a possession of a girl’s bright red underwear.

As soon he as he noticed me, he sent a playful wink at my direction, his palest locks tucked and slicked back by a woman’s hand, laying his eyes on me.

My tongue clicked.

Oh, what a devilish man!