Sinful || H.S.

5

19th June, 2022

I play with the tassels hanging off the hem of my t-shirt. My fingers fiddle with the dangles, twisting and untwisting the fabric as I impatiently wait for robber boy to arrive.

Any minute now, this lovely unwanted guest of mine should show up to take the money I so rightfully earned (sort of).

My place of hiding seems to be serving me well since no one has spotted me yet.

I twiddle my thumbs for a few more minutes before I see the infamous wave of bouncing curls saunter my way. How he can be so relaxed while stealing from someone is beyond me.

As he approaches, I start to get a better look at his features. That day I wasn't able to get a good enough view other than his eyes and sharp jawline, but today I can see his toned physique and tall stature. His six foot something body moves so easily on the tar, with his feet landing on the ground at minimal noise levels.

Clearly, he has plenty of experience sneaking around because his light treads and smooth movements make him look like an expert.

He reaches the edge of my cardboard bed and bends down, one foot bent while the other is ready to spring up in case of an emergency; always prepared to escape. I admire his professionalism and it would be stupid of me to deny that this man is skilful at pinching objects.

I watch in excitement as he pulls out the jar and examines the new plastic surrounding the box. The perplexed look on his face causes his eyebrows to draw in and his forehead to crease. He bites his lip in confusion as he stares intensely at the new decorations I added.

I'm assuming he's smart enough to know that this is an additional form of protection, he just doesn't know what kind of protection it provides.

Well, I'm more than willing to show him.

I creep out of my hiding spot and next to the wire I had connected to the extension cord. I smirk to myself as I watch his hands cup the jar, before I plug the wire into the socket of another plug point.

With a jolt of electricity flowing through him, robber boy gasps and let's go of the glass before falling to the floor in pain. He places his arms against his chest and groans as he wears down the shock he just received.

Deciding to seize the moment before it's too late, I dash out of the secret location and hold down robber boy, with my hands around his neck and a knife steadily positioned at his waist.

"One move and you're fucked." I spit venomously, part of me extremely angry that someone tried looting me, part of me feeling victorious for having finally caught this numbskull.

"What the fuck was that?" His raspy voice belts out in a thick, British accent. The accent intrigues me.

"That was what happens when you - try - stealing - from - me." I shove him between every word, trying to get my point across.

I've learned that on the streets, loyalty is unheard of. No one owes anyone anything. You are entitled to steal from others and if you can't get it back, consider it lost. In addition, words don't get through to people like us. Violence does.

"I'll give you your things back, let me go." He whispers, his voice hoarse from the harsh grip I had on his neck. He may look muscular but he's obviously not as strong as I thought he would be. Or he wants me to underestimate his abilities so he can find an opportunity to run.

"I don't trust you."

"I promise, you'll get your things back. Just don't tell anyone or else I'll have to return everyone's belongings." He says, struggling against my hold by hitting my arms a few times. Baby punches. Lame.

"I'm going to keep my knife right here. I want you to slowly stand up and lead me to where you kept my money." I threaten, steadily inching away from him yet maintaining a firm grasp on his waist.

"You don't have to be so dramatic." He rolls his eyes and stands up to dust himself off. My eyes follow his every movement, looking for any signs that indicate he's about to run away.

"Move." I push him roughly, his feet dragging against the ground as he catches his balance.

After about twelve to fifteen minutes of walking, we arrive at The Den, a shady pub on the outskirts of Berkton. Few people visit this bar, it's mostly drug dealers who want to avoid getting caught or prostitutes who want to find fresh meat.

"There." He tilts his head diagonally, signalling to the cozy looking trundle bed. How on earth could he afford that and if it was stolen, how did he avoid getting nabbed?

I look at him in bewilderment, my eyes asking him indirectly if that genuinely is his 'territory' for lack of a better word.

"Go on." He chides impatiently, twisting his jaw in arrogance.

I leave his side and I'm by the berth in a second. I scramble through the unorganised sheets he folds his stash in, finally getting hold of some coins. I narrow my eyes when I finish counting the silver mints.

"This isn't even two dollars."

Robber boy sniggers. "I spent some, feel free to keep the rest." He waves his hand dismissively, pretending like he's doing me a favour.

My blood boils and I stomp over to his soaring frame. I lift up the knife and I'm about to pierce it into his shoulder, when his left arm comes swooping in. Well that definitely caught me off guard.

"Don't you dare."

-

Hehehe aggro Harry teas