Page 36 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

“Alright, it’s settled then. We’ll chat and I’ll show you the videos on YouTube and TikTok . In the meantime, let’s focus on getting our shit done.”

I huffed again, viewing at the miserable and stern crowd.

“Don’t stress out, okay? I’ll be helping you,” he coaxed.

“Alright. Good luck, Micah,” I said with a tension lessened on my shoulders.

“We got this.”

Then he left my side and went at the right direction.

***

Hours went by, and the homeless were fulfilled in a matter of minutes. Just one distribution and they’re all set.

None of them said their gratitude but it’s enough to save time so I keep up and be grateful for a time-saving method, anticipating the time to look forward onto Micha’s session on memes and internet.

Only two people thanked me.

Two was better than none.

I was gratified of my accomplishments I made throughout the day.

Five minutes were set in, and Micah will show me the ropes on learning modern slang and trends on this social media platform, whatever he mentioned earlier.

I bet the social media contained in endless content and inside jokes I hadn’t fully grasp, humor to cope, humor to distract from an everyday occurrence, this misery and hindrance, this plain and crumbling hours in day to day routine.

Learning the unknown startled me, like being in a cage with lions and poisonous snakes, unsure if it’s good to approach and learn its capabilities, relying on my untrusted instincts if it hurts or not.

I snapped myself out of this fear, knowing it does more harm than good in self-ruination. If I keep guessing, it wouldn’t lead me to the answers I searched for. Or, be aware of catching up to social cues.

Micah once mentioned that talking about social media is a head start for people to swing their heads to full attention.

In other words, I must fashion myself anew.

But how could I?

Sister Joanne’s words pricked, each time I was curious and unacquainted in today’s world.

It’s a sin , she said. Do you want to go to hell, nun?

Nuns like you shouldn’t be learning about the world, only to God and the Bible verses.

Be good if you still want to have shelter by the church attic.

Without us, without your precious attic to sleep and wake in, you’re nothing—homeless.

You’d be out in the streets right now, so I suggest you stop asking stupid questions.

I gathered myself back to reality, remembering her rules, the God’s law.

Her rules, not mine.

Not a single person taught me in modernized society, or left an impression in me to grasp new aspects. Along the path I sauntered, I distributed a handful of coffee cake to the homeless at the stand, another assignment instructed by Mrs. Rivers.

A few people took coffee cake off of my hands, given me gratitude before heading back at their spots.

The line was nearly done, and I was relieved.

After the last two people getting their dessert, Mrs. Rivers dismissed me. I took it as a good sign because she not once grumbled or object or correct me at the onuses.

By the time I ambled alongside a long path, my chest was rising in anticipation and willfulness to educate myself on his teachings.

My heart sank in the pit of my stomach.

I spotted a long, wavy blond hair and dark-shaded hues spotting me, blended in with his trench coat and suit, all in a darkest shade of black.

Swarmed by adoring girls, every sound and every syllable cried out drowned out the other noises, I recalled back to a previous night where Emily sputtered out her hatred on me, rang into my faint consciousness.

“Since nobody wants to say it, I have to. I have to be the hero. I have to be the good guy. So go, and don’t even bother to come back. You don’t belong here.”

The last four words seared into my brain, until I ran away in the dark and ushered back into my attic without anyone discovering me at disobeying their rules—Father Divine’s rules.

Talk about a nightmarish world as soon as I stepped outside, outside due to Adrian’s persuasion. And his persuasion meant nothing—it summons humiliation and lowers self-esteem.

I was stupid back there, stupid and na?ve like a little girl expecting a wonderful event. That’s how girls and boys would call me if they ever see me.

Adrian extended his examination on me, swarmed by adoring fans fawning over him, arguing how he caught their eye first.

But he wasn’t eyeing on them.

For once, I didn’t bother to greet or send a little wave or bow nicely to him. I disregarded him and headed my way to see Micah, who I couldn’t forget the promise I pact with to learn the vast slangs and technology in modern timeline.

Excited as I was, the pit of my aching belly dropped.

Why do I feel nauseous? Was it the rations they distributed?

No. Was it the dingy afternoon weather? No.

My skin has gotten accustomed to a bone-chilling air.

Was it the smell of chicken in a cooking pot?

I couldn’t decipher the throbbing and shrinking soreness in my belly, as my throat went dry, despite I sipped the salty flavor in a chicken soup.

The pit in my stomach is incapable of vomiting the melted contents submerged in the intestines, when I met up with Micah, who was huffing and puffing like a wolf.

“Sister Eva,” he greeted with a wide smile, wiping his sweat with a used cloth he wrapped around his back neck. “Ready for a lesson?”

Somewhere far, I tinge of shiver ruffled up on my skin when someone’s eyes darted at my back.

“I’m ready,” I said, staying unruffled and never lose sight of my goal for today.

“Excellent,” Micah exclaimed, clapping his hands altogether. He took out his smartphone and had me memorized the shape of the icons on the home screen, and he showed a clip or two about the jokes that are trending on the social media app.

He explained the context from the comments section.

While I was listening intently to Micah’s explanations, a pair of pitch-dark eyes monitoring me. If I hide in plain sight, his stares might stalk me like an unwanted shadow.

Whilst he demonstrated another set of videos on his phone, glimpsing by mistake, I caught an eyeful view of Adrian Rivers glancing at me back, and the girls who hailed him, swarmed him closer, gone chirpier and friendlier.

***

The kitchen room was empty, a dripping noises on the silver faucet plopped onto the vacant sink.

After three hours of scrubbing trays and setting the equipment aside, Micah entered the room with his spared shirt and jeans, replacing his previous ones from grime and bubbles from washing and sweating, throwing the sweaty towel in a separate laundry basket nearby the entrance.

“Let me know if you need any help with the trays,” he said and exited.

It didn’t take an extensive time to gather the rest outside, thick raindrops dropped on my head as I collected the trash and dumped them in dumpster.

I didn’t risk my gloved hands to be dirtied, so I exchanged it for blue rubber gloves tightened on my palms, but it does its job well done as soon as I thrown it, too.

Walking by the church’s backdoor, a gloved hand grasped my forearm.

Turning around, my eyes met with Adrian’s.

“I need to talk to you,” he began, his breath rasping.

I took my forearm back. “There’s nothing to talk about, sir.”

His eyes gleamed in saddens when I referred to him as ‘sir’. Whatever reason was, I couldn’t bear to spare my kindness like how I worked as a housekeeper in his estate.

“It’s Adrian,” his voice raised, fatigued and conflicted.

As I took a few more steps, he chased me down, and his hands settled on my waist and pivoted me around, only to find him kneeling before me, his forehead pressed to the flat plains on my belly.

“I can’t stand you walking away from me,” Adrian begged, his energy been used up from sprinting, searching me. “I need to get a word in, if you let me. Did I do something wrong to make you hate me?”

A figment in my consciousness state recalled back to Emily’s patronizing and unpleasant words darted in my chest that had my next words choked, as soulless and ruthless as Emily’s words cut deep, my voice bled and dry as if she held a knife against me.

I don’t belong to anybody.

I don’t belong into a born of love or friendship, especially to Adrian.

I don’t belong to be here, and be born as myself. I’m here to serve God and God only.

The words drank and spiked in my system, heating up to a point I wanted to implode onto the world that forsake me. Used and forsaken, toyed and tossed.

My chest heated up.

You shouldn’t have invited me to your party.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said to him numbly.

Out of nowhere, his hand yanked my hand so hard my working glove came off, revealing the silver bracelet and my burnt-scar on my whole hand.

Adrian’s eyes flashed in horror, barely containing a whisper escaped from his lips. “Who did this to you?”

Snatched the glove back quick and placed it on. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Who?” he dared, eyes gleaming in excited fury.

“No one—there’s no one!”

He got himself closer to me, little by little, until I was clutched in by his hands that felt magnetized to me.

My devastation was settling in, rocking and swirled countless conclusions, provoking me to unleash this horrid cry.

He got up and handled me by my hands pulling closer to his touch, swarmed and layered over me, as if he’s the closest fire I could basked myself in from this dripping rainfall, not a hot boiling oil stinging onto my old wounds.

“I won’t say a word,” he promised. “Please, I want you to open up to me about that night before. I was worried about you.”

My voice choked, tears swelled in my eyes, but pulled myself together.

Men liked tears , Sister Joanne said once to me.

Men preyed on girls who are weak, who cry easily, begging for help like a helpless little girl, men like girls who act like babies.

They’ll destroy you, no matter what. I mean being cared for is great, to have someone wipe your tears away.

I mean, it sounded nice. But why have hopes of having the chances of a man accepting someone like you when you can lock yourself in and stay indoors in your dark attic for good?

Her cackles pierced into my ears repeatedly.

I wanted to stab myself, stab my ears, stab my throat, and decapitate a part of me to be fallen apart.

“Say something, Eva,” Adrian begged, shaking me, rocking me.

My chapped lips parted. “I…”

He waited, his expression was growing weary and concerned.

The rainfall thrummed.

“I can’t,” I muttered, angling my eyes lower on a rain puddle.

His face contorted to sadness, as if he had lost his touch to reality, has lost his ability to make a hopeful connection.

“I’m sorry!”

“Wait,” he called, hauling me back, only to pivot my frame, inclining his head down and his lips captured mine.

My voice let out a muffled groan, indicating him to press his large body against me, his tongue darted out, tangling to my tongue, warming our bodies under a pouring rain, warming with his sudden desire.

My hands froze in mid-air. I froze in place, as his pitch-black eyes were gazing at me, soon closes them, his one hand cradling my back head as the other hauled me to reassure his own in a deeper proximity.

Pushing his body and his closeness apart, I dashed through the doors, leaving him in despair; his pitch-black eyes still lingered onto my back even when I rushed away into a mist. The foreign notion of his pleas, his cries, his concern, and his touches, his kiss…were they all real?

Were they all real to begin with?

I hadn’t found a verse where a man had his teary eyes, begging for a woman on his knees, under a rainfall. My tears were spared, for they are useless, and had plops of rainfall do it for me.

His touch wasn’t as slithering as the snakes, or his voice wasn’t insincere as Judas Iscariot.

Were they all real to begin with?

Thoughts, countless thoughts paced as I went back to clean the last traces of dirt and stains on countertops and kitchen sinks, devoid on burning myself at a steaming temperature.

At last, Micah returned, spotting a weary and lifeless look on my face.

“Are you okay, Sister Eva?” he asked, setting the hand towel down. “You look tired.”

“I’m alright. It’s the heavy rain,” I said, convincing him.

The first lie I ever sounded through my teeth, the first lie I sang a tune on, as my stomach coiled into hot pain searing, not knowing when it’ll stop.

***

Tossing and turning in my listless sleep, the wooden floor hardened its cold temperature for my back to sting, as the little white moths hid under at a newfound chill, springing and basking in the dark attic.

By the time, I woke up, a discovery unfolded—a silken embroidered quilt lay atop of me.