THIEF [S.M.]

two

★ ★ ★ A SERIES OF EVENTS OCCURRING ★ ★ ★
IN VENUS' PERSPECTIVE

It was a Sunday morning, and I had just arrived from doing my laundry, and I was in the midst of cleaning my bedroom when there was a knock on the front door.

I rushed to the door, unlocking it and yanking it open to reveal a charming young boy, who was decidedly familiar. He had come by two other times, to return something of mine that he supposedly 'found' after I'd left it there. It was surely peculiar, but I didn't mind his visits. He seemed like a sweet boy.

His head hung low, he was focused on the mat below him, his hands behind his back.

"Hi, Shawn – is it?" I questioned, his head raising and a cheesy smile decorating his pale face.

"Yes," he retorted swiftly.

I laughed, asking him what he needed. That's when he brought out my shirt from behind his back, explaining that he found it down in the laundry room. I took it, thanked him, and went inside, waving a goodbye at Shawn.

He was a nice boy, and I appreciated him returning my clothes each time he'd stumble upon them, but still I found it strange that I'd only ever lose one thing each time. I decided it wasn't going to worry me, and with that I shoved it out of my mind as I continued tidying my bedroom.

Cardboard boxes were still scattered in stacks across my bedroom floor, for I had recently moved here about a month ago. I had just moved out of my mothers house, which was only a few minutes away, and I had been working at the library to scrounge up enough change to get my own place. I didn't mind working at the library, though. I liked the quiet atmosphere.

This grubby apartment was all I could afford, though. But I made my best out of it, and made my apartment neat and nice, even though it retained poor plumbing and thin (painfully not sound proof) walls.

As I was cleaning my room, though, I rid of most of the empty boxes, keeping the ones that were filled to the rim with pictures, scrapbooks, and old school things, but pushing them away into the corner, mentally reminding myself to sort through them later. But, being the procrastinator I always have been, I paused my cleaning to sort through the old photographs.

Almost all of the pictures were ones with me and my mom. My mom and I had always had a really close relationship, one of those that others were jealous of. She was one of my very best friends, and still is, for that matter.

My parents were divorced. They split up when I was six, so it didn't matter much to me at that age. My dad lived an hour away, with my malicious stepmom, Carlene (whom had acquired an unreasonably strong resentment for my mother, and me being the protective type, loathing her for it, despite the fact that she didn't like me much either), her obnoxious Yorkshire Terrier, and my half brother. My relationship with my dad had always been pretty meager, and I only ever visited him once a month for a weekend, up until I turned eighteen, of course. I got the choice at that age.

When people asked me about my family, my response was always "it's complicated," every time. Only the people that I become really close with knew everything about my family. So in other words, the only person who knew everything about my family was my mom and my (now unfortunately deceased) cat, Frankie.

I've never been one to easily make friends, as you can tell. I like to think I'm just an odd person in general. I was never a popular kid, or a kid in any groups, I was always just by myself, either singing (even though I pretty much suck at it), or reading, my two main hobbies. I've always been friendly, I'd always smile and make small conversation, but when it came down to the deep material, I always seemed to close up and shrink back into my shell. Only ever with one person did I open up to, and that was my eighth grade best friend, the only best friend I've ever had. She ended up moving away before ninth grade, leaving me once again friendless.

My friendless-ness never bothered me, though. My books, drawings, mom and cat were perfectly enough for me.