Pastel Dreams || editing

five - mood

"No need to suck up to the boss, Ms. Leonhardt," I assured her with a grin. There was something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I liked her.

"Don't listen to what my employees like to say about me. I hardly ever talk to any of them, and supposedly that makes me a bitch. Do be on time tomorrow, though, I start at 8:30."

Edith looked at me disbelievingly, her mouth slightly agape.

"I'm hired?"

"You've got the job for a month, until you decide I'm too much for you to handle," I uttered pointedly. "Good day, Ms. Leonhardt."

She insisted that I shook her hand, before leaving in a whirlwind.

I didn't doubt for a second that she would be perfect for the job. That made me smile.

>>>

Nothing was more relaxing than a warm soapy bath smelling like sweet lavender after a long and gruelling day at work.

I sighed in pleasure, eyes closed and a relaxing playlist playing through my bathroom's speakers.

The water was hot but it relaxed my muscles, sore after spending most of the day in a stiff position.

After work, I got my hair braided and I didn't enjoy how tight the braids are, even if the discomfort was temporary. My hair was a little bit longer than my shoulders stretched, and shoulder length when in it's curly glory. Ethnically, I was of Guinean descent, but according to my DNA, I also had some Portuguese blood in me. My parents had made me do the test after they adopted me.

Most people were really surprised when they learned I was adopted. They usually said that I was lucky to be adopted by the CEO of Pastel Dreams. 

It was one of the best in the business, and yes, I did feel lucky that I had a second chance in life. I didn't know the whole story, but what I did know is that I was very sick as a baby and my aunt Anne-Sophie -who's an ambassador for the US- found me. 

She immediately called my parents who were in Togo at an orphanage. They flew over, my dad fell in love with me apparently. Despite my mom being reluctant at first, they started the process of adoption, with my aunt tugging some strings here and there. Two weeks later, I was on a cot-I was still three weeks old- and on a plane back to New York. I was immediately hospitalized, because I was born with complications.

Anyway, my hair was one of my prides and joy. I didn't even know if I looked like my biological mother or father. Often, I wished I did.

But other times I thought about where I was now. I thought about whether I would have had the chance to grow up in a loving family, or what I'd have gone through.

I sighed. The box braids perfectly ended down my back, but yet I didn't like what I was seeing in the mirror.

I scrutinized the birthmark that was on the top of my naked breast, and the one that was printed a shade lighter on the side of my right thigh. I sighed at the scar that I traced with a unsteady finger on my arm.

My hands became white from holding the counter too hard. My mind was flooded with memories I couldn't bear to remember and I felt a panic attack rising.

You've got this.

Calm down.

Breathe.

Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

It was hard, but I managed to reign it in.