Thousands (Dollar 4)

If I did that, I could be with him right now.

I could be sailing out to sea.

Safe.

Warm.

In love.

Who cared if he never touched or kissed me again?

He was safe.

And safe was worth so much more to me than romance.

Isn’t it?

I hated that my answer was no longer clear cut.

He’d spoiled me. He’d shown me that safety only came from trust, and trust had the unnerving ability to create affection, which morphed into lust and somehow blossomed into love.

You didn’t leave for you.

That reminder—that righteous thorn in my side—gave me strength.

I can do this.

For him.

Inhaling hard, I strode onward.

* * * * *

Late afternoon, and I still hadn’t left the limbo of heartache.

I hadn’t come up with a plan. I hadn’t done anything but mope.

The hungrier and more tired I became, the more the crowds caused cold sweat to trickle down my spine. Sunshine burned me as if I was an ant under a magnifying glass. Every pair of eyes was malevolent.

The streets slithered this way and that, deeper into chaos.

I had no idea where I was going. I had no clue how I would find money to return to England or how I would track down my mother.

With every step, I hunkered down a little more, curling around the emptiness inside.

However, as hunger pains took precedent, my mind stopped torturing me with images of Elder and focused on survival. I needed money. For food, shelter, and transport. I needed a passport to cross the borders. I needed a miracle to achieve such things.

Or the sticky fingers Elder had taught me to wield.

The thought of stealing wasn’t new. I’d deliberated all night, looking, despite myself, for easy opportunities. But now another day was here, and my throat was dry, and a headache pinched my eyes, and I finally had no choice. The luxury of being above such necessities had faded, and I sagged against a building, trying to stay out of the way of bustling pedestrians.

I didn’t want to loiter like a criminal, but I also couldn’t keep walking with no direction.

I needed to be smart.

It was time to steal.

Self-disgust filled me even as I settled in to study potential victims and find the rhythm of the city. I eyed laughing tourists and assessed sharp chinned businessmen. I did my best to recall everything Elder had taught me about pickpocketing.

My fingers fanned out by my sides, willing to pilfer a wallet or purse but still so unskilled at being unseen.

As much as I didn’t want to do this, I had two choices: steal enough to get home or put myself at the mercy of others. I would have to blindly trust that the police weren’t corrupt, good Samaritans weren’t evil, and whoever came next into my life wouldn’t abuse me.

No.

I couldn’t.

I was too fragile. My confidence still so new. I couldn’t turn to another and trust. I had one person I trusted, and I’d run from him. The second best was me, myself, and I.

And No One.

No One…damn.

The crippling in my chest was all thanks to Elder and his story about being called No One by his family.

My journal would forever be linked to him.

He’d ruined the only sanctuary I had.

I missed him more than I could stand.

What was he doing? Had he decided to hell with me and left? Had he stayed and tried to find me?

Where I stood deep in the city surrounded by buildings and strangers, I couldn’t see the ocean. I couldn’t see the Phantom or the balcony where we’d stood side by side and faced the storm out to sea.

I can’t see if he’s gone…

Four girls walked past, two with gaping-open handbags and brightly coloured purses just begging to be looted.

It was as if fate had given me direction and told me to stop mauling painful thoughts. If Elder had gone, so be it. If he was still here, that wasn’t my concern.

I’d left because I loved him.

And I would steal because I needed to take responsibility for myself again.

Clutching my conviction, I pushed off from my resting place and followed.

For the first few steps, I felt nothing. Then, the longer I committed to doing this, the more adrenaline drenched my veins. I turned jumpy and edgy and paranoid.

I guessed the girls were in their early twenties, and judging by their tired faces from late nights and immaculate new clothing they were here to do some serious partying with unlimited shopping budgets.

Lucky for me, passers-by didn’t peg me as too out of place. I might not be wearing the latest catwalk fashion like my chosen hunted, but apart from a little toil from spending the night outside, my sundress was still appropriate; my hair still acceptable.

I was merely the fifth wheel to this quad of happy spenders, and no one noticed me lurking behind them.

My ears rang with their plastic laughter as they regaled tales of flirting with men last night only to drink their gifted cocktails before telling them they were too ugly for their tastes.