Cash Machine {MCR}

Ride or Die

Some people say money is the route of all evil. Most people don't believe it. Others, like myself, know for a fact that it's true. Not because I've seen it deteriorate people's lives, but because I was subconsciously living for it. Though, I wouldn't call myself a victim of it. Just another person trying to make their way to comfortable living, in a comfortable life.

You might say, the way I chose to earn it was completely immoral. You might say, that I'd get caught sooner or later. And you are absolutely right. Sooner or later. Isn't that society speak for eventually? Well, I say, eventually hasn't happened yet. Although, society would also think that I must have come from a broken home, which I didn't. Society would also think that I had a forceful man behind me, coercing me to do such things; but that wasn't the case. I just chose to do what others were afraid to do just to get by. It seems like sometimes you don't cross the line, getting by is just another pipe dream.

"Okay, so here's the plan; you go in, first. You're gonna go up to the cashier, who is here." He says pointing to the elaborately detailed blueprint. "You're gonna ask her to deposit this check," He held it loosely in his small right hand in between his index finger and thumb. "To this account. You'll give her the account number..."

"Five, nine, nine, two, three, six, zero, four." I recite without hesitation.

"Great. And then you'll rub your belly twice..."

"Take two deeps breaths, clutch the counter and scream that I'm going into labor. I know this by now, Frankie!" I was growing a little annoyed. My hormones must have been off.

"Okay, but you've never really been pregnant before." Humph. Touche.

"Let's hurry and go before things get to looking suspicious." I looked out of the window of the big black truck and took notice to the passersby walking in and out of the bank's revolving door. Taking a deep sigh and rubbing my pertruding belly twice, looking down in determination. His hands fit perfectly onto mine. I smiled gently.

She was going to have it better than her father and I had it when we were little. And our goal was just that! Come to think of it, we had a lot of goals: to get married, rent or own an apartment, live in the nicer part of the city. All of those goals had been accomplished. But if it wasn't for crossing ther perverbial line, then that wouldn't have been at all possible.

Swiftly, I pulled on the pampered blonde wig. Looking at myself in the rearview, adjusting it like so. Taking notice to my face which had a soft glow and a hint of pudge. Though, I didn't mind.

"You guys know the drill; get in and out as quick as you can. I can't stay in fake-labor for too long without actually going into real labor." They chuckled. Frank rolled up the blue print layed out at the bottom of the vehicle. Everyone approached their rightful doors to exit on cue. I was still in the mirror combing my fingers through the wig. I didn't really like the blonde hair. It didn't compliment my complexion at all!

"Will you stop stressing?" I hesitated to turn around. I knew that voice. And every time it spoke, a subconcious grin grew wide across my face. "Everything will go as planned." He whispers in my ear from the driver's seat. His hand rubbed gently on the sphere I'd grown over the last seven months. I sighed.

"In and out. Grab what you can. Okay?" His hopeful eyes peered up to mine. Our faces merged closer. His soft lips were now inches away from mine. Pouting in their normal structure.

"And don't look back." His lips move onto mine softly.

"That's right." I say, grabbing the latch of the door and pulling it toward me. "Good luck." I salute him, stepping onto the pavement and briefly watching the van turn the corner and go straight.