THIEF [S.M.]

nineteen

Remember what I said about loving New York City? Screw that, I hate its inhabitants. The people here are disgusting. Everyone here is heartless and stinky. I've been mugged twice in all the time I've been here, and it hasn't been that long. Besides that, the streets smell like piss and beer. Where I live, anyway.

It was cold tonight, but I didn't mind. I like cold weather.

I was still wearing my tuxedo, and although it was far past midnight and the sky was a reflection of black coffee, nobody I'd passed had questioned me.

The streets were yellow. Light leaked from the lampposts onto the old roads, producing a dull shade of yes, yellow. A decent color. One that transfers your mind into an instant calm state of fresh euphoria, reminding you of your favorite memories, your favorite things, your favorite people. Like hot summer days on the beach. Or sunflowers. Or Venus.

I never much believed in spiritual... whatever; always thought it was ridiculous. My fifth grade teacher used to tell our class that she could see aura. She's crazy, I thought. I was convinced. "Your aura is... brown... like chocolate. Dark chocolate." she told me once. I wasn't surprised, seeing as how I was such a depressed kid and brown was a matching color. Being a teacher, of course, she had to relate the color to something more enlightening. Like chocolate. Dark chocolate, however, is bitter. Like me?

Yellow. Venus' aura is yellow. I can see it now. It has to be. Yellow like the sunrise, a gentle glow. The sunrise is beautiful. Beautiful, like her.

I'd been walking for hours, unsure of exactly where I'm heading, not actually caring where I ended up.

Like a magnet, I found myself attracted to this little diner. It was late, but it's always open. I could see the dim lights dancing from where I stood, several yards away, and when I creeped closer and closer to the building I could see I wasn't the only one who had the idea to go here at 1AM. Like a magnet, I'm telling you.

There she sat, alone, still all in blue, at the bar. In front of her, a crumbling, half-eaten slice of what looked to be apple pie sat. Even though she was still, her thoughts seemed to be roaming elsewhere.

The bells on the door jingled, catching the attention of the young, brown-eyed waitress, who was wiping down an already-clean table. Work to defy boredom, undoubtedly.

I sat down a couple seats away from her, ordering a coffee--black, please.

Venus glanced over, a laugh erupting from the back of her throat. She shook her head, poking at the pie with her fork. "You following me now?" she said, her slight New York accent coming through much clearer than usual.

"I've always been following you." I joked in response, smiling at the waitress as she set down the steamy mug before me.

Venus wiped her hands on a napkin, straightening her posture. The lights flickered behind her, and the waitress proceeded wiping at the tables.

"Are you going to eat that?" I asked, avoiding the question banging on the walls of my brain: Where is Arlo? Where is Arlo?

"No. You can have it if you want," she replied, prodding it in my direction.

I waved it away. "I'm fine, thanks." I sipped on the hot liquid, scolding my tongue and playing it off casually.

After a moment, she turned her chair towards me and said, "Arlo just left for the airport. Business trip,"

I didn't know what she was implying by telling me this. "Uh... okay."

She nodded. It was awkward.

Insert a minute or two of silence between us. Dishes clanging from the kitchen, waitress clearing her throat, fork tapping against plate.

"H-how's your mom?" I asked, checking if my coffee had cooled. It hadn't.

She grinned luminously. "She's great! She's still in Nevada, though. She says she prefers it over there rather than here. Can't blame her, the likes of this place... well, you know."

Cue my overenthusiastic laugh. "I do, I know. It's a dump. But it's home."

She was smiling uncontrollably. Yellow, yellow, yellow.

"You haven't stolen any of my laundry lately, what's that about?" she asked, and it seemed like a legitimate, genuine question. Like she missed when I stole her laundry, or something.

"I don't need to anymore."

It was the truth, I didn't need to. I only resorted to digging through her wet clothes in order to talk to her. Now that I know I've wrapped my name around her heart and lassoed her in, I guess a certain confidence has sparked up inside me. No, that's a lie. I haven't been stealing her laundry because her boyfriend scares me and the last time I tried, I found his clothes. Also, I don't necessarily need to come face to face with him.

She chuckled as if visualizing the same memory. Then, she looked around and pushed herself off her seat, pulling a ten dollar bill from her handbag and slapping it on the counter between my untouched coffee and the neglected piece of pie.

Her nose scrunched up, and she said,"Why don't we get out of here?"

Why don't we? Let's see: 1. You have a boyfriend who already doesn't like me, 2. It's really late and for the first time in a while I'm actually tired, 3. I don't want her to keep acting like we never happened. I could go on... But I honestly can't think of anything else. All I can think is: "Please, let's."

And once we stepped foot into her apartment, only a few feet away from my own, our lips were locked, and our hearts were racing in-sync, and I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. I didn't care at all.

It was love, it was lust, it was pure. And when it was done, the sheets were hot against our skin, and our bare bodies were damp and the friction between us still vibrated with desire. The ceiling fan clattered, and sirens sang outside the window. It was dark, but the moonlight shone in and I could see her face; barely, but just enough. Her hair was disheveled and her lipstick was smeared, and she was a beautiful sunrise.

But this time it was different. When she looked into my eyes and they screamed vehemently,"I love you," I didn't feel the way I thought I would. When I was finally sure she was mine, I felt strange. I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was falling out of love with her.