She didn’t know the real reason was because I scouted that farmers’ market for women like her—rich, powerful women who are my meal ticket—no pun intended—out of here.
Our meeting wasn’t fate. It was an opportunity, and I took it, just like I’ve done for a long time.
Pilfering has helped me survive. It gave life to the demons inside my head, but the demons, they linger, and sooner or later, they’ll consume me for good, which is why I need to get my mom and me out of here.
It’s just us. I don’t know who my father is. And I’m okay with that fact.
He promised her the world, but what he left her with was a void so big, she has tried to fill it with any booze or drugs she can find.
She dresses in her best clothes, looking out the window, believing today is the day he comes to save us from hell. But no one’s coming. There never will be. We can only save ourselves.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” Maree purred into my ear as I fastened her wrists to the headboard.
“Yes, Maree, I am,” I stated with confidence.
Regardless of the fact that I was using her and she me, I appreciate beauty whenever, wherever I see it, and I won’t forget the image of Maree Vanderbilt tied to her four-poster bed as I fucked her senseless anytime soon.
As I carefully remove the glass frame from the wall and unlatch the backing, I softly rest the frame on the wooden kitchen table. When I lay my hands on the parchment, a sharp intake of breath leaves me.
This is what gets me hard.
Cautiously removing the painting, I delicately roll it up and retrieve a Polaroid of my cock from my backpack. I lick the back of it and slap it so it sits dead center in the frame with a lovely amount of negative space around it.
Once it’s on the wall, I take a step back, tilting my head to the side with a lopsided smirk.
Chef’s kiss.
Not sure if Maree will appreciate the memorabilia, however. But I’d kill to see her explain her way out of this one. I, on the other hand, would have no issues explaining why there’s a cock hanging on the kitchen wall.
It’s all about thinking outside the box—pun totally intended.
I’m good at what I do because I pay attention. Most people listen, waiting for when it’s their turn to talk, but not me. I listen and learn, as a smart predator should. It’s the only way I know how to survive.
The women I fuck and steal from use me just as much as I use them. I’m their dirty little secret they replay in their minds when they get fucked from behind by Mr. Viagra’s small cock. They like to reminisce about how they had dirty sex with a high school student.
But I’m far from a kid.
I grew up quick as I was more a parent to my mom than she was to me.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thrown her drunk ass into the shower to sober her up. Or shoved my fingers down her throat to force the concoction of prescription pills back up.
But I don’t complain.
This taught me early on that to survive in this world, you’ve got to stop hitching a ride and grab life by the balls. If there’s an opportunity, take it. Hesitating will only end in regret, and I won’t live a day wondering what-if.
That’s why I do what I do with a smile, and I don’t regret a single thing.
Guys my age will be talking about pussy and getting drunk, but I don’t have time for that. I want more in life. I refuse to be a statistic. I’m leaving this fucking town, and I’m doing so on the wealth of the people I stole from.
It’s poetic justice, really.
The roller door on the garage whines open, alerting me that it’s time to bounce.
Shouldering my backpack, I go to the fridge and open Pierre’s packed lunch for tomorrow and quickly defile it with my tongue…just like I did to Maree’s pussy.
Seems only fair Pierre gets in on the action too.
My footsteps echo in the empty hall as I coolly make my way toward the front door. I stroll. Don’t run. Just as I exit the front, Pierre enters through the back. It’s that easy.
Slipping on my hood, I walk through the manicured gardens and peek into the kitchen window.
Pierre tosses his car keys onto the counter, shaking his head when he sees the fridge door ajar. He closes it, but I know that Rueben sandwich has caught his eye. This fucker doesn’t look like he’s had a carb since 1984.
A temptation awaits him. What will he do?
Pierre stuffs the entire thing into his mouth but freezes mid-chew as his gaze becomes fixed on the wall in front of him.
And that’s my cue to leave.
Walking across the plush front lawn, I ensure I leave muddy footprints. I’m about to disappear into the night but stop dead in my tracks when the full moon catches a flick of silver from across the street.
I don’t know why I stop, but it’s like my feet are suddenly rooted to the earth beneath them.
I feel her eyes before I see them. Like a cat in the night, they seem to glow.
A girl stands by the curb, a towering white oak tree obscuring her from the world.
I wonder if she’s waiting for someone. She’s barefooted, and in a white hooded bunny suit, so I doubt she’s waiting for a ride. I wonder what she’s doing out here so late at night.
I don’t have time for anything, or anyone—period—but something about this girl, who doesn’t give a fuck standing in the darkness, her white bunny outfit contrasting the night sky, intrigues me.
I’ve never seen her before. I would have remembered if I had.
Her long blonde hair is tied in two loose pigtails, which spill free from the bunny-eared hood she wears. The silver that caught my eye comes from the large silver crucifix around her neck. Out here, under the moonlight, dressed like a white bunny, she fucking takes my breath away.
I stare at her.
She stares at me.
I expect her to look away, but she doesn’t.
She simply stands under the tree, watching me as closely as I’m watching her.
Her confidence as well as what the fuck she’s doing out here dressed this way leaves me fascinated, and against my better judgment, I cross the street.
However, I stop in the middle, not wanting to crowd her. Needing to keep some space between us.
Digging my hands in the pockets of my ripped jeans, I wait for her to speak. Most girls would act coy and maybe bite their lip.
But not this girl.
Up close, she’s even more captivating than she is from afar.
Her eyes light up her delicate face, though it also has an edge to it. She purses her red lips and raises her eyebrows, unimpressed that I’m invading her space. Not the usual response I receive from the opposite sex.
A dark-green leaf catches the cool breeze and detaches from the tree. It flips in the air before landing between her bunny ears. She leaves it perched on her head.
“It’s called white oak because newly cut wood appears light in color and is almost white,” I say nonchalantly.
I’m expecting a smile or maybe even a twitch of the lips, but I get nothing. Nada. Now would be the time to walk away, dignity intact, but I can’t—the whole living life without regret thing.
I open my mouth, about to spew off another fact, but she folds her arms around her small frame. “You can use Google. Congratulations.”
“Google is for lazy morons,” I counter without thought. “I prefer the old way—actually reading a book. In a library. Away from people.”