Page 57 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

Around seven in the evening, after lifting and brisk walking around the ground floor at the church for the charity program, a knock came at my bedroom door.

“Michael, someone’s here to see you,” Mom notified in a merry mood.

Frustratingly disrupted, I groaned from my deep nap, rubbing my face with both hands. Using the remote control, I clicked the lamp by the night stand on and adjusted it to dimness, not wishing for a brightest light to flash on my sleepy eyes.

Did she get another package again? Oh boy, she never stops her addiction.

“ I can’t I’m busy,” I responded, tossing the blanket aside and had my body turned, wanting no unwarranted visitors disrupted on my beauty sleep which keeps me from stressing the fuck out.

A noise banged. “Michael, get the fuck out of your bedroom! Now, like, as in now! Hurry the fuck up!”

The high level of stress she overloaded on me came.

Controlling my breathing, I paused by falling asleep again, but no to avail.

She slammed my bedroom door with her fist that created a harsh bang jumped straight to my heart and nervous system, angry because she couldn’t break the electric lock I install, angry because she couldn’t figure out the pin code solely for me to enter and have my own privacy.

Nevertheless, I put on my red and gold-accentuated robe, and had myself dragging downstairs by force, only to see Amelia—Emily—at my doorstep, with an ivory box contained in plain frosted cookies I despised, which had me guessing whether Emily is a vegan by heart, too.

Leaning on a doorway, my eyes flicked once more onto the box of cheap-looking cookies, even Marceline will think these cookies look like someone took a white shit dumped in a toilet bowl and fried it by the oven and had an overly bright-colored frosting over the baked pieces and call it a day.

These cookies will insult her greatly , I thought, judging.

“Hey, Adrian, I was stopping by to give you this,” Emily explained, her dark eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said, setting the cookies behind me by the table stand near me.

“I was just wondering if I could spend time with you tonight,” she suggested, adjusting her tube top and a mini skirt.

I flicked the dirt off of my fingernails, checking them again. “Doing what?”

My eyes were lulling to sleep by the time she’s getting her word in.

“Well, you know, fun stuff,” she insisted, squeezing her boobs inward, her tube top was slipping bit by bit.

My eyes squinted at hers in skepticism. “Sorry, dude , I had a long day today, and I can’t entertain you.”

Her lips pouted, sticky lip gloss. “Really?”

Repulsed, I didn’t answer her this time. My genuine hospitality has been switched off.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, her boobs squeezed in with her arms, trying to look all cutesy like a high school girl.

My lips curled in grimace. “Look, you came here at a wrong time. I’m having my friends coming over.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah, like my buddies. I haven’t seen them in a while,” I reasoned, deadpanned.

“Do you mean Marcy and Eva,” she insisted again, provoking.

My heart froze at her words. No one has ever called Marceline “Marcy” except for me, and most people called Eva by Sister Eva, as if Emily could say these names freely, like she personally knew them all too well.

I didn’t like it one bit. If Marceline was here, she’d punch Emily by the throat, for Eva, she’d try to avoid Emily as much as she can—that I could imagine.

The way Emily whispered in Eva’s ear after Eva made a lie about how Romano and I are playing charades and insisting on playing as Cain and Abel. Not knowing what, I decided to jump ahead on a deep end.

“What did you say to her, by the way?”

Her brows furrowed. “Say to whom?”

The rage in my eyes directed. “Sister Eva.”

Her body flinched and coiled stiffly at Eva’s name. “I thought you’re talking about Marcy.”

Shifted my eyes onto her once more from looking away, saying, “What did you say to Sister Eva?”

She let out a forceful laugh. “I was saying a stupid joke, Adrian. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Refused, I pressed on. “That does not look like a joke. I saw your face, you weren’t laughing. I don’t like when the nuns were harassed by other nuns.”

Giddied, she said, “You’ve been watching me? I’m flattered—”

“Tell me,” I ordered, my height towering over her. “What did you say to her?”

Emily took a big gulp before composing herself with ease. “All I said was that she’s doing a good job.”

My body clinched, the heat on the back of my head rose, buzzing in white heat. I didn’t want to hear her excuses to be overlooked, recalling her darkened expression she shot at Eva.

“Fine, I’m out. This conversation kinda made me bored to death,” I said to her, without watching her eagerness died down.

As I advanced over to the entrance, grabbing the door handle, she grabbed my forearm. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you! Please stay!”

“Say it now. Or I’m telling Mom about how you harassed another nun in the church,” I warned her. “She won’t hesitate.”

For some reason, bitterness left in my tongue when I advocate regarding to Mom’s aggressive nature.

Despite not liking Mom’s presence and her brutal force of nature, but getting someone into trouble and being put into a spot by her was good dodge to my benefit.

Emily huffed, her smile died down.

Her posture posed a threat each time I said a word.

“Why can’t you focus on me for once, instead of other people? All I said to her was I didn’t like the way she immediately of that idea. It was a great idea, actually. But I should’ve thought of the play on Cain and Abel first for the following year. What is she to you, anyway?”

My jaw ticked, forcing myself to face this falsified saint as I wasn’t satisfied at her dodging the question.

Soon, she gave up. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

She took a few steps backwards before fleeing on the grand stairs.

Her effort rendered useless.

Minutes later, by the time Emily drove off, Mom exited the front entrance to where I was at, scanning the scenery. “Where did she go?”

My shoulders bopped. “Who knows? By the way, she dropped off the cookies just for you.”

Mom shook her head. “Michael, you should be ashamed of yourself for scaring Emily away. I can’t tell how much you’ve been such a disappointment these past few weeks,” is all she said and slammed a flimsy door at her private yoga room.

In the end, along with my frustrations, the ivory box of frosted cookies has been tossed out into the trash bin.