Page 119 of Eyes Like Angel
“And I have you. I can’t risk this, Eva.” My fingers combed through her silken locks, her brownish-black hair. “Sometimes the goodness in me was dying, as if wanting a life support or a safety net to secure the danger nearing me.”
“But I’m here,” she objected in a softest tone. “I’m here for you, too.”
My heartbeat swelled at that. Her words consumed me, heart and soul, if I ever had one. But with her, it felt she brought the light back.
I cupped her back head, wrapping her thinly frame with my other arm, shifting her position closer to me. “My darling angel, stay close to me.”
In a few heart beats later, she said, resting deeper against my chest, hearing my heart rhythm like admiring like music. “I will,” I made a soft reply, as my fingers tangling in between the golden chains she had on her wrist, wondering if she knew it was me who dropped it off at her dark attic. However, due to my incredible skill on discreet, maybe she didn’t.
***
After Eva and I shared our moments, we soon separated by the time Bjorn came home. I had to let her go, as much as I object to her departure. In a new day, she did her usual religious tasks, knocking door-to-door and spread the gospel, as I was in a mystified daydream, wanting her to return back into my arms and sleep—protected and cared for.
My soul was dying, and I needed my lips to hers again, collided into one.
On Friday, she went over my household and had the area spotless in a short time. I didn’t let her do all the work, so I helped her, to ease a difficulty lifted off of her shoulders.
My mind wandered back at her scars on her whole hands, wondering how it transpired. Did she accidentally burnt herself while she was cooking a meal? Come to think of it, the times whenever she used the kitchen is when she either washes the plates and the trays at the Rivers Foundations, not once she used cooking utensils at my place, either, or gets near to the stove.
As for her backside, when we showered, she hissed, like her wounds sting still, old and new. Dried red blotches on her skin had my skin crawl. I’ve never seen her limbs, her fleshinflicted so much. Some scars on her back healed on its own, others were unfortunate, scar after scar. And so, I helped her by applying a strong antibiotic ointment I snatched at a mirror cabinet inside my bathroom, applying on a swollen area. I’ve also applied Aloe Vera gel on her old burnt scars to moisten up, to let it heal on its own and cool off.
In great fear, Eva protested to have her gloves on at all times, but I insisted it wouldn’t anytime soon if she let it hidden inside. Skin needed air like lungs needed air.
“But, aren’t you ashamed you’re with me, seeing me like this?” she mumbled, her face turned back.
Instead of me answering, my heart dwelled in sadness, not because of being with her, she’s afraid someone might judge her if she unveil herself.
But I’m the only person who could see this—her marks, her agony, her suffering behind her emerald eyes.
My beautiful Jade.
My beautiful and beloved Jade.
In my eyes, we’re both outsiders.
The outsiders among the locals, and I don’t mind.
She hissed again, smearing the ointment her back after we took a shower together and had her clothes and velvet gloves tossed inside a washing machine.
Having her position faced me, I kissed her back. It got her attention, hearing an intake of breath, shifting in her seat. As her extended, to push herself away, I kissed her knuckles, her back hand, then the golden bracelet she wore; colorful gemstones glimmered, as I had my other hand grip on her hip, squeezing her ever so lovingly.
My eyes met hers, her face flushed in deep crimson, her body tucked in, but I had her stay where she used to be in, unafraid and vulnerability written on her face, progressed to a coy blossomed on her cheeks and averting hues.
Her eyes glimmered like gemstones, like I wanted a piece of her to myself, to be longed and treasured for.
Tucking a lose strand behind her ear, I told her the words she needed for a moment, at least this moment, kissing her cheeks, nose, eyelids and lips, to remind myself everything I do, and everything she feels are real.
“I’m not,” I finally answered her. “I’m not ashamed of you, of being here with you. No matter how your form was or what condition you’re in,” I stroke her dampened chin with my thumb, then her teary lashes, “I’ll always cherish you. For you, I’ll do anything.”
***
Three Days Later
At night, I haven’t seen Eva since the last day at Rivers Foundations. She promised yesterday that she’d meet up with me.
Fumbling through my pockets, I grabbed my phone and texted Marceline, assuming Eva’s with her, doing girlish hobbies and watch chick-flick movies at their spare time.
ME: Have you seen Eva?
