Page 108 of Eyes Like Angel
“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, likeCoca-Cola,Sprite, PepsiandMountain 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.
