"What happened to Rosie?"
"It doesn't matter this isn't about her," there was a pause, "it seems as if you've missed my point."
Hakeem went to stand up but was stopped by the inhuman growl released by his inferior sitting opposite him.
"Sit down."
And Hakeem listened, though he had no other choice. One foot out that door and his father would've been alerted and the whole city would have probably gone into lockdown until he was sitting back in this room again.
"You digressed Hakeem, you began this nonsensical tale about this foolish Rosie girl so I'm not the one missing the point. You are, so next time I ask you a question, don't catch an attitude with me, boy."
Hakeem nodded. The kind of nod that your parents award you with when you pleasantly surprise them. Though Hakeem was no father and the man was far too wise to try and impress a child.
"You're right. But let's pretend these little anecdotes are actually helping me progress and change. So, I'll talk about this made up girl I could love, if I allowed myself to, which is bullshit because why the fuck wouldn't I allow myself to. And you write notes or whatever that pen and the paper your holding is for and go onto over analyse them before showing them to my father so he can pay you, buy yourself a new suit, a new house, a holiday even. Don't worry about me, I've got everything I could need," the boy, who was barely on the dawn of adulthood spoke with such conviction and authority that the 47 year old man almost nodded in compliance.
Almost.
But Dahl had walked this path before. You couldn't confuse a man with a compass and breadcrumbs.
So for that Dahl laughed. A hearty laugh, starting from the bottom of his belly and escaping his widely opened mouth before echoing around the barely decorated room.
