Page 128 of Eyes Like Angel
Heart monitor beeped in sluggish pace, breathing pattern on her mouth clouded over the oxygen mask, bloody and damaged over her features—her angelic features.
Tears trickled down to my chafed lips, letting out soft-sobbing noises released within my false composure, smothered my cries on the sleeve over my long black coat.
Never once I weep in my life. The only time I ever wept in my life was when I found my dead dog—my greatest friend and companion—stuffed its corpse in the freezer, sawed in half, guts pigmented and overflowed from a shelf. One is placed on the bottom section of the fridge, the other—a severed head stuffed in the freezer—fridge was oozing in dark blood, flowing through a closed frame, wounded limbs and skin-torn paws stored at a shelf by a door gasket.
When the power went out, the dog’s body was rotten and overpowered its rotten smell throughout the whole house within weeks, until it infested an unimaginable infection nearly spread above the second floor. For that, I never get to say my farewells to my special pet as the corpse burnt inside the incineration, after the power is restored and the basement was purified and spotless, stench-free. The fridge, on the other hand, it gotdumped at a public trash or in a landfill—I may never knew or getting the closure I needed.
Dad never let me say my goodbyes, claimed pets are beyond stupid to keep, for men don’t require animals tosoftenthe heart—he accused that I might become stagnant in adulthood if I keep the dog longer.
Rather to kill it now than life kills an elderly dog later, he said as he dumped the foul smell—tossed the fridge as soon as he stepped out the doors.
Now and then, the images of a severed dog seeped into my brain, sometimes in random flashes out of nowhere.
I couldn’t bear myself to glimpse, not for a minute, or a second. I hated looking at bodies, living or dead, especially looking at patients on a hospital bed. Something about hospital threw an eerie vibe aside from hospitals are equivalent to crypts and hospital beds resembled as a coffin bed. With a lively patient resting, I was unease, like living patients breathing as if the corpses are alive inside the newly-cased coffin.
Tenser and guarded, considering hospital in general was a combination of both.
Everything rushed and pounded each fiber in my body, like frozen in time, piled in regret and remorse, wishing I could do more, wishing I could be there for Eva, when she asked or pleaded.
Gently embracing her into my arms, as the bed’s temperature turned colder, Eva—my beautiful jade-eyed angel—slept in peace for the first time in her life—in my arms warming her.
Emily was a fucking monster—both her and Romano.
She’s the type of person who would take two steps ahead, but a desperate and petty motivation has set me off entirely. Her attempted murder against someone, someone who I give a damn about, was the last straw. Each time she smiles wheneverI refused her requests or texts, her eyes bulged out, her grin spread far and wide, from ear-to-ear, as if she went crazy from intoxicated drugs.
Damn her and the fucking family! I knew associating with the Curtis family was additional to a curse in Eva’s livelihood. With me being involved, I’d make up for what I’ve done—a thousand times more than a medical transfer.
I’m such a fucking jackass.
I should’ve seen it coming,I thought.
Speaking of family, Emily’s parents might’ve panic to where their precious servant has ran off to. At this rate, they wouldn’t care; they’re too busy purchasing fake brands off of an app that sells for a cheaper price or shopping or doing golf course. God knows what those people are doing.
Not that I care of Emily’s passing, thanks to me and my ability to sweep my dirty work, it seemed she had a suitable ending to that no-good bitch—forgotten and buried.
But a topic on investigation and suspicions weren’t on the agenda at the moment.
My concerns lie elsewhere.
Disregarding multiple scenarios on the dead bodies and sirens, I casted them aside and let my fear flowed in.
Approaching, sobbed as I perched down by the vacant chair, grabbing her hand, tracing her skin, tracing every single lines on her scarred-burnt skin with my thumb in littles of caked blood and mud. Unable to comprehend in separate events, my fingers found its way to trace her face, trailing up to her forehead, and lingered the strokes onto her hairline, downward to her locks, untamed and greasy, lack in care and abuse.
Ragged, throaty breath snapped from my despairing cries, only to see Eva awakening from her rest.
“Adrian?” her throaty voice pierced softly in my ears, her lips cracked and sickly pale.
Oh, my Eva, I thought despairingly, clawing my stubby nails on a bed cushion.
Weeping, my throat bobbed when I formed two-syllables on my lips.
“Eva,” I whimpered, tears withheld. “You’re here. You’re here!”
You’re alive,my soul screamed
“You came…for me,” she murmured, a sad smile appeared more grimaced and a flinch at a slight movement on her leg. She’s about to get up, but stayed her relaxing form on her fluffed pillows.
I put my hands on her, positioned for her to be still.
