Page 133 of Eyes Like Angel
Marceline gripped her hand, tightened on my branded jacket.
“But, have you seen her? I’m worried. Sometimes it feels like I’m seeing a waxed doll.”
“Adrian, I’m being so fucking serious here,” she added, her glare narrowed.
My thin brow flicked. “I never took you as a motherly type.”
“Well, I’m not a mother, and I don’t want to become one,” she clarified with a huff. “Besides, you know how my mom and I were, how we’ve always been—the same old shit. She’s a fucking bitch—won’t stop yelling at me at every move I make or sound from my mouth, and if it’s my birthday or my father’s death anniversary, she makes everything about herself. If it’s my two brothers, she can’t say shit about them, because they’re nothing but angels and I’m just a devil incarnate who wears punk and metallic rock getup.”
Marceline huffed after letting out a quick statement, as if the intensity had clung to her like she was dying to the noise in her judgement from clouding.
Sometime before, I’ve met Marceline’s mother once. Let’s just say she’s not the kind where she invites people at home. She’s rather the type to choose friends and predetermined Marceline’s life without a room to object or defy. Marceline’s brothers, however, were…underdeveloped with their social skills, older than Marceline, they clung onto their mother likethe baby birds in the bird’s nest, waiting to be fed by worms to be dropped from their mother’s mouth.
Once I came over by Marceline’s house one time, needless to say anything is but welcoming and heart-warming to stay. I stayed less than twenty minutes for Marceline to prim herself. Her mother was eccentric to a point I feel like I’ve been stuffed down with a pillow, or a leash to chain me in.
People in Fort Heaven were just stiffly old-fashioned, nothing new or revolutionary to effort the better progression.
“Yes, a devil incarnate with Neapolitan highlights,” I quipped, “a devil that was constantly changing her appearance and hairstyle and wears ridiculously chunky boots to be taller was telling quite a lot.”
Her brown eyes narrowed at me in a flash as a first and final caution.
Like mother, like daughter.
“Don’t fucking start,” her voice laced dangerously. “Not now. If Eva hears this shit, she might freak.”
My back straightened at a worst scenario shrouded in my head, seeing Eva running and hiding from me, like how she did at the Rivers Foundations.
“Or do I beat you, knock you senseless?” her hiss broke my worst imagination.
Snorted, my shoulders slackened at her veil threat, but I knew she means well. “Yeah, I can see why our dear Aaron has a huge crush on you.”
She lightly gasped, her body leaned back.
Then I bit my lip.
It was too late.
“He…likes me?” her voice hesitated, like it was child-like.
Okay, way too fucking late.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she groaned, smacking her forehead.
I bit my lip awkwardly, stuttering. “I, uh—” I cleared my throat—“I thought it was obvious, since he’s always with you.”
She’d shaken her head. “No, it clearly wasn’t.”
Marceline took a brief minute to recollect her usual image. Her mind buffered, reloading and refreshing until she remembers who she is. “No fucking way,” she added, exasperated at my sudden statement. “Aaron is as clueless as a rock. Forget it, I can’t insult rocks. Rocks are cool, but Aaron’s dumb as a frat boy who likes to have a jockstrap in his closet for the next ‘it’ girl to ram over.”
“Ah, you’re in denial,” I quipped.
“And you’re a smartass,” she retorted back.
“I am.”
“Very and much likely condescending,” she said stiffly.
“I’m okay with being condescending.”
