Dalaric

Seventeen: "𝙂𝙤 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙩-"

"Waaaait a minute, you're telling me, she doesn't know you're a millionaire?" Rafael laughs even harder, clutching his stomach while stomping his feet on the ground.

Fool.

"She wouldn't care." Mayella treats everyone the same, regardless of their status. It's what I fucking adore about her, the way she disregards materialistic things like money and looks, still managing to make everyone happy.

She's amazing like that.

Well fucking done, I only miss her more now.

"Leave, Rafael." I give him a look that he recognizes. He nods before leaving. Everyone here knows how angry I get when I'm not happy. Which is why I just let them know beforehand, so I don't hurt their feelings. I made an intern cry the other day, that shit feels bad.

My phone buzzes with three miscalls from the one person I can't fucking stand right now. Landon. It's always when he needs money. For alcohol, drugs or girls. I can't imagine what the fuck made him turn out this way. It's been going on for too long. He wasn't like this when I first arrived. The Miller family fostered me ever since I was seventeen. I had run away from my last home at fifteen, spending the next two years at friends and shelters all while hiding from CPS.

I was a stupid kid. That came to realization when they caught me at a bar in my hood and dragged me to a white ass family I instantly disliked. It was either that or juvenile detention.

Eventually, I considered them family. Emily, my foster mom was the mother I never had, since the other one died in prison, and became the only reason I stayed with them. She was a stereotypical soccer mom with her chicken lasagna and grey mini-van but she was the only one who helped me sleep when I missed my parents. She helped me disconnect myself from the hood, especially when I ended up with assault charges. Four times. Emily then made me get therapy for the anger.

Landon and I started off good. Being the younger one, he would want to hang out with my friends all the time. I didn't mind at first, before he became a total bitch. He got beat up several times as a result of his big mouth, letting me take up the blame by his father, Carl.

After he graduated, Emily had got cancer. She passed away soon after and that was the breaking point for Landon. I went to therapy more often even though I fucking hated it, not being able to tolerate Landon or Carl's shit, and just missing Emily too much.

That's when I was recruited as an intern in the FBI by a man who I met at a shooting range I went to every three days- to get all the fucking rage out before I do it on someone else. The training program took about a year or so and I soon made my way up to leader.

I wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for Emily. I wouldn't be in front of this yellow office door either, which says "Mr.Klause" above an over exaggerated smile on his picture.

The guy's funny looking with his balding head and beer belly. He wears black square glasses along with a tie that has motivational quotes on it. Why the fuck am I here. Right, her.

Making my way towards the office, his assistant directs me to his door after a few minutes. I sigh, wishing I was anywhere but here right now.

The door opens and he lets out a throaty laugh, one hand resting on his stomach, like he has a baby in there.

He catches me staring at his action and nods, smiling to himself. "It's my subway baby. He's a foot long." Who the fuck let him be a therapist for anger management?