20-year-old university student Maliyah Tijjani is independent and fierce, yet damaged. She's been damaged for many years of her life and she is trying her best not to bring her past traumas into her new profound freedom. She avoids dating to maintai...
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It was now early evening and after my class ended at 3, I ended up going back to the park and studied some more.
Actually studied. Didn't overthink at all.
I'm lying again. I have five Gemini placements. Sorry.
I came home to my Mother cooking jollof rice. I loved jollof rice. I smelt it the second I walked through the door.
I took my shoes off at the door and walked into the kitchen.
"Salam Ma" I greeted and kissed her cheek.
"Hello, my baby. How was yuh day? Tu vas bien? Yangg ci jamm?" she questioned. You are good?
"Good," I answered. I've been saying "good" for the past fifteen years of my life. It was a habit. Or trauma. It was both.
I knew if I truly said how I felt about my day, she would flip the script and turn it into a lecture, or gaslight me and make me feel bad, therefore I have just been responding with "good" and nothing else. Speaking from experience.
Plus, Europeans and Africans really don't care if you're doing well or not. They just ask out of politeness.
We made small talk, and soon I was in my room winding down. I placed my purse and keys on my dresser, and put my phone on the charger.
I took off my clothes, threw them in the dirty hamper, and wrapped my towel around my body.
I grabbed my JBL speaker, ensuring it was connected to my phone and headed for the shower. I turned the water on, making it my usual temperature of burning-in-hell-degrees.
As I waited for the water to heat up, I pressed play, and "Streets" by Doja Cat began to fill the bathroom. I placed the towel on the hook and admired my body in the mirror.
My hands began to caress my shoulders, working their way down. I gently grabbed my boobs, pushing them up, making a cleavage appear.
I wish I had a bigger cup size. Whatever, I was a proud member of the lil titty committee.
I tweaked my nipple piercings, hissing quietly.
I moved my hands down to fiddle with my belly button ring and then resting my hands on my hips.
As the fog began to cloud the mirror, I turned to the side, admiring my ass. I had a nice ass, no cocky shit. I placed both of my hands underneath the creases, jiggling it a bit.
I remember being skinny as hell back in middle school. I started drinking protein shakes and doing squats like crazy, and boom.
That routine plus puberty really gave me the figure I have today. I work out occasionally still.
I was confident in my body.
It was my head that was fucked up.
I stopped my daily admirations and got in the shower.
