Chapter 7

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        The sound of holy hymns filled the tall church, the painting of a man looming over (Y/N) as she avoided the male's eyes. Religious paintings just always looked creepy, their eyes just always followed you. What was even more creepier is making prolonged eye contact with the same boy for two minutes now.

        Bright brown eyes stared at her own for 120 seconds now, 115 seconds too long for a normal gander to be. Perhaps he was just looking at the people behind her? Or maybe she has something on her face? Dear God, please don't let it be that he can hear just how awful she sounds when singing. It was like her voice was a sin to this holy choir.

        (Y/N) finally broke eye contact with the male, deciding to look back at the painting of the sacred male. Even he wasn't as creepy as that boy's staring was, whatever his name was.

        The church reeked of burning incense and an old lady's strong floral perfume. It almost hurt having her mother and some strange next to her singing—practically screaming—into her ears while she did her best to memorize the lyrics. It was hard to remember what came after "I've been set free" when all she could think about was being set free to the food trucks outside calling her name for lunch.

        Finally, the song ended as she sung the finally sentence.

        "You are forever mine."

        What a creepy thing to say to anyone, to any god or not.

        (Y/N) stretched her limbs, earning herself a swat to her arm as her mother whispered for her to fix her dress before it rides up on her. She smoothed down her dress skirt, reaching behind and fluffing the white bow sewn to the dark blue dress.

        She was excited to go eat some food, then get out of these damn flats that kept pinching her toes. She watched as people filed out of the church, making her eyes meeting bright brown ones as they stared at her through the crowd.

        Has he even looked away once during this whole session?

        .

        .

        "Hey, maybe he likes you?" Lola suggested, lounging on the library couch, taking up most of the space as her arm draped over the arm rest, her legs lying on (Y/N)'s thighs.

        "God, I hope not..." (Y/N) groaned, tilting her head back to hit the couch cushion just to be a bit more dramatic. "I don't even know his name. That's grounds for instant rejection."

        "Well, is he cute?" Lola questioned, curious as she watched (Y/N) copy notes from her computer onto her notebook.

        "I mean... I dunno? I think?" (Y/N) shrugged. "Gosh, Lo. You know I don't ever notice that. Looks aren't everything, you know?"

        "Well, my future husband is definitely gonna have brown hair, brown eyes to match and a dashing, asymmetrical face." Lola smirked.

        "Please, you're asking too much. Your face isn't even asymmetrical." Annabelle scoffed, sitting on the harsh library carpets.

        "Shut up! I'm gonna get laser surgery for this mole when I have enough money!" Lola whined, hitting Annabelle upside the head.

        "I meant your nose, dummy!" Annabelle hissed, cradling her head where she's been hit. "But that too!"

        "Jerk!" Lola exclaimed, going to hit Annabelle once more, but Annabelle was quick enough to catch her wrist. "Stop touching me, Anna!"

        "Then you stop hitting me!" Annabelle retorted as their hands wrestled with one another.

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