I See Fire

29 | From the last Time

"It's not what you think daddy."

"Then what do you want me to think when you're knelt before my drawer putting money inside." He pushes the door and turns the lock.

Farouk swallowed in fear, his hands shaking on his stiff laps "I was... it's not me!"

"How did you know my money was missing if I didn't tell you?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying it's not me that..." he struggles to find words to say so he just puts the last wad and uses his hands to push the bag under the bed before his father sees it and asks more questions. "I was helping you daddy."

"With what exactly?" He bites down on his lips tucked inside his mouth and growls as Farouk doesn't answer "Just go, I'll call you once I'm done thinking."

He puts his left hand to the floor and pushes his self up and stands on his unstable legs, the blood swooshing down their mainstreams to hell him regain balance and perfect mobility again.

He and his father share a look that makes him imagine the worst punishments as he hurried to the door. Unlocking it was quite hard even if it was one of the easiest things to do but his mind was fumbled.

He moved to his room like a ghost under a spell. His mind couldn't think and his reasoning wouldn't provide an idea to get him out of this mess.

Farouk slammed the door behind him and locked it. He ran to his wardrobe and pulled a box out from the top and began to thrown in his clothes into it. He opened another cabinet to pour all of his underwear. The box was big enough for everything he put in including body lotion, perfume and shoes.

It was a running away—hide for some time—avoid-his father mission not a vacation but he was an ajebo in and out—no way he could survive without his swanky clothes and perfumed lotion or the smell of his Santal 33 by La Labo. Through and through, he was a trust fund baby without the trust funds—at least not from his father. No. His mother was the giver.

He zipped the box and wore one of the last hoodies left in his wardrobe and slapped a face cap on his head. The door to his room didn't make sounds when being drawn open but it seems today it was trying to get him caught.

Now he was to find a way to get out of the house without rousing suspicion. The gateman was a dunce but he knew when something was wrong and everyone except him, Alhaji Abdullah, Yusuf, dead Nadine—he'd become so on-the-fence about her that he barely cared to think of the causes of her death.

He loved her, too much maybe. He didn't know why but he was just tired so he didn't want to understand his feelings. And Zayda.

Zayda.

If only he could say he was done with her.

She was like that nagging thought of an ex that you didn't want to accept you still loved even if you actually did. He'd stopped trying to text or call but he was still monitoring her and hasn't quite gotten his hands on anything but he misses her but also resents her ever leaving.

Before he left his fathers room, he stole a car key to one of his less expensive Toyota's, the big for nothing. To pass the living room area would be his biggest plight now because his father never left his room since he sent him out.