Page 58 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Eva

The set with a reenactment sparked a lengthened discussion for next year was here, all thanks to my little lie I set up for a generous contribution.

At a dark struck hour, girls were uncoordinated, speculating and debating which one is going to play which.

Some girls suggested Romano to play as Cain, but his dark-shaded eyes looked too good-natured.

Some suggested Adrian, who was taller than Romano, and how he was so strong he clinched Romano’s arm down like a rag doll, which they find it conveniently and conventionally attractive.

Cain and Abel, sons of Adam and Eve, are the historical figures, though not as well-known as Moses or Abraham or Jesus Christ. In a story of Cain and Abel is based in hatred jealousy, he killed his own brother in the end, and convinced himself as Abel, and discarded his former name Cain.

What was that word Micah taught me? Gaslighting? Yes, Cain gaslighted himself to believe he’s the one and only Cain. But God won’t be fooled. He sees all, He knows all. None would match to His godly abilities.

I didn’t like how my lies overturned as a profound recommendation, but it’s enough for the audience to disperse from drama, but Emily.

Emily wasn’t convinced about the play I made up.

Half of the time, I was ongoing with my tedious undertaking, on getting the metal trays done and tucked away in the cabinets.

Micah told me about how both Adrian and Romano were being heavily discussed in Fort Heaven, by the ladies of Fort Heaven, even girls who have boyfriends as and mothers who have husbands, dying to see a shining spectacular play of the tragic brothers from a biblical verse.

Despite my lying suggestion for an upcoming play, they decided to raise a competition on the sidelines to make a best costume for Adrian and Romano, to see which costume fits best for both men.

Some girls I knew were seamstresses, others were costumes from online.

Micah told me about shopping spree online, and how he randomly noted that girls would spend everything they wanted.

Deep down I wish I could do it, too, but the Divine family considered my wishful thinking as a devil’s work.

They kept telling me I don’t need “useless” belongings to have a better life, and all I have is the dark attic, which I’m shameful to confess, I tend to rely on my sole instinct on locking myself up in shame, to bring out such a lie that is considered a dirty sin.

A dirty sin, Sister Joanne said vehemently to me as she struck me, leaving a purple bruise on my cheek. It took weeks for my purple bruise to heal and kept my head low, not speaking to a single soul.

Nuns cleansed the parking area and collected the donations andtaken the currency inside the church as the girls gossiped all over the Divine Miracles Church, overhearing the other five girls chatted about the idea of a dramatic stage play, painting their nails, chewing neon pink and blue bubblegum, and casually sitting down on the chairs in an uncivil manner to a point its oddly relaxing.

“Why couldn’t I come up with an idea like that?”

“I wish that idea is mine!”

“Who made that idea up anyway?”

“It’s that girl…what’s her name again?”

“No one knows her. Of course she wanted to take a spotlight for herself. Talk about selfishness.”

“Just who is she, anyway?”

“I heard it’s a nun who made the suggestion.”

“No way!”

“Which nun?”

“The one who always had a sad look on her face, and it’s fucking funny and pathetic to look at, but it gets boring overtime.”

“I bet she does her doe-eyed that so she could bed them at the same time.”

“Ugh, no fair!”

My fists blanched at their initial opinions laid against me. Anger wasn’t in my agenda for today—as the Divine family reminded. Anger is for the weak and evil, Sister Joanne said. Father Divine agreed with her statement and pointed out how anger makes everyone uglier and drenched in black sin.

This angry fiend was closer to reach me, but an all-known testament flew within test my emotions with broken temper was a waste.

God will help me, I’m sure, I thought with glimmering hope.

God can heal anything.

The girls kept on talking, forming another debate, this time it’s about their budget and reputation for producing costumes and paintings for the background.

I was no artist or a passionate soul, but I want to know what’s like to touch colors and paint from a palette.

The Divine Miracles Church was in renovation with a new paint on a dome ceiling with a painter from Italy—at least what I heard from Father Divine’s quiet enthusiasm.

Sister Joanne thought it was stupid to waste money when he should’ve put his money into her bank account and had it spent on endless shopping for herself and Sister Jane, wasting until their heart’s content.

Their voices were rising higher when they debated who the best costume designer be for next year’s participation in reenactment.

“No, I am!”

“No, I am the best! I’ve won costume design in town six years in a row.”

“Yeah, thanks to your dad’s money. Honestly, you’re a spoiled brat.”

“Take that back, you stupid bitch!”

“No!”

At once they screamed louder, and my body frame froze at their outstanding shrills and aggressive hair pulls, plucking each other bald. I had to get away. Their arguments suffocated me.

Wandering at the back doors, I headed towards the kitchen to clean, but Micah locked the kitchen, leaving me cumbersome.

As I went through a long, vacant passage, I recalled the moments that took place, shaped in this sensation I hadn’t felt, his lips, his roaming hands and his towering height pinning himself against me, heavenly and blessed. But he’s a man who doesn’t let religion and laws bound him.

I sighed, a cold sweat slid; my head from the veil dripped in sweat on my scalp. My head spun in dizziness as my belly ached in thirst, drawn in a long beastly growl.

Then I remember Mrs. Rivers handed me the keys for this area, since the Rivers Foundations were still ongoing. Twisting the key, I entered, flicking the flashlight on, and searched for the leftovers. I opened the fridge, which thankfully it doesn’t come with an alarm.

Flicking the flashlight off, I scanned over the numerous selections on the shelves, packed in colorful coordinated delicacies.

While the food options were displayed on each shelf, fruits and vegetables were tucked in, including drinks, carbonated and non-carbonated, bottled waters.

I chose to grab the water, but, my fingertips itched at the newer options for me to explore.

The sodas, like Coca-Cola , Sprite, Pepsi and Mountain Dew —diet and sugar-processed labels—were organized.

Vegetables and other foods looked fried and crispy; my taste buds could feel the tenderness tingling, watering, knees weakening at the wondrous sight.

Not one minute, my stomach was growling like an unhinged beast, dying to feast.

Like Eve, she ate the apple out of curiosity, taken from the snake’s coil and ate its juicy tenderness of the red apple.

I wondered what transpires if I choose to eat every delicacy in the fridge?

It would be impossible, but it’s possible to get caught red-handed.

Would the church, and the Divine family, banish me, too?

Like how God banished Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden if they’ve witness my secrecy, a notion scattered in my oblivious mind it shouldn’t be placed in the first place?

Or will I be crucified, bearing a cross to bear and have me pin down on the cross, watching my little ravens pluck me like a silly rosebud I am?

But there were no sticky notes with someone’s name found, or warnings to not eat somebody else’s food, which means I could eat it, but what if someone who is as precisely meticulous as Mrs. Rivers is in charge of the fridge?

Micah told me once she liked to inspect all things and verdicts whether it’s passable or not.

Cringing, my hand shaken as I extended outwards, flinching, falling back then outstretched at the glowing fridge.

For my stomach was coiling in an unyielding pain…I must do it.

Would I be able to forgive myself if I chose selfishness, for the sake for my stomach pain to wither away, only to fill a temporary reward?

But the thing is, I’ve never gotten a reward.

And so…an unhinged decision came to a close, and the opportunity has offered itself in.

Briskly, I snatched two water bottles and drink to my heart’s content.

Then carbonated soda and drained it in my stomach quick, a bubbling liquid layered my thirst, quenching and gulping at its fizzled taste.

As for the food, I gathered the sliced piece of raspberry and lime cobbler—after gathering the small bowl and silverware—and forced the dessert swallowed down in my throat in swift motion.

Tangy and sweet, as expected. I consumed the portions of honey-baked ham and hard boiled eggs, even cold soup, never bothered to warm it up in an advanced microwave Mrs. Rivers donated to amplify the church’s contribution to aid others in pacify.

I didn’t want to get in trouble if someone heard me using the microwave—Micah taught me how to use the kitchen devices—and yell at me.

Trouble was the last thing I need. The soul of my hunger required more. It’s not enough. I ate pieces of one pretzel-shaped doughnut with sprinkled in sugar and frosted vanilla whip cream and shoved it harder in my wide mouth, stuffing and stuffing until my heart is in content.

After minutes of consuming without hiding in the dark, I swallowed the last pieces and let it melt into me, leaving the place cleaned up and throw it at the dumpster with my usage of carbonated soda cans and wraps, and plastics, then rearranged the food and bottled drinks in the fridge, hoping no one would notice the difference, hoping Micah would understand.

Hoping Mrs. Rivers will still be as jolly as an angel when being distracted by her taste of men.

Wiping my lips and face with a wet napkin, I cleaned myself up well before heading out with a placid look contorted, as if I never went and stole the food content.

I rushed back, then cleaned my last remaining on my last hour chores from the charity event before heading upstairs. The girls by then were gone, being shooed by Sister Lucia.

When heading back to the stairs after entering the door at the far right corner, I headed back to the dark attic, only to find more sweets and salty meat and crisped fries placed on a white plate, and atop of the quilted blanket I had, the one item that brings me joy and solitude.

“ Eat ,” it said on a tiny paper.

Up until now, every night before I go to sleep or waking up in sunrise, discovering the food on a plate and a drink, a mysterious stranger has brought in.

The food I had gotten in most days were in the mornings, and not at a dark hour.

And at night, I would often get a piece of gift laid atop of my quilted blanket, a rare gift where this mysterious stranger has given without hesitation—it cost a fortune, a sight to behold, with such a small gift swelled a big lump in my heart.

At this nightly hour, inside a small velvet box, it was a bracelet, a crystallized bracelet with colorful gemstones in swirls of cobalt, crimson, green and amethyst with golden chain and a small cross at the center.

Consuming the food, I picked the gift up and stared at it in awe.

Up until now, I still couldn’t figure out who it was.