Page 127 of Eyes Like Angel
They knew what her flaws are.
What her most vulnerabilities are.
The secrets she tucked were exposed.
So did I; I reveled her inner parts of her from keeping a close eye and sources compiled all into one. I knew Eva’s presence, her existence alone like the back of my hand, easy to trace like a memorable sketch on paper, brushing and stroking its edges on my fingertip, defined and rendered to a final product of its creation, a divination prevailed through trials and tribulations, until the erasure. Either from someone’s hand, ripping to shreds or set the paper in flames.
The person who I could think of, of the kidnap and plan of violent assault was Romano, orchestrated by Emily. Romano did an incredible job of persuasion, and the morbidly, self-obsessed Emily—two monsters shared a common ground, a common interest, on what to set their sights and goals on. To inflict, torture and possibly kill Eva. I knew then that my instincts were accurately correct. I knew I wasn’t being paranoid.
Romano, that fucktard must’ve enjoyed it—enjoyed leading her on, believing he had a shot. He not once recalled her name, and Eva had to—energetically—repeats herself numerous times on correcting nicely, to spare the hassle. I don’t think Romano likes to listen to Eva, or pays mind to details she’s been sharing—and told her off that he’ll be “sad” if only chats with her when it’s convenient for his selfish agenda.
The kind of monster that he is, the way he treated people compared to Eva, his existence was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, charade as a kind man, all that he is and could offer. Or how Eva explained in one short sentence—an enemy in a friend’s clothing—a precise description towards a human being, but Romano’s no human, nor does Emily the goody-two shoes, thebackstabber, the personal doormat for her demanding parents. He shouldn’t have revisited, resided back here from London, or Brazil, wherever he stayed from. He should’ve fled back to his homeland, back to his stupid fantasies and his gigolo, fuckboy persona when he had the chance.
Romano doesn’t deserve every ounce of her tears, and the drowning in her kindness of her heart and sweetness in her parted lips, despite how civil Eva has put up with him. But it gave me a solid reason to kill them—as much as I loathed Romano’s poorly ways on taking Eva—my beautiful jade—to at her disadvantage.
Eva’s smile is gifted, and she used it poorly.
Too poorly!
She should’ve given her smile to me more than this ungrateful man-child!
To anyone she’s been given her smile—her benevolent smile, cheek and cheek, her eyelids crinkled and her emerald brightened like jeweled stones—it drove me insane!
Maybe this was a lesson for Eva not to be attached, to befriend men who are in their late-thirties. Men in their late-thirties are often obliviously stupid, impulsive and immature—not knowing what they desire despite their greyish hair and wrinkles due to drinking and smoking, and despite their birthdays, their minds never mentally age, not having a beneficial or tangible mindset on what they truly desire in a course of lifetime, flit one thing to the next as if they changed clothes. Men who had wives and kids—probably divorced more three times and hit on younger women at a single’s bar or at a nightclub, or at a rich yacht in Ibiza, but never a concept at a church.
I’ve seen men like him, varied faces, and big ego—all cut from a same cloth, united by one goal, shared a signature wide posture, chins held high, shoulders back, sharing their arrogantstance, with shoulders straightened back than normal, like they have big balls to carry, which they possess none. Whenever women tried to bring the best in every man’s heart, men shed skin like how snakes shed theirs, like a door slammed on a woman’s face each time she aimed for a happier and improved life through communication and lovable gesture.
Eva’s naivety on kindness and brightness shed on Romano’s shadow, and he dimmed it darker, her child-like adoration was thrown like a valuable stone thrown into a mud, suspecting it’s a fake diamond comes with a price on a price tag, or throws remaining food in the trash, where he could spare the leftovers for the starving.
Seeing those two together shoved and fickle my steadied nature to anger—like I questioned how the world works, how one’s life worked through idiocy and endured it with common sense, but none was adding up, like it was an equation.
Probably didn’t mean shit, but Romano’s diabolical persuasion bug me.
These types of insensitive men don’t deserve a chance to live and redeem as a price to lead their self-absorbed ambitions to ultimate freedom, their eternal paradise.
Including Emily, though not born a man, but born as an ungrateful, empty-minded bitch who tried to severe and divided a permanent chasm between me and Eva.
In a way, I was elated, the way I skinned Emily’s flawless skin and molded it to a grotesque version she always is and will be. Images replaying over my vision when I sliced her tongue off and amputated her hands, when she shoved Eva away, bad-mouthing her, trying to destroy every fiber Eva had.
How dare this ass-kissing bitch do that to a sweet angel—my poor, sweet angel? Her filthy hands and her fucked up ways. She has no right to belittle or berate my sweet Eva, let alone barking orders. I hated Emily’s voice so I stabbed her manytimes by the throat to feel how I revolted and shriveled up inside whenever she opens her damn mouth, drinking and drowning in her blood.
Her mother and father must’ve been searching for her, wanting a report to how progress was between her and me. The dead never tells their story, and their story abruptly ended.
Pile of cadavers weren’t so easy to dispose; either dumping them into a flowing-river or dug a hole deep at the Fort Heaven’s forest was a killer, heading 10 miles at the flowing-river sometimes some inhabitant residents were present, they would spy on me if I get caught in the act, proceeding to their bodies in a forest was a wiser choice. I’ve come up several ways for them to disappear under the circumstances. I could imagine a thousand ways to kill them, torture them. Imaginative as I may have been, suppressing these countless ideas from running and popping randomly.
I feel as if my killings and tormenting these assholes weren’t fulfilling a growing appetite instilled to my strong, uncontrollable cravings.
But having alterations was the best course, as long as it carried the same outcome. I didn’t want anyone to suspect the river to be flowing red, concerning of the fishes or any living things inside the water. So God help me I get through this night. After digging underground and shoving them inside, I knew it’d be appropriate to not set on fire. Police and firemen might investigate if I did, it might trace back to me, or a traitor turns me in to avoid visceral consequences. Stuffing them in wrapped body bags does the trick. I hope to God maggots and mud veils them permanently.
Luckily, the corpses were barely recognizable.
Good fucking riddance.
With my wearied eyes, my sight observed the illuminated scenery before me. On the hospital’s top floor, room 111, and likeany ordinary room, this room is mostly covered in plain white, appearing spacious in comparison to patient rooms downstairs and miserably thin curtains, and the illuminated lights above me flashed brighter than a pair of headlights on my spare car and the air chilled colder than in the hospital’s lobby.
Heading to a lobby with a bloody outfit wasn’t a wisest course. Before heading to a hospital, after placing Eva at the passenger’s seat, I headed for the trunk, compiling my back up clothes and suit up.
Fuck this blood stain, I wanted to see and guard over Eva, who limped and collapsed to deep sleep. It’s better than way. If she were to awake in my spare car, I doubt it’d be decent.
