𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

10 || Red Flag

The weeknd - I feel it coming

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

Al rajjal bekhoon, wa bekazib, pu bekser be waado.

Men lie, men cheat, men break promises.

Jido had taught me everything there was to know about hating men.

He'd led an entire country, sold enough oil and gold to bring in billions, and waved the Egyptian flag from every building he'd stepped foot into.

Much like any politician, my grandfather was far from a good man, but unlike most politicians, he didn't hide his sins.

In fact, he'd told me of them and the sins of other men, in excruciatingly disturbing detail until I was nothing but a little girl, curled up in her bed, shaking in fear and hurt at the tales of truth her grandfather was telling her.

Much like everything he did, it was for a greater purpose. Only much to my jido's disappointment, I'd grown to fear men instead of hate them like he'd been teaching me to.

But that fear quickly grew into anger when I turned eight and was subjected to the disappointment and hurt men caused in their wake.

And as much I loved the man, I hated him for his tyrannical mannerisms. 

Much like any other royal family, I'd grown up with a set of rules to abide by.

No boys, no friends-unless they were cousins, no leaving the palace, no socializing with the help, no staying up after dark, and those are only to name a few.

Despite my less than amicable personality, my fascination with violence and my hatred for socialising with anyone aside from my family, I was a good kid.

I hardly ever broke the rules, I never cried and in all honestly, enjoyed the solitude. I had mama, sitto, and my mean jido.

But much like any child, I threw tantrums. They were rare, and in my case only pertained to one of those rules I had to abide by. A rule that had built a resentment so deep, I considered strangling my jido in his sleep.

My grandfather had banned my father from Egypt, and more importantly, from seeing me.

The ban was only ever lifted four days a year. My birthday, mama's birthday, papà birthday and when I'd accomplished something worth being rewarded for. 

This was when I began to truest feel hatred towards men.

Contrary to what most might believe, my distaste for men hadn't stemmed from daddy issues. I didn't have those.

The hatred was taught to me by the worst man I'd known, and ironically, temporarily forgotten for the best man I'd known.

My father was everything my grandfather wasn't.

Where my jido was cruel, harsh and unfair. My papà was caring, fun and far too easy for my young self to manipulate.

Where my jido had earned my respect and obedience, my papà had earned a spot within the walls of that hostility for men my grandfather had helped me build around my heart.