Page 38 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

A wave of consternation is tucked in as I could muster, the hot air fizzled in my chest, my head spinning, wishing to throw up. “I have to get ready. The priest might get upset.”

“Oh, please. Father Divine never gets upset,” Sister Lucia said, chuckling.

But she had no idea.

My fists clenched in a rumpled skirt. “I have to get going.”

Sister Lucia nodded. “Alright, then. I have to get the rations ready in the kitchen. The Rivers family will be here in an hour or so.”

I didn’t bother myself to reply, let alone correct her.

Justifications and explanations were useless.

My sullen eyes lost focus. I barely heard what Lucia informed afterwards. Everything seemed so surreal, and blurry.

Narrow-spaced room in the attic suffocated me, grasp within every breath I held and released.

Time’s been wasted. Nevertheless, I marched onward, sound of footsteps clambered to the roof, not looking back for Sister Lucia’ reaction or reply, a tug of war between wanting to know, but also to fear the outcome.

How will I ever be able to survive the turning events? If God can handle all obstacles, why shouldn’t I? I should be capable and immune to the possible worst of circumstances. Anyone can.

***

Hours struck in, and my back and delicate limbs ached from heaviness, loading and unloading the dishes and collected dirty washcloths for a hefty wash—discolorations in oil and unimaginable dirt.

Mrs. Rivers instructed to have the metal trays pristine and germ-free, in expansion on utensils and napkins.

To put this in a plain explanation, dishes needed to be sanitation, utensils needed a deep scrubbing, and napkins needed for a good washing, since the paper towels and filed in a neat line.

A superb result exceeded in her expectations.

In additional, Mrs. Rivers despised all things littered, loitered on the side street or the main road.

She found it unethical.

Mrs. Rivers made herself known for immaculate and aimed for perfection.

From time to time, she stormed in the kitchen to check the trays all rinsed and dried properly.

Not that I blamed her, germs carried diseases and unknown bacteria causing for everyone sick and rest in two weeks, at times their recovery prolonged than a month or so.

Like that worldwide spread three years ago, reminding everyone to stay indoors and be protected with disinfected wipes and a healthy balanced diet regarding to avoid itchy throat and wet coughs and runny noses strung along with high fever.

I kept myself alive as long as the disease was contaminated.

As I aided myself to cold flu symptoms, I basked under the unused curtains I tugged from the attic’s window, and stepped on a tiny black widow to keep my body temperature warm.

For the food, I stole food as much as I can in the neighbor whenever I worked as a sole cleaning service while the Divine family forbade me to stay at their private residence.

Sister Jane accused of me spreading virus, forming an exaggerated and guttural gagging noises, and so does Sister Joanne. They presumed that I’m the carrier of the global epidemic when they both know I often confined in a dark, stuffed attic.

As for the delicacy, my belly starved off to a point I don’t know what’s been happening. As much as attending to the town’s doctor, he might reject me and confront the Divine family, exposing my unwanted or unknown visits.

I basked in hunger and survival, finding alternate ways to cope for the time being.

Those three previous years had left me hanging.

As for touching anyone’s belongings and perishables, I tend to be strategic without getting caught red-handed, as much as devoid by security cameras, but so far, the security cameras were installed outside their front doors and backyards. Though only three houses in total have

I knew this because I’ve experienced and learned a lesson on not contacting the items through fingers without protection.

Having gloves worn at all times was an advantage for me. Gladly, her concern lies elsewhere.

Anyone who’s bedridden was evident for everyone to steer clear. Mrs. Rivers intended for the kitchen staff and volunteers to be punctual and spotless.

She returns at each hour to inspect and signal if the staff exceeded her expectations.

One week ago, Mrs. Rivers barged into the kitchen, food storage and closet, and the altar.

She insisted on having homeless perched by the pew chairs inside instead of sitting outside the parking lot, rather standing around, inspecting every inch and corners on several rooms, making sure none of us are ill and appropriate for the homeless to rest temporarily.

During the previous week, she dragged a new worker—one of her workers—by the hair and soon on the spot because one homeless man got sick from her sickness, sneezing and coughing—imprudent and offhand incomplete assigned chore caused siege and cyst, a lack of self-care.

Apparently, and allegedly, someone didn’t rinse their hands clean to be contaminated-free.

Sooner than later, others got sick, earning a badge of swollen poxes, wet-bubbling cough alongside on feverish symptoms. Nuns, including me, stepped away in the kitchens for a bit until kitchen porters and exterminators sanitized the entire area.

For spare doctors handed medications, though medications and bills costed higher.

Needless to say, the worker got fired and is replaced with one of the nuns who tended to the injured.

Everything went well the next day.

Next day, however was excruciatingly deliberate—perfect for me to sweep and dust devoid someone detecting me, like a hot iron drilled inside my back skull. I could hardly function in normal pace, the eyes kept bugging me.

I intended to stay away. In fact, I intended to stay away from a ten feet pole of a sin—wash my body, if I had to, purifying my hands with Holy Water if I need to.

More insane as Mrs. Rivers’ preference to a spoiled and spotless environment, I’d rather have a less polluted atmosphere than a soiled one.

Screams and giggles interrupted when Adrian emerge in the crowded scene on a busied street, unloading boxes from the truck and settled them on the side street.

Estimation of seven girls gawked at him, producing little giggles and exchanged fast whispers to one another.

They’ve been gathering on the sideline for a short while, but Adrian come into sight, all hell set loose.

Girls, as I predicted, raced towards him, no matter how high the shoes they’re wearing or their wardrobes displayed much skin.

“Adrian, we missed you so much!” the girl in denim shirt and sky blue shorts, she paced her cowboy boots and launched herself to him a tight-locked hug.

“Last night was so fun!” the girl in brown skirt and beige top exclaimed, closely matching or correlating his aesthetics.

“What party?” Adrian’s eyes squinted.

“Duh! The one at Skyler’s house last night! It’s like a water theme park, like Disneyland!”

He side-eyed her in disapproval. “I don’t think Disneyland has a water park,” he pointed out, sounding offended.

“Oh, have you been in a last party at Skyler’s the other day? I promise you this one is going to be better,” one girl in sandy-blonde hair suggested brightly.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been occupied,” he explained.

“So, I was thinking,” another girl in red interrupted, strutting closer to Adrian in slow, sensuous walk. “Maybe we could apply for college together. What’s your major going to be? Mine is political science.”

Adrian shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“It’d be interesting if we’re classmates,” the girl enticed. “We could be studying political science, so that we could be co-workers in a law school and catch the bad guy. You could be my boss, if you catch my drift.”

Then she giggled.

Fingernails pinched the foam and dented, as my view turned red.

Oh, that Lucifer’s spawn, I could’ve sworn I saw hideous scaly wings and spiked horns melted behind from a facade on his glow-feathered wings, and a smile carried to his rosy lips grinned to a devilishly sinister, welcoming me—luring me into the dark and cold plate of hell’s layered hole.

That’s the description I could muster.

Each time I brought contemplation, a final yet awful conclusions to be drawn, his smile reappears, his laughter…his veiny and muscled—

Snap out of it, Eva. Thinking of a man’s flesh is a sin!

Shaking my head, I resumed the challenging obligations assigned to me. Thankfully, I don’t stand a chance of communication. I couldn’t survive, not a single minute alone with someone. Conversations weren’t really my forte.

Oh! How I loathed him and his charmed, sardonic grin!

Oh! If I could rip my hair locks to shreds and locked it aside at a metal box.

My skin ran hot like someone shoved me inside the hot chamber.

My head aflame as if it was on fire, as if I placed my flimsy, numbingly-minded head inside the overheated oven, doused in gasoline—drenched in madness and welcomed death itself—had the devils dancing beneath my feet and insanity.

It could be a sign of sin haunting me, haunting and take revenge at my attempt on speaking terms with him—this Adrian. This cursed, spoiled individual!

The son of the devil was born—hidden objectives with hidden intentions obscured behind Lucifer’s beauty and altruistic motives. Like devil, like spawn.

No amount of water would repel this wretched omen.

To think he’s special…as if he is.

Girls flocked him left, right and center, not a single girl had a dull moment with a man like him—gossiped, giddied, fighting for his attention, the noises—the damsel-in-distress noises they produced—it irked me how women flipped their demeanor, their intelligence to dumb it down for this devilish, unholy and twisted, sinful man.