Page 48 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

It all started with him, randomly helping out the church staff, then it lead to him meeting the head of the church—the priest, precisely—bursting into the church doors like he owned the place, like he was walking at a bar.

He helped the priest by organizing the decorations and materials from a Sunday Mass, then as he was done aiding, Romano was negotiating—willing to give an idea to the priest with a band.

At first, the priest disliked the idea, but with Romano’s persuasion, the priest was convinced—of blending the church’s choir with Romano’s band.

By then, Romano’s a certified member of the holy gathering the priest set up to anyone those who appeared welcoming and come with whole-heartedly sincerity.

I’ve seen him a couple of times, scurrying in and out of the church, sometimes at the Fort Heaven’s town square, he serenaded with his guitar during the holiday gathering, but that was several years ago.

He’s the outgoing type; loved small conversations could turn into something big and memorable—enjoyable, even.

The life of a party, as people described him as.

The life of a party, a social butterfly, a party animal—the list goes on and on.

Nevertheless, Romano’s confident and fearless.

Every day, he roamed around town, on every corner, compiling each and every single of the bystanders, either a clique or a loner, Romano captured everyone’s heart.

All reminiscent him, exchanged whispers, ongoing regarding to Romano’s cordial and easy-going nature.

That is until he disappeared without a word and came back here two years later. He wasn’t supposed to be here. In fact, he shouldn’t have.

Rumor has it, Fort Heaven wasn’t the life for him, and so, he made no second guesses on departing—a best course of action, a benefit to drive him to see the unexpected ambitions and a taste of life outside of the town.

Didn’t he already say his goodbyes? Didn’t he notify?

Didn’t he packed up and departure for the rainy and luxurious life in a big city London?

I’m unfamiliar of other provinces or country besides here, but I imagine travel beyond horizons, upon a million miles ahead, across the land and sky, sounded scary and overwhelming, but Romano faced on without fear.

Fort Heaven has always been my home—a stilled house, forever hushed.

It never occur to me how much there’s life outside the constricted bubble in a provincial town.

Meaning the life outside of Fort Heaven has million ways of endless possibilities and untasted information—food, culture and way of life, party and social life included.

To which I knew none and tasted none.

I found myself weakened at the spot, stagnant and numb.

Useless and incompetent, thinking all my efforts was diminutive and meaningless.

Then again, my living situation and “achievements” I’ve done were nothing new or revolutionary or heavenly striking.

Now he came back, as if he never left.

Romano’s flicked his darkish brown eyes across the environment, inspecting to see if town’s been updated, and redirected it towards the girls—rather women—who had larger assets than mine, voluptuous and bubbly and healthy, for I am a scrawny and pale skeleton, strolling, or floating through life.

Though I’m no skin and bones; I’ve ate plenty in recent times, and my complexion somewhat improved yet still sickly because of malnutrition I’ve been deprived.

Because what I’ve been fed in recent days, I’m unsure if a slight improvement materialized.

The mirror in the church’s attic was unreadable—all scratch and blurred, residue from frigid weather, smothered in cloudy-like appearance, hence why I couldn’t see myself better.

Besides, the mirror I’ve had was outdated—hasn’t polished before I was born.

I assumed the priest left the vintage mirror somewhere water leaked and thus, it stained.

My visions are perfect, but the mirror was uncertain, hence my confidence waned down the drain, like the mirror was telling me I was nothing, but to serve purpose to a world where it didn’t acknowledge me, or a part of living soul strive through and through.

Girls left with wonder in their eyes and smiles dimpled their cheeks, leaning in to what Romano has to share.

Not knowing what he said, all girls burst to a sharp laughter.

Even some girl’s boyfriends were standing by laughing alongside, but gripped their girls’ waist very securely; golden rings glinted on their fourth finger and tight-wide grins set in place, going along with Romano’s joke, whatever it was.

Next to the women he laid his eyes on, I appeared like a little girl, a little girl in a tattered dress holding a broken, tattered doll, watching from the distance, relying on my eyes peering, judging every adult’s own language and sound, watching him smile and laugh like he often did with people he enjoyed conversing to.

In comparison to women, women wore skin-tight dress, some street and trendy clothing, surrounding him, at any chances they get.

They’re livelier than a herd in a farm, and I was deadlier than a corpse stifled and shoved down into the wet soil and coffin.

I couldn’t help but to drown in jealousy.

I halted, pausing in at the thought of this…feeling…I’ve had. Nearing on throwing myself on the tower.

Jealousy.

Jealousy wasn’t supposed to exist, as long as I live, while manifesting.

Jealousy is a sin, one of the seven deadly sins, and I shouldn’t condone its emotion, the very thing that’s been driving me, leading me to an explicit accomplice of reckless and thoughtless over trifling things that meant not to serve a meaningful purpose but to create destruction—a destruction, one after another, just like a domino, falling piece by piece, or a shattered glass trampled down from a high-domed ceiling, shoved or released from the verging thread.

Like Lucifer, or any biblical, an opposition to holy biblical figures, they were casted, defeated, only remembrance they received was a bad reputation, passed down like a curse to tell like a children story if any children cross the boundary they shouldn’t have set and enticed to cross a thorny line.

Or how Cain displayed jealousy towards Abel he led himself to fratricide even he convinced himself, a new identity as Abel in the end.

I shouldn’t act so…jealous…because it’s a childish thing to do, to be driven by.

People’s success, or an excellent life they have, or people they’re close to, those who have neither aspects are often driven by wishes, wishes flipped into jealousy, ever so green becoming unwelcoming and hazardous when not maintaining its own composure—an invisible monster set loose, an invisible monster birth, accompanied by the devil’s whisper.

That’s how I came to learn cruel aspects in reality.

Sighing, snapping myself back to actuality, I focused the task at firsthand, reflexing the sharp grip in my bosom to loosen; it strengthened the grip until I’m breathless, airless for my lungs and mind to be eclipsed by fog, lost in a maze, doomed to produce a new error.

If I were to describe what I’m processing—maybe not in the terms of jealousy—I hoped for someone who loved me, regardless how my appearance projected, where I don’t have much access to cosmetics or how they fashioned themselves in, someone who could give me a little piece of heaven, like how the other women got.

Then, I thought of…him.

When I thought of Adrian, I no longer associated peace with puffed clouds in the clear sky, or clear water in the river, or a crystallized mirror, shined like a rare jewel reflected back to me.

Silly notions had come and go, but this year became constant regardless of numerous attempts to sink with easy influence.

Adrian Rivers, who I haven’t seen in a couple of hours, assuming he’s occupied in his personal life, during a break from providing service to the homeless.

“How are you?” his sly tone sent a goosebumps shivering down onto my fragile arms.

I’m fine…I’m fine…I’m fine…

Romano summoned himself before me, greeting me with boyish smug and lightened eyes and his features grown mature, but his cheeks were a slight round, not chubby. His thick, coal-black hair dyed back because his hair used to be in a few grey strands.

“I’m…alright.” I said through gritted teeth.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

“Are you sure? You look so sick when you see me. Are you having a stomach ache?” Romano’s thick, loud accent came, cordial and affable. His thin lashes fluttered, forming a cheeky smile at me. And his breath faintly reeked in strong alcohol.

My jaw slightly clenched.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

“I’m sure,” my tone stiffened at my reply, trying my best to make eye-contact, but gave a short glance, which is gaze darted intensely.

“You know, I was thinking about you, when I went to London, seeing the beautiful cathedrals and it reminded me of you—the appreciation of beauty and…all that.”

My fists clenched.

Lungs constricted as palms sweating, unable to clear my head or create a response to Romano’s unforeseen encounter.

This is volatile, in a sense I want no part in shenanigans, automatically beginning to feel sick and twisted at his cordial manner.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine—

“I’m sure you have, sir,” I said to him sternly, tired eyes hardened at him, but kept a tight-lipped smile in just a split second.

“Sir? You can’t be serious, Eden.”

I looked at Romano in utter disbelief.

Eden wasn’t my name.

My head was reeling, rotated, and spun in a sickly speed. The world whirled around me was getting blurry, my hearing went hazy and buzzing, like it was dimming and lowering until I couldn’t relieve in sound, and overshadowed by a pitched ring, drowning out the noise—his noise.

“Aww, come on, Eden, don’t be like that, we’re good friends, don’t you recall?” he said, cackling. “It’s me, Romano. I’m your best guy friend, remember!? I can’t believe you’ve forgotten about me!”