Legendary // H.S

71.

'I'm sorry brothers, so sorry lovers

Forgive me father, I love you mother'

*

George

It started a year ago.

One year of being tied to a man that only seeks to hurt and kill.

One year of betraying those I care about.

One year of pretending to be someone I'm not.

Just before Atlas joined us. After a year and a half of already working for the team, that was when I was approached. I never expected something like this to happen, or for it to go on this long, but I never had control in the matter. He always does, it's how every business transaction works.

When I joined the Municipal, I felt wanted. People believed in my abilities and personally asked for my assistance on high profile activities. I can crack through coding, infiltrate security, manipulate systems, all within minutes. Growing up, I'd taught myself how to do these things out of boredom, constantly challenging myself to harder feats until I had to move onto the next. It's not conventional for a teenager to know how to hack into government databases, but I never strived to be normal.

Normal is boring. It's for those that lack ambition and have no potential for greatness. Normal breeds the mundane. The mundane breeds the dull. The dull breeds the dead. An endless cycle of conforming to the standards of life, playing your part in the constructed system of society, until you meet your death. You're born, you breathe, you die. Over and over again, a life unfulfilled and uninspired.

I was promised a life outside of normal. I wanted a life outside of normal. Normality is paved in grey stones; I want clouds of bright technicolour. To live a life in grey is a waste. To go through the motions without risk or thrill or pain or joy, it is useless. Futile.

My whole life, I knew I craved more than what had been set out for me. I knew that a quiet life with my mother wasn't enough. I knew that a career in law wasn't enough. I knew that marrying a woman to please my family wasn't enough. My entire genetic makeup is against the grain. My hopes and dreams do not fit the mould that was crafted for me.

So, I broke free. I took matters into my own hands. Little by little, I found ways to push cracks into the cycle. I quit my degree, I lied to my mum, I joined a group of high-profile criminals, I allowed myself to love a man. Everything she'd hate, but everything I want. And it's not to spite her, or those that fuelled her ambitions for me. I know that should I admit these things to her, she will eventually find it in her heart to accept them. I just don't want to go through the turmoil to get there.

I'm good at keeping secrets. That's the main thing I've learned since joining the team. Perhaps my greatest skill considering the double life I've been able to live thus far. But I never anticipated using it against those that allowed me this freedom.

Freedom is Louis. He makes me feel seen in a crowd of thousands. He listens to my every word and offers his own, never contradicting or belittling, only enhancing. I knew the moment I met him that I'd fall so deeply for him, that I'd let my feet give way and my body collapse if it meant I could be in his presence for the rest of my life. I'd never felt that before. Of course, I'd found others attractive over the years, but I'd never felt anything for them. Until Louis smiled at me in the warehouse, and he pulled me aside and said 'you'll fit in here, mate. I want you to stay'; only then did I accept the sudden rush in my veins, the aching of my heart, the acceleration of my pulse.

Freedom is Harry. He made me believe that I could do anything I wanted. That I didn't have to stay in the box that had been built around me. That I could escape and be happy. The day he approached me in that café as I hacked into the university systems, he promised me a world of excitement. I believed that risk taking would lead to adventure and fulfilment. He was right. Those early heists filled me with so much adrenaline I barely slept in the days following due to the rush of it. Every time we finished one project: I'd be bouncing around until the next, desperate for another round of danger.