Just because I’m pretty…I took a shaky breath, my hand squeezing the wooden desk behind me. It all rushed back to my mind. The smell of rotten plums and anise in the dormitories, where I read through my genius mother’s notes with the hope to connect with her. The thyme and frankincense scent of Mother Anne, making me feel like an impostor who wasn’t good enough, crying in the cold cell. All those spicy scents where I thought of shutting down the unstoppable fire burning inside me.
I’d finally learned courage wasn’t something you were born with. It was something you learned to be.
I wasn’t here because I was pretty.
I was here because I was cursed with something devastating and stronger than I. A promise of a better life. A dream of greatness. A destiny to achieve.
I gulped down my feelings and ignored my shaking hands, as well as my insecurities, slamming inside of me.Trust yourself. No one else ever will.I ambled toward the oils, feeling Patrick’s gaze glaring at me. I took sight of each flacon, my eyes stopping at the one holding jasmine oil. A nerve twitched inside of me as I discovered its provenance. It was from a big corrupt company interested only in massive moneymaking. I always preferred small and pure companies of quality. They felt like hidden treasures to me.
Which explained why I wasn’t satisfied with any of these scents. I wanted my fragrance to create a history. To incarnate love. To transport me somewhere enchanting. Pleasurable. And for that, I needed the most exquisite ingredients of all. The best and the rarest in the market to bring to life the most heady of potions.
“Could you please find me other batches? I have a list.” I handed him the list.
He took it with annoyance, readjusting his pine-green turtleneck. “Oh là là…” he huffed while reading. “Let me give you some advice, young lady.” Arms crossed on his chest, he narrowed his eyes at me from behind his intellectual glasses. “Stop thinking you’ll be the next great nose. You’re insignificant, just like everyone. You can’t compensate for your lack of talent with pretensions!” He shook the list in his hand and ripped it in one straight move.
I contemplated the pieces of paper falling to the floor, the hope to be taken seriously vanishing in a slow-motion moment. My head bent to the side, the cold shiver behind my back freezing me to stone. From an exterior point of view, I was calm and placid. Even the tear wetting the corner of my eye was silent. From the inside, I was decomposing. Breaking. Ripping.
I clamped my fingers into the flesh of my palm until the pain reached me. Until the scarlet-red color of my blood became a reminder of my anger holding me captive.
Ignore it.
Put it in the box inside of your head.
Don’t think of it.
Deny your emotions.
I kept repeating the mantra like an incantation that saved me for so many years.
Patrick wrinkled his nose, an expression of disgust on his face.
“It smells like rotten crap here,” he complained, probably referring to the Devil’s Corpse odor.
I had spent the first hour of my waking up with this flower, studying it and familiarizing myself with it. I believed we had made a connection. Her odor was probably still on me. Point is, he wasn’t smelling the potential power of the Devil’s Corpse, just like he doubted my flair. He lacked respect for both of us.
There is no light without darkness.Those were my mother’s words, helping me fight back my shadows. I focused, peeling my eyelids closed. I inhaled and smelled our surroundings. I caught the odor of a smoky, tarred scent and burnt wood. I peeled my eyelids open.
“You’re right.” I faked a smile. “Your perfume doesn’t match the pH of your skin.” You can’t lie with scents. He wanted to show he was an intellectual spending his time in the dust of knowledge, while it made him look like an old book you want to run away from. “You should try some fruity scent. Bergamot, for instance. You know, something sparkly and fresh that would not make you smell like a rotten Maccabee.”
Patrick stumbled backward before flashing me a dubious look. We both knew I was right. He secretly craved youth and to be in the spotlight.
He didn’t have the time to think of a comeback before Cerba barked at him. She stood like a fearless protector between the devastating tornado that was creeping inside of me and Patrick. He scowled at her, and in response, she showed her canines aggressively.
Patrick slammed the door open, looking back at me. “Trust me when I say you don’t have the talent for it.”
He stormed away, and I released the breath I was holding. I fell onto my chair. I didn’t know what came over me. For an instant, I regretted hurting Patrick with my words. It was as if the thorns of a growing wild plant pierced me from the inside, tearing me apart in a screaming howl. My anger faded, and the thorns retracted, leaving me with a blossoming void inside of me.
I took my phone, hoping to hear some news from my uncle. But he was silent. A silence that could be easily interpreted in so many ways. Adonis, on the contrary, occupied all of my notifications with his messages.
Adonis: Please, come back. It’s not safe. You’re making a mistake. You can’t get involved with a man like Radcliff.
Adonis: Lily, I’m worried.
Cerba lay on my feet, her puppy eyes locking onto me. The warmth of her company comforted me and gave me enough strength to reply to Adonis.
Me: Please, don’t worry about me… I know what I’m doing. I need your support, Adonis.
Adonis: I can’t support this, Lily...
