Eva

CHAPTER 4

My place resembles a shoebox more than an apartment if I'm being completely honest. It used to be some sort of a storage room at the back of my landlord's house. That explains why there's only one small square opening that serves as a window. At times, it gives me a tight feeling in my chest, as if I were a unique form of a prisoner – one who needs neither guards nor locks. At other times, it gives me comfort; it hides my secrets from the rest of the world's prying eyes, and conceals me from the rest of my family members' unbelievable uptightness. Now lurking at the threshold and fumbling for my keys, my humble abode seems like my most trusted friend. After roughly three steps, I reach my bed and plop down. I let the gravity really sink me. The flutter in the pit of my stomach from the sheer force of the meeting threatened to up the intensity of my already dizzy figure. Despite the arms that I am using to cover my eyes, I still feel the unsteadiness of my surroundings. I take deep breaths at an effort to subdue my fast beating heart at least. I thank the sleep that enveloped me soon after that.

I wake up feeling a little bit better. My headache only retains a slight throbbing, which is nothing compared to the several variations of queasy feelings just three hours ago. I make my way to the mini-fridge about four steps far from the edge of my bed. Inside is several bottles of water and one bottle of expired milk. I make a mental note to take care of my trash in a while. The feeling of water going down my esophagus is a relief from my uneasy sleep. I dreamed that Aunt Isabel was chasing me. She was wearing her classic red stilettos, and I my white sneakers. I was very frantic because despite the differences on shoes comfort-wise, she was steadily lessening our distance. She was brandishing a lipstick like a weapon, while shouting Protecting tips in her perfect grammar. I woke up after she successfully pinned me down to the ground, and slowly lowered the lipstick towards my terror-stricken face. I was filled with dread when I saw that at the tip of the red tint were tiny needles oozing out surely poisonous liquid.

It is 6pm. I don't feel the least bit hungry. I make my way towards a tiny desk at the very corner of my apartment, pull out a drawer, and maneuver the false bottom to reveal a thick black weathered notebook. I skim the pages and review the fate I share with all my family members.

October 5th, 1965

I have been talking to my mother about how privileged I feel to be in on the family secret at last. Before finding my Protectee at an older age of 15, all my knowledge were really just theories. I never really knew a thing.

You and me both, distant relative. I flick past the 1700's and the 1800's just to see the same scrawls that I have been reading since I learned how to. I know almost all the entries by heart. The copy of this black notebook is nothing but a replica of the original one kept inside Uncle Gordon's study. My book has been violated by years of reading coupled with various stages of neglect. Different family members add to the entries through the years and a team from the Family head is tasked to collate them. The submission of my own entries at the last few pages is part of the monthly ritual of meeting Uncle Gordon. Of course, I have only written at exactly three pages in the past 18 years. I never had an entry of substance to write anyway.

May 9th, 1978

I literally feel like I'm 10,000 steps ahead of my normal school friends. I feel pity for them because they're not part of a bigger purpose like my family is. I feel sorry because they will never have the bond I naturally have with Principal Ackerman. I will keep my watch over him and prioritize his well-being before my own. Every night before bed, I thank my lucky stars for putting me in charge of my Protectee. This honor that I have – no one will ever take away.

No matter what the period is or who the writer is, these entries spoke of Honor, of Superiority over "normal" families, and of utmost devotion towards their Protectees. Not one single line states any doubt on the Family, on that generation's Head, and on our fates. There were times that I wondered if they filter these out and only present what they want seen. One thing I'm sure of now though after having met my own – no one was downplaying the natural bond they spoke of in regard to their Protectee.

Dating back to the 1200's, my Family has been bestowed by the honor of this fate. We devote our entire lives to ensure the smooth processing of our Protectees' missions. No one knows exactly how our Family chapter came about since by the time there was a written account regarding our deals, it appears that we had already been active for years. We just decided to agree on the theory that sometime in the early 1200's, along with the development of a proper writing account of our lives, a proper organization was born. The first Head was elected then, and a detailed record of each Protectees' missions and subsequent successes was created.

Yes. For hundreds of years... not one member of my Family has ever failed.

I heard a familiar ding. My phone just alerted me of an email from the HR Department. I got the job.