Thief: Part I

By Azia Lualhati

I love to take. Take, take, take, it’s what I do best. From the nicest pair of shoes sitting in Foot Locker, the nicely wrapped package of gum in the checkout line, or the shiny cross clasped to the neck of the current victim I’m watching from the corner of my eye. I can’t see them as more than “victims”. They are only simple “things”, objects to take back from. The body is another structure, different according to each victim, a shelf in which they hold items I need to take away.

In truth, I almost feel like Robin Hood. Minus the Merry Men or the need for justice for the poor, no, I don’t feel that. I don’t feel much, typically. Only the urge to take. The victim languidly stretches in its chair, brushing a dainty, frail claw through ashe-white straggles of curls. It is elderly, cowering forward with the weight of age. It is easy, simple, all I had to do was sit behind it, remove the clasp with dexterity, and I was in the clear.

Being a thief wasn’t exactly a difficult job. All it took was simple movements, a blank face, and momentum. One bad move meant everyone and their mothers would cluck like chickens in my direction. The church was empty, quiet, not meant for me to be there. It wasn’t meant for the dirty.

Quietly, I bowed my head and hands into my coat. Deftly strolling to the pew straight behind my intended victim, I took a slow seat, not breathing. No sounds. Nothing. Just silence. Even the creaking of the pew boards beneath my chaffed jeans barely made a rugged peep against the splinters.

I glanced out of the corner of both eyes. Just a sole angel statue penetrating me with judgmental eye sockets beside the confession box, while my left side produced a slouching black thing with ripped leggings so sheer, I could see its pale carcass beneath. The knees were pointed towards my direction, indicating I had an audience. In the dimly lit hall, I couldn’t tell if it watched me with its beady eyes. However, only it’s body, not head, seemed interestingly pointed towards me. The head focused directly forward, gazing towards the fiery hall of Jesus himself. I wondered if it could pray.

Shrugging, I got back to business. I carefully swept away the cashmere scarf around it’s throbbing neck, nearly salivating at the shimmering chain just calling my name. I swiftly reached out and unclasped the chain, waited, listened and then dragged it away effortlessly. There was a ball at the end, so the cross would drop against it, producing the tiniest tinkle. However, I knew it wouldn’t hear. The blank, white stare in its eyes told me that vision was no longer a prominent aspect.

I pocketed my treasure. I stood, yawning gloriously. Another steal, another gain. Take, take, take. It’s what I did best, because people thought they were better at it than I was. That’s another story for another time. Before I became of thief of objects to justify why someone stole the parts of me I could never get back. It was revenge. However, it didn’t do me much.

Beginning my walk out the pew, the knees in the next row stood. It’s heavy black sweater clung in all the right places, baggy yet satisfyingly attractive. The leggings still revealed too much skin for the holy house. However, now there was a face.

A face I embedded like a code. A mantra. My own personal motto. I recognized it, years from now, no matter how much it changed. “It” was not an “it”. I saw her. The female. The Eve of destruction who held in her very tiny hands, the apple of temptation in which I took a hearty bite out of. Eve was delicate, soft, with eyes that held a darkness and age beyond her. I saw time itself wrinkling in her very presence.

I guess the easiest thing to say was that she was fucking beautiful, with the eyes of a God. Her lips formed the Glare. A constant format on her face, sometimes broken by the Half-Smirk or the Half-Frown. Otherwise, she held what was known as a “bitch face.” It looked both completely out of place and familiar in her child like face, the piercing flash of her elderly black eyes solemnly sizzling, her body thrusted forward on two planted heels, her pockets filled with knuckled fists. She was a fighter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She demanded.

“What do-” One hand flew up dangerously close to my face, silencing me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ice clung to her breath.

“I was stealing.” I didn’t bother lying to her. It seemed one of the worst options to do.

“And will you return it? Or will I steal it back from you?” She took a menacing step forward, closing the distance between us in one swift movement.

She stole back from me alright. My pocket was empty in seconds, and the oxygen from my lungs was ripped away. I was empty of disagreement, and when she turned on her heel from me, I chased her out the church, wanting to grab back the breath she had taken from me.

“What?” Her shoulders faced forward, but her voice hopped over her shoulder. It was raining then, when I started to realize, maybe, just maybe, I wanted her to take my breath away one more time. The thief wanted to be taken from. So messed up.

“You didn’t give that back to her. You stole it back from me. How does that make you any different, huh?” I challenged.

No answer. Silently, my Eve turned to face me. It would be the first time out of the five times I had seen her truly smile. A warmth in the dead of the cool November, the kiss of a lover’s sweet lips, the only curve that I would hungirly chase after year after year.

“I was going to take it first. It’s the first time someone else beat me to the punch. Congrats, you winner.” Honey clung to her words, cascading between us in a slow, dripping, delicious trickle. There. She fucking had done it again. I didn’t even know her name, yet her she was. Stealing everything from me that i wanted to protect from the cold. It made me hungry for more. Feeling confident, I puffed out my chest just a bite, cocked my head and gave her a relaxed little grin. Narrowing my eyes, I bent down towards her a little.

“It won’t be the first time I win.” That angelic smile widened, revealing one of her pearly canines. A twinkle resonated from the dark orbs staring up at me.

“What’s your name?” Eve inquired.

“Tell me yours first.” Silence, her smile stayed.

“Lucy.” I relished every single letter like sugar on my lips, tasting it, enjoying the sound each individual syllable brought to my ears. Lucy.

“Andrew.”

“Pleasure, Andrew. I’ll see you around.” She didn’t allow me to speak, instead, she turned back towards the bleak darkness of the street. She tightened the hood of her sweater, waggled her fingers good-bye at me, and then she was gone with the wind. I watched her dark, hunched shoulders disappear in the November shower, until I couldn’t determine who she was at the rain began to pound even harder against the pavement.