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SIXTY HOURS INTO HEIST
VERONA SAT AT THE TABLE IN THE OFFICE BY HERSELF.The euphoric feeling she had felt down in the vault was long gone by now. Instead, it was replaced by anxiety, her nerves skyrocketing. An unbearable pressure weighed down on her chest. The reality of the current situation they were in was hitting her once again. If the heist failed, they would all spend the rest of their lives in prison. On the bright side, if they successfully pulled it off, she would be a millionaire, spending the rest of her life on a beach in the Caribbean. Unlucky for her, she wasn't a very optimistic person, and spent most of her time dwelling on the negatives.
The door opened quietly, but she was too deep in her thoughts to even realize. Florence looked at her, his eyes filling with genuine concern. He noticed the distant look on her face, as if she was out of touch with reality. A look he found on her face quite often.
He walked over, taking a seat next to her at the table. The young boy slid over a sandwich and a bottle of water, putting it in front of her. Verona glanced at him for a fraction of a second, her sunken eyes dropping to look at the food he had placed in front of her. The realization set in her that she hadn't eaten in almost two days.
"You need to eat." Florence spoke up, his comment lingering in the air. Verona didn't respond, her glare was set on the table in front of her. The boy let out a sigh, and reached over to pull some of the hair out of her face. She flinched when his hand brushed past her cheek, and he immediately retracted his hand, muttering an apology.
A silence grew in the room, the ticking of the clock was the only sound that could be heard. Florence stared hard at his hands, trying to think of something to say. He had never been a good conversationalist, especially when it came to her. He didn't understand why he always felt tongue-tied when in the presence of the girl.
"You don't need to worry about me." Verona implied, her voice low. The statement caught Florence off guard, his eyes widening slightly. He didn't understand why he worried about her so much, since he didn't really care for most people in the group. He was always very hesitant with people, and hated getting attached. Having a hold on someone made you vulnerable-- it made you weak.
Florence didn't prefer the feeling he had when he was around the blonde girl. He wished he didn't feel anything at all, so he wouldn't be left hurt when this was all over. There was a significant chance he would never see her again after the heist concluded. The feeling alone made him sick to his stomach. For some reason, he didn't care about not seeing the others after the heist ended-- only her.
Florence felt an abundance of emotions, but always refused to let them show. This was something the two of them had in common.
"Can you please just eat the damn sandwich?" He requested, tilting his head to the side. His tone was serious-- no hint of humor in his words at all. She could tell he was aggravated, seeing the way he crossed his visibly shaky hands together.
