𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

29 || Boys Club

Sour Diesel - ZAYN

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

" ant 'aslae."
(Arabic| You're balding.)

I grit my teeth while the comb is tugged out of my hair only for her to drag it right back through the strands.

"I wonder why." I deadpan, trying to catch her eyes through the mirror, but she seems too lost in her own world to pay any mind to me and my burning scalp.

"Its all the American water." Sitto frowns. "I saw it on the screen. It said Americans put chemicals in everything."

Never would I have thought an ancient, barely functional iPhone would turn my grandmother into a conspiracy theorist.

Yet here she was, braiding my hair and gushing about the recent truths of the world she'd learned.

A plate of Ghorayebah sits infront of me and while I'm not a fan of the butter cookies, I like everything and anything Sitto makes.

I scarf one of them down and narrow my eyes at her in the mirror. "Since when did you get a phone?"

"Your father gave me one." A small fond smile graces her lips,

In an attempt to scarf down my irritation, I grab another cookie, stuff it into my mouth and roll my eyes.

She's still fond of him, so fond that I wonder if she knows the truth.

She must.

But as I look at her, I doubt myself.

My grandfather was a cold human being, and he loved my Sitto because she wasn't.

Perhaps he'd hid it from her, or perhaps he didn't.

I didn't know.

I didn't fucking know anything these days.

And the knowledge of just how powerless I was to my own world suddenly settles in.

The crumbs of the butter cookie filter into my throat, dry and so heavy I feel my throat close up.

I knew nothing.

I still don't know anything.

But instead of taking control of my own fate, I'm sitting here, playing house with a Russian tyrant. A man who's playing a slow calculated game of chess while I'm still staring at the board, trying to plot my first move.

I don't know anything.

"You donkey," A tug on my ear snaps me from my spiral, so harsh that I glare at the chubby woman through the mirror. "Are you even listening to me?"

With a hiss I grab the ear she'd just yanked, but she's unfazed, back to braiding my hair, like nothings happened.  "I said, it's your fathers birthday, aren't you going to wish him well?"

"No." He could grow into a feeble minded old dried up pickle for all I cared.

I reach forward for another cookie, only for the woman to swat my hand away and fix me with a hard stare. "What is so important that you are fighting with your family?"