This is From Matilda.

Chapter thirteen - good grief

I wasn't sure where I was going. All I knew, was that I was headed towards the busy streets of London.

I had to prove I was a thief. That is who I was, or at least who I thought I was...

I have to prove that I could return to my regular life. With the apartment, with the people I know. The bad people.

I have to prove to myself, that I am something. Even if that makes me a bad person, it still means I'm someone.

I could still hear my heart pounding in my ears. It fluctuated between fluttering, and hammering against my chest. Tears still blurred my vision, and I kept having to wipe them away with shaky fingers. Yet I still advanced into the crowds of people.

I am a thief.

My eyes danced around feverishly, trying to find a victim. They hastily fixed onto the target; a middle aged looking man, headphones, shiny wallet in his back pocket.

I breathed out a shaky breath, in attempts to calm myself.

I am a thief. I am a thief.

I began to stalk past him, close enough to brush past. Close enough to snag the prize.

I am a thief.

My trembling fingers, clumsily tried to grip onto the corner of the wallet, as my shoulder bumped into his.

I AM a thief.

I sped up my pace, in preparation to flee from the scene.

But a firm hand gripped and curled around my forearm.

"Hey!" My target growled. "Aren't you going to apologise!"

My eyes were wide, my tongue stiff, my body unresponsive.

I was caught. Again.

I'm not a thief.

"What's going on here?" A different voice interrupted, slightly out of breath.

I turned my head to find the source of the voice, to find Jack, who was now stood beside me.

"This little bitch bumped into me, and didn't apologise." His grip tightened more, and I winced. The man was an unsightly image; his face sagged around beady eyes, and a slightly upturned nose. His complexion was red with rage, and veins were bulging from his broad forehead. He looked uncannily like a disgruntled bull dog.

"Hey, let go of her." Jack said sternly.

The man didn't listen. "I'll bet she even mugged me!"

His hand patted his back pocket with his free hand. His eyes raged impossibly more.

"Where's my wallet!" He screamed in my face.

But before the man could do anything else, Jack gave him a powerful shove. The firm hold on my arm was released.

"Oh this wallet?" Jack said, violent sarcasm in his tone. He was holding the wallet in his hand, which I hadn't realised had left my own. He threw it roughly in the man's direction.

"You dropped it. Maybe next time, don't make idiotic assumptions."

The man had a scowling expression. But he didn't utter another word before he turned away.

"Come on." Jack muttered under his breath, and hooked his arm with mine before dragging my stunned form, all the way back to his apartment.

Not a word was spoken between us, and I was still too shocked too fight against him.