I didn’t call him that morning or at noon.
And I don’t know if he called me either, cause i’d switched off my phone.
I limped to class that morning. Some noticed, most didn’t, but whenever anyone asked me what was wrong with my legs, I lied that I had an inflammation in my thighs. They laughed and talked it off but inside of me, I was drowning in a dark sea of tears and guilt.
You know, I used to be this proud girl who walked with her shoulder high and chin up because I knew I was better than the daughters of Jezebel I had for classmates cause I was chaste. Call it old school all you like, but chastity runs deeper to me than just abstinence from sex till marriage. To me, I was better than those girls but that morning, I couldn’t stop thinking how much alike we finally were.
I was a daughter of Jezebel too. I didn’t have that pride anymore. The confidence was gone. All that was left was the throbbing pain between my legs that four rounds with Khalifa had left.
Four rounds? Girl, that was no mistake, that was will.