Came a scream into my ears and I came rushing out the shower. What’s wrong with my Angel? What happened to her? Is she okay? I hope she’s okay. I almost pray she’s okay. A thousand thoughts run through my head and by the time I reach the door, a thousand more had arrived.
I shove the door open and enter room with a question, “What happened?”
I see that my Angel is sitting afore the mirror and staring at her image. The comb clutched angrily in one hand and her hair open. My Angel looks so pretty and beautiful; as if she was an angel who descended down to Earth to help me. But she was the one who, as of now, looked in need of help.
You jumped at my words and turned and looked at me, almost teary. You rush to me and embrace me and whisper into my ear that your tired. “I am so so tired Al. Work was so laborious and I am really having it rough this week. But look at them! They’re not listening to me! I am saying to them to work up easily but no! I will cut them, Al. Where’s my scissor?”
You began to push away in search of the scissor but I pull you back gently into an embrace. My Angel is an angel if you are on her good side, but don’t you dare mess around with her; she’ll kill you first and then revive you to be killed by me.
When I see that your anger has bated a bit, I pull an ottoman closer to the edge of the bed and offer you to sit there. But you grunt a refusal and embrace me tighter. I kiss your forehead and sit on the edge of the bed and sit you on the ottoman.
“Allow me, Mademoiselle.” I say and take the comb from your hands. I brush it through your hair gently and entangle your hair. Honestly, the anger on your nose makes you look so adorable when you crinkle it.