Malefactor [H.S.]

2

Maybe that's a bit dramatic.

I'm not actually robbing Zayn of everything he's worth, but every time I allow my conscience to dwell on the actions I've somehow already begun to rationalize, that's sure what it feels like I'm doing. It's not like I'm going to run up to him in the alleyway, a black ski mask covering my face as I wave a gun in his face and threaten his life. No, I'm not completely barbaric no matter how it may seem given what I've decided to do.

I'm just going to rob Luminary. I've come to the conclusion that that's somehow better.

It's not like I really have any other option. I'm in my fourth and final semester at community college and I'm already drowning in debt. If I want any chance at being able to transfer to a four-year school for the upcoming fall semester, I have to do something. I tried sitting by idly and praying things would work out on their own; that maybe, by the grace of some benevolent higher power, the universe would take pity on me and finally let everything fall into place.

I tried being optimistic that I'd stop waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat and gasping for air as my anxiety-ridden stomach threatened to spill its contents all over the floor. I tried being optimistic that maybe my dad would finally get his shit together and help out his daughter since he's the reason why I'm even in this mess to begin with and can't get any financial aid.

I tried being optimistic for so long. All I've discovered is that it doesn't work,

"Hey Cam," Niall calls, poking his head out from the backroom. I turn to face him, breaking away from my inner thoughts. "Do you know if it's been thirty minutes yet?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? You know I hate nicknames," I remind him with an eye roll. Glancing at the time on the register, I add, "And yeah, it's been over thirty, actually."

"Fuck, Zayn's gonna kill me," he mutters before his brown hair vanishes back behind the door and slamming it shut. A minute later, he comes strolling back out into the front of the store, heading straight for the register. He shoos me out of the way, logging in.

"What are you doing?" I ask, peering over his shoulder. He's logged into the website we use to clock in and out for our shifts, pulling up some part I've never seen before.

"Adjusting my time card."

"You can do that?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

"I can, you can't. Only managers can do it." He gives me a smirk. "But don't worry Cam, ask me to fix it for you and I will. I know how things are tight with money right now."

"You're not a manager," I remind him, trying to ignore the subtle dig at my financial situation. I don't think he meant it maliciously but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

"And that's where you're wrong. Zayn promoted me on Monday to assistant when I came in. Said I should be thanking you, actually. So thanks, now my pay rate went up by five dollars." Niall explains.

Monday. The day after he drove me home from here. I guess my words to him about not taking on as much pressure must've resonated with him.

I try not to focus on the slight sting it leaves in my chest, knowing he willingly chose to promote Niall over me. Niall, the same guy who constantly shows up late and basically has no idea what's going on half the time. Don't get me wrong—I love him, but holy shit he's a bad employee. It does make sense, though. Him and Zayn have been friends for years, apparently. I've always wondered how they know each other since Niall has a strong Irish accent and Zayn is, well, a native New Yorker like me.

Does it make me a bad person if I admit Niall's promotion makes me feel slightly less bad about the whole planning-to-rob-Zayn thing?

"So how's school going?" Niall asks. I groan loudly, ignoring the perplexed look he gives me. Seriously, why is that the only thing anyone asks me anymore–