Page 66 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Eva

My body was in pain, and I’m confined in my own grieving solitude.

The pain rushed, coursed in my bruised veins, blood swathed on me like red flowing silk, bleeding and coursing, unable to move or process of what’s occurred within me or within the surroundings I was in.

Jabbed and bruised, the forest bleed red, so does the leather on the backseat.

My skirt has bled and an amethyst crucifix on my chest, painted in red, soon turning brown.

I felt useless. Everything was my fault. I didn’t know what else to do. My voice was unfound, my throat bobbed, a sharp, dry pain surged into me, unable to grasp or steadied myself in a tangled end.

At the backseat, I laid still. At the backseat, I was useless and lifeless, numb like a purchased doll being taken out from a wrapped gifted box, ready to pull me, throw me and tainted me and tear me limb to limb until a new pretty doll comes along.

At the backseat, I was paralyzed. Paralyzed with unstable emotions swirling inside me, not knowing how long I could endure it. Endure it all.

Limbs were worn out and fragmented, scratches tallied my flesh, I wished to cry this pain for a release, for a good erasure to measure and balance my sanity to be placed back again.

I dreamt of being back at the dark attic at the church, trying to convince myself it was all a dream, that a dream resided in the mist and it would puff away. The attic compacted in old usage and decorations, where I thought of the objects as a part of me like family.

The forest was a maze I couldn’t escape, even the vehicle bumped on the side of the road, unsure where I am. Unsure of my decisions—of my past decisions—was it really all worth it?

Sometimes the closeness in the dark attic was the safest place for me, enclosed me like a blanket from its wooden walls and creaking, soaked floors. Swirled of cobwebs and white moths swirled around the light on the window.

I missed the wooden dark attic and the moths, the safest thing that’s close to home, a comely place for me to be tucked in and tangible for my muddled consciousness to be altered, an appeasing concept for my mental wounds to heal.

A white flash from the car’s headlights, I saw a flash of glowing blond hair, crowning his head like halo, and dark-shaded hues peering down at me, with a glowing smile, and the golden basked of sun glowed atop his head like halo.

And his smile—his sweet genuine smile—savored the look on me, on my beaten face.

How could I look to an angelic face with a shame on my face? When my reputation was nothing, but stagnation? A cursed leads to me and embraced me like a chilling snowstorm, waiting for me to die and filled my dead heart with shame and blackened soul.

A blackened soul, a tainted one, I should’ve been better, but I was far less capable. I let my stinging wounds lick me; the skin bled and stripped part of me.

Even in the House of God, nobody was present except for a ghostly wind. A ghostly wind caressed me like a song, singing its sweet, empty words to delve; a flimsy familiar consolation shielded me to swim in.

Water frightened me, but the blood seeped in deeper.

In my laying position, I stayed frozen; my rib cage bruised and limped, air choked and drowned.

My chafed lips parted, yearning to call out. The blinding spot across from me, the windshield is glossed with bright light, unable to take a good glimpse of my savior, except for the soft outlines of his dark hoodie, steering the wheel.

I parted my lips again, my voice croaked, broken and breathless, I yearned to call out, with a bruised and blood-stained hand stretched out before me, reaching for the heaven—this heaven, this heavenly savior before me. Who was this person escorting me to the light of heaven?

The breathy and guttural gasp drew in; the hot blood gurgled and choked me, unable to sound it out. The ribcage pounded as I drew my wet breath inward, a pain hadn’t ceased. My soundless breath caught in, and my palms sweated, collided in a mixture of someone’s blood, caked my fingers.

A fading vision once brightened me, collapsed to an emerging darkness, pretending it’s the dark attic has welcomed me back like I was part of the family, a family in which is inanimate, a space of familiarity, pretending I was falling from a bright sky and darkness plunged in willingly.

I needed it back.

My heart felt heavy and scorned.

But as it turned out, in this recent time of events, for the past few weeks, I’m the stupidest of them all.