Thousands (Dollar 4)

The more I listened, the less I liked them. Although, one girl didn’t say a thing, merely nodded and smiled when her friends were looking and cringed and rolled her eyes when they weren’t.

I liked her but not the others. I didn’t know why not liking them helped my resolve, but I continued to follow, eager now for an opportunity to rob rather than dreading it.

Finally, they stopped outside a café to read the menu, and my opportunity was handed to me.

I slammed to a stop. Two of the obnoxious girl’s handbags remained slung carelessly over their shoulders, one silver purse and one turquoise begging me to take them.

So I did.

Without looking around, my two hands vanished into two handbags and stole two purses.

A split second later, I turned and walked the other way.

The moment I marched away, the shakes started. A drenching of anxiety. A rush of sick excitement. A drowning of self-disgust.

Oh, my God.

I’d stolen for my own gain.

I hadn’t left a note apologising.

I’d judged those girls on their moronic conversation and bitchiness.

But I was the one in the wrong, not them.

Holy hell, I stole from them.

My heart couldn’t believe I’d become a criminal while yet more adrenaline spiked, making me drunk on such a scam.

I didn’t look where I was going as I tucked one purse beneath my arm and unzipped the silver one. Inside was a wad of hundred-dollar bills with more credit cards than I’d ever seen.

I didn’t know the first thing about credit card fraud, so I only took the cash and zipped up the wallet again. Passing by a café with its sunshine-bathing clientele, I left it on an outdoor table, hoping a nice waiter would find it and drop it at the nearest police station.

At least the girls would have a chance to have their cards and other mementos returned. I’d just take their cash. I’d use it wisely and gratefully and get myself home where I’d never have to steal again.

“Hey, you!” a screech whipped my head around.

The blonde girl who’d regaled and cackled about leading men on last night pointed at me. “Stop her. She’s a thief!” Her gaze went to the turquoise purse in my hands.

Her brunette friend yelled, “That’s my wallet! See!”

Pedestrians frowned, not willing to get involved just yet, giving me a few seconds to panic before everything exploded.

For a moment, I froze.

I couldn’t deny their accusations as they were entirely true. I was the one at fault, and all I wanted to do was apologise and beg for forgiveness while returning their property.

But if I did…I’d be arrested, and my previous imprisonment would begin all over again as a ward of the Monaco state rather than free at home with my mother.

No.

I couldn’t be locked up again.

By anyone.

“Stop, you little bitch!” Seeing as onlookers weren’t tackling me to the ground, the girls took matters into their own hands. “Get your thieving little ass back here!”

They charged.

I bolted.

I didn’t think. Instinct took over.

I ran as fast as I could through congested streets beneath hot sunshine. I weaved and parried. I didn’t look back. My lungs burst, my bones screamed, my eyes darted for a safe haven.

I might’ve run for two hours or two minutes—fear turned it into an unwinnable race. Gasping for air, I careened down a side street, hoping that by being off the main road, it would help me disappear.

I hoped wrong.

Oh, no…

Swallowing my terror, I came upon a dead end.

No, no, no.

Spinning around, I took three steps back the way I came only to slam to a stop as the slap of expensive sandals heralded the appearance of my victims.

They skidded into the alley, breathing hard, sweat dancing upon their perfect brows. They were all so pretty with styled hair, immaculate makeup, and top-of-the-line moisturised skin, but for three of them, no beauty could hide the ugliness inside them.

The blonde wearing a polka dot dress sneered. “Trapped now, aren’t ya, you little thief?”

I huddled in the shadows, wishing to God I hadn’t done what I did, desperate to make amends. My voice deserted me. Silence became my old friend and enemy.

The girls didn’t care.

They pressed forward. “Give us back our stuff, bitch.”

I tossed the turquoise wallet to them, watching it skid in a dirty puddle.

“And mine,” the blonde demanded, her gaze locked on the cash in my hands.

I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t have it. That I’d left it on a café table and would gladly take her there to make amends, but a black-haired girl who looked more in control and cruelly intelligent than her fellow holiday goers pulled out her phone.

“Ladies, don’t stress yourself.” With a cold smile, she said, “Let’s call Harold and have him sort this matter out, shall we?”

The girl who hadn’t spoken, who stood a little away from her friends and hadn’t joined in the spiteful retelling of hurting men’s feelings, cringed. “Miranda…I don’t think—”