Page 6 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)
Eva
The nocturnal hour of Thanksgiving was longer than I expected—a droning process after the procession in a church, girls worn in their regular outfits, in their jeans and skirts with stockings beneath it, alongside of holiday sweaters and cardigans except for me, in nun clothing.
Some staff already left; friends and acquaintances said their farewells and walked off. I was the last person to leave from the premise. Eerie noise erupted on the air ducts; sunset has darkened beyond the gothic stained-glass windows.
The clock struck at six.
On the horizon, the chill had set in. In the church, it’s colder, colder than the icy water or a raindrop plopping down from the ceiling.
Velvet gloves didn’t help; silent breeze stung the flesh inside, disrupting every source of senses.
Heater by the air condition malfunctioned, hence why the priest asked the folks to wear thick and wool sweaters for shiver to subside and cozy pants to stride and shoes to embark and capable of resistance from slip.
Tragic as it was, everyone has no objections to wearing a knitted sweater. Sweaters were bright and colorful, despite its lackluster.
Last week, since the priest suggested kindly of the sweater, someone from the youth group suggested everyone should wear a knitted sweater.
Whoever wears the ugliest looking sweater wins.
Everyone bet it was Danny who’d take up the first place, due to his taste in fashion style.
Some said it’s Avery or Denise, but, I’m no expert in clothing choices. Not that I have any.
I remained clueless, watching by the sidelines; remain garbed in my religious habit.
Most young people conversed about a Thanksgiving party they set up for tonight.
Monitoring everyone’s move, I overheard an overlapped conversation back and forth between peers, deafening in my ears.
Interested in the conversation, I listened in carefully while tucking the materials away in the cupboard.
One girl talked about the boy she liked in the group, but never specific which boy, since all boys, in a total of twenty, are in attendance, as for girls, were more in an estimation of thirty-five.
I kept an eye on them playing and acting silly, like little children, despite being mature grownups, getting prizes and all.
When they all go home, they gave each other a hug and a goodbye before quitting the building, anticipation for a hearty meal and a soothing drink to endure of a befalling season.
I was eavesdropping to their lively conversation.
One was going at her grandparents, dropping off her grandmother’s favorite meal; the other was planning on surprising her mother’s birthday with a large bear and a fluffy sweater, made in sheep’s wool produced in fine quality.
Both are best friends, I never knew their names, or be recognizant, since I’ve been cooped up in the dimmed shelter.
My fingertips prickled at a numbing weather, as I took a deep breath, trying to steady my composure, either from a chilled weather in a time of owl, or my hunger seeped and grinded the layered coils inside, or a shudder in my chest. My thoughts consumed by a minute in the absence of requiring food.
I hadn’t been eaten all day, but, needless to say, I behaved myself well for tonight.
I did what Father Divine asked, what he required from me to ease his tensions and high-blood pressure.
My organs curled and vibrated and grinded in boiling motion, drowned in a hungrier state since the days were my teeth gnawed at the last leftovers I stole at someone’s household.
Perhaps a grand reward might come in my way, since I did my part correctly.
Heading by the exit, a pair of eyes darted on my back head.
As I pivoted behind me, there’s no one to look at me except for the girl with hefty rings and studded silver piercings on her earlobes and her hair streaks in stripes of rosy pink and whitish-blonde mingled in her former brown shade, resembling like a tasteful ice cream flavor.
Her nails were in the same color scheme, bright and neon, more like.
And her eyes shone, as if she’s unafraid to display her true self to her sleeve, letting it bleed and proud of its bleeding.
She’s neither wearing a holiday sweatshirt or a Thanksgiving theme with sewn turkey or autumn leaves.
She was in all black and leather, in chunky boots to walk on.
Crossing her leg over the other, she fixated onto me, as my mind filled with uncertainties and calculations, filled with worst case scenarios I was commencing to make a dash and fall, but she sat, observing at my movements and motions over my blank and weary countenance.
Her almond-shaped eyes glinted at me under her pink and blue glittering eyeshadow and her strong eyeliner, pointed and dramatic flair alongside of tiny specks of white-silver glittered skeleton heads over her eyelids, and shot a tiny smile on her matted lips, her black-and-white stripes on her knee high socks were striking and complemented to the chunky boots with studded spikes and thick buckles, which was a glimpse before she headed to the opposite direction.
My soul leapt.
Her chunky platform boots stomped and thudded loudly, heading towards my direction instead. As she got closer, she was taller than my actual height, eyeing me from top to bottom as my shoulders sank a bit.
She lifted the necklace up for a closer inspection.
“Cute necklace,” she commented
My lips parted, but shut it quick.
“What’s your name?” she asked, scanning the glinting amethyst stones.
“Eva,” I said, not knowing on lengthening the brief exchange.
She huffed. “You’re a weird girl, Eva, but you’re nice, so does your necklace. See you later,” she said, in a casual tone as she shoved the church doors.
Throughout my lifetime, she was the first person to compliment me.
***
Around the nearest time before seven o’clock, I went straight to a residential spot of Fort Heaven, where the paradise welcomes you—a motto for this quaint and provincial side somewhere in America, In a compacted neighborhood, house after house, were closely and eerily identical, and quaint, adorned in simplicity and fraudulence, like these settings I’ve set foot into weren’t authentic, like in a feverish dream entrapped forever.
As I trudged on block to block, hanging with the rest of the Fort Heaven, a three-story pearl-white house that belonged to the religious family who are known as the Divine family, their house stood tall and alone atop on the highest hill towards the end with hillside steps in between red, white and blue wildflowers on a meadow grass behind the golden and black metal gates.
The Divine family were as prestigious as the people can recall and picture.
Both cleansed in divination and a spectacle of aura that draws people in.
The only thing that a Divine household differentiate from other households is their residential spot.
Theirs was a slight taller, grander and wider, designed in an old-fashioned Victorian house, pointed roofs, but with a twist in a modernized render.
Windows were colorful stained glass with the ordinary two-story red-bricked houses were entirely decked with a transparent glass, and the residency resided atop of a slopped hill and barricaded gates.
Once upon a time, it used to a cottage house, or a similar design, red-bricked rooftop with white and black wood paint, and a wooden fence surrounded with lush trees and became almost industrial.
An immaculate sight to behold as the neighbors grew with envy, something I can’t comprehend, grandiose and gaudy, artificially immaculate despite all attended to the Divine Miracles Church every Sunday.
Who on earth would have a whole ivory house?
The Divine family, apparently, it’s luxurious I questioned if it was real or not.
The house resembled more like a doll house, and the life-sized dolls were living in it.
According to the neighbors, the last rumor I overheard was a member of the Divine family demanded to have an extension of privacy and spacious area to settle then miscellaneous items and junk they’ve tried to make their place immaculate.
As I approached the illuminating residency, I recited the words that the family given me. Never enter at the back door. For what reason, they never trusted me entering the back door.
My hand balled to a fist, fighting against the vibration in my gloved hand, and tapped on the ivory door with my knuckles.
I prayed they wouldn’t perceive a faint volume with my knuckles stuffed into my gloved material.
Coming here to a Divine household, has entered and overclouded its, pressing its weight in.
No answer came.
So I knocked again, this time with a golden lion door knocker, and it pounded it louder, the material weighed a ton.
The door creaked, revealing a young woman behind a wide door frame, a young girl clad in a tight turtleneck sleeve workout jacket, and tight black leggings with studded with fake sequenced diamonds lined up on the side and latest sports shoes she wanted and gotten to purchase online.
Her eyes gave a look at my direction from head to toe.
“Ma, the nun is here,” Sister Jane shouted boringly, and given no second thoughts to slam the door on my face.
She liked doors, closed doors. She hated visitors, so she’d slam them anytime she gets.
I supposed I was late, which is why she slammed the door on my face.
“What did I say? I told you to not fucking slam the door, dear,” an older woman’s shout muffled behind the wooden frame.
“It’s just a door,” Sister Jane retaliated.
“That door cost a fortune,” an older woman remarked. “Open the fucking door and close the properly! Now!”
Beneath the lion head door knocker, the thick and bold scriptures engraved on a gold metal plate.
Ephesians 4:2-3: