Page 141 of Eyes Like Angel
A devil incarnate, who posed myself as an angel fucked like a lusty devil, unable to satisfy my needs until I reached to a point of where she might collapse from my driven thirst. Myhips rocked hard, skin slapped skin, as tears fell down onto her cheeks, as I licked her wet tears away.
“Eva,” I moaned louder, nibbling her.
“I’m getting close again,” she said, clawing the sheets deeper, her fingernails nipping until it sears in pain.
I succumbed and my seed poured inside her, until I collapsed and lay beside her, profoundly exhilarating and holy.
Until I muttered, “One more, sweet angel.”
***
“Do you think we’ll ever be safe?” Eva’s eyes shyly veered onto me, expecting as she snuggled her bruised body against my sleepy frame after the constant fucking in a total of three rounds. Her body perfectly molded and shaped for me, readying my hardened cock to be pounded inside.
I was almost sure my ears perked up at the heavy sound of her heart beat, rapidly thumping despite her quiet efforts on the outside. With my whole palm flattened and tucked the plains of her flat stomach, tracing her slender waist, only for her belly to pop back in place from a gentle breathing. She’s alive and healthy, aiming for recovery. All things considered important to me more than a large alcohol consummation.
“What makes you say that?”
“I…” she paused momentarily. “I had given too much thought of it for a while, and…somehow, even though we’re safe and sound from everybody and their shares of vile, callousness and cruelty, with you in my life, I could do anything and be as myself, where I get to be as outlandish or painfully awkward and quizzical, I had a feeling we may never see each other again.”
My mouth dried.
What could she possibly be thinking at a time like this?
Under a quiet air, I said to her, “Nothing’s certain.”
Mesmerized by the subtleness on her hinted emotions shifted, dejected at my vague answer. I’m no better than adevil, despite being a non-believer. Despite being unclean to someone’s eyes, and to the Church’s, Eva anticipated a farther clarification.
“Nothing’s certain in life, Eva. Look, I’m not a God who knows everything and everyone—their fears and hopes, their wisdom and folly, ugly and beautiful, secrets and lies, or truth, paths evolved in various ways, people parted to their own path, the world won’t matter as long as we had ourselves in our own tiny bubble,” I continued, in sincere caution on my tone, “one that’s unbreakable. You and I share the same bubble we tucked ourselves in, to keep our happiness secured.”
I hoisted myself upward for a better adjustment to seek her wondrous gaze, propped in one elbow as her intense focus on her pale emerald hues remained on me.
Her breath hitched. Despite it wasn’t loud, I perceived in an instant aside from her thumping heart.
“But what I do know is that I’m always here for you. And for you,” my fingers tucked under her chin, lifting its angle upwards to meet the sincerity of my blackened vision, visibly darker with earnest, “I’d do anything. I’m willing to do anything and risk everything for you. If you decide to stay by me, that’s no problem. If you decide to push me away from you or leave me, that’s okay, too. Call me, call out my name, shout my name to skies, pray to me, say your prayers to me, and I’ll be there by your side as your guardian angel, not a useless ghostly spirit who watches you from elsewhere, but rather someone who’d aid you countless times, to appease you in any way I can—to be as your salvation. I’d never get sick and tired of you, Eva. I could never hate you, either. You’re the source of my happiness, my main priority, my purpose. The reason why I lie awake, why I couldn’t breathe without your presence. Your pain is my pain, your sadness is my sadness, and I’m eternally grateful to you, whenever you expressed or shown your presence. I suckat saying stuff. Saying sincere words, I mean. But I want to be better. If there’s a chance in life, afterlife or not, I love you until the rest of my days. My heavenly paradise.”
Teary-eyed, Eva sniffled and sobbed, her bare and burnt-scarred hands enveloped her visage, muffling her weep, but in a gentle gesture, I scooped her up into my arms, removing her hands to press a loving, tender kiss on her cheek, jawline then returned to her lips, taking the scent in, the earthly and mist scent on her flesh and her wild untamed locks, her fair skin radiant in a glowing night lights and neon signs plastered on the walls, hoping she wouldn’t be frightened or hidden in the sheets.
“I hoped to become something far more useful to you,” she uttered brokenly, tears spilt.
“No, you’ve done enough for me, sweet angel. To me, in my soul,” I said, grazing her right cheek with my thumb, “you’re good enough. More than you ever know.” Hot tears prickled and threatened to overflow, but constricted these plain-sight feelings I’m having, an unimaginable image opposing to my well-ascertained appearances. “And you did it beautifully, with grace, poise and resilience something that no women won’t ever do or had or possess a quality to strive—they fell, and fell down hard. You shouldn’t ask for one because love knows no requirements and dictatorship to gain, love embraces to those who are broken and hope for a brighter light to bask in, to shine others to a dark tunnel and to shine brighter, soar higher. I’ll always give you love, without you begging for one, to never drown into sadness and grief and despair you’ve always known. Love is to be given willingly, not asked. Love is to be unconditional, not transactional. But even if you prayed for one, I’ll gladly give it. You don’t have to wait anymore. You don’t have to drown in quiet sadness. You don’t have to pray for love to be given to you anymore. I’m here.”
Her breathing staggered, but kept it steady as time went on.
But, I don’t think of these sensations as fruitless and weak. In generations in previous times, love is considered to be bargained if somebody served a full purpose to gratify and elevated to a certain someone’s happiness. Love wasn’t meant for a bargain like a genie’s wish. Rather, a love’s purpose is to blanket over and shield someone fragmented and be healed, even pets knows this than civilization—the art of love is benign and quiet.
If the angel mourns, I mourn, but only if it’s my beloved Eva. If her wings were broken, I’d given her a spare of my feathers, if her wounds were stinging, I wrapped it with bandages. If I she falls, my arms and body became a safety net for her to land on.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpered, her arms laced closer onto me. “Don’t…leaveme.”
Her voice drained and quivered, like she wants to cry but she’s too ashamed to admit it all. And it’s nowhere near to be at a full accusation or lecture her.
But she wasn’t just saying her truth. Shebeggedme. She begged me not to. I couldn’t help but magnified at her visage, her tone, her soft and glowing, beguiling existence, her frail touches, a touch of breath come to life as if she became alive from my imagination and assumptions, like how sometimes reality was better than a longing dream.
Deep down, I knew she doesn’t want to be alone.
Silence has drowned her into misery.
She needed someone who could fill the emptiness and the soundless world of vows and darkness.
