Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
The mattress dips then, and her clothes rustle against the sheets.
“You’ve seen me. Now tell me what you look like.”
“Forgettable,” she says the word softly. “You have to be if you’re going to make a good thief.”
Forgettable. The word lodges deep in my chest, reminding me of the day I realized I’d been replaced. Just like throwing out an old sponge and swapping it with a new one. Throw out a disabled son and replace him with a new one. Just a few easy steps.
I reach for her free hand in the darkness. When I find it, I wrap my fingers around hers and give a gentle squeeze. “Me too.”
4
LAURA
Warmth spreads through me when Nash takes my hand, putting his calloused fingers against my cold ones.
For a long time, we lie there in the darkness, neither of us speaking a word.
“Laura,” I finally say. It’s not my legal name, not yet anyway. But it will be soon enough, and it sounds better than admitting I was named Random. That’s pretty dumb and you can only go by Randy for so long until the other kids figure out that your mom thought you were a random mistake.
Thinking of her makes my chest feel tight and not in the good way. Why did she pick that name? Better yet, why did she abandon me at a fire station when I was just three years old? These are questions I’ll never get the answer to.
“Laura,” he says it softly and I like the way he rolls it. Sort of like he’s singing it. “What do you do when you’re not robbing folks?”
I should bristle at the question but there’s no condemnation or anger in his tone. Guess that’s something. “I paint here and there.”
“You any good?”
I shouldn’t be telling him details about myself. But then, he can’t really use anything against me. After all, this is a silly citizen’s arrest and I’m leaving long before Sheriff Luke gets here. “I guess so. Sold my last one for a couple million.”
He blows out a breath and there’s bewilderment in his tone. “And you have to rip off people like me?”
“Everyone needs a hobby, Nash.” It’s hard to explain, the incessant need I have to take things that aren’t mine. To build a little stockpile of goods I can trade. If you have enough, you don’t have to sleep on the streets or forage in the trash for food. You don’t have to duck some old guy trying to put his hands all over you on the cold park bench.
“Do you ever think about finding a new one?” His question pulls me from my musings.
Rough as it all was, I survived. It’s the one thing I have to remember. It’s over now. I’m not a scared girl anymore. “Like what?”
“You could…I don’t know, go on dates or something.” His voice has a funny note. It’s weird. I’ve only spent a couple of weeks around him and I’ve already learned what his tone sounds like when something is troubling him.
“You mean like one of those dating apps?” I’ve never entertained the idea of doing that. I’ve always been fine alone. More than fine. But I have to admit, having Nash hold my hand while he lays next to me is kind of nice. Actually, everything about Nash is kind of nice.
“Those are cesspits filled with perverts and married men,” he scoffs.
It’s not like I can join a professional organization for thieves. I’ve made most of my money in the art world because I’m reclusive. No one knows who I am, and I prefer it that way. “Then who would I date?”
“You should sleep.” Just like that, he lets go of my hand and turns over.
My hand tingles from where his was, and I don’t even know what I said that was wrong. All I did was ask a question. This is why I don’t people. They’re too confusing to figure out.
The next morning, the smell of coffee wakes me from the first restful sleep I’ve had in months. Maybe years.
I struggle to sit up, temporarily confused about where I am. Then last night comes back to me, the memories of Nash pinning me to the floor, calling the sheriff, then holding my hand.
It’s the last one that has me smiling, but I quickly shake it off. I’m being silly. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything. I have to get out of here at the first sign that it’s safe enough to make my escape.
Standing, I right my clothes, but I’m still attached to one of the bed posters. It’s keeping me just far enough from the window that I can’t tell if the snow has stopped. I open the drawer for the nightstand and search it, looking for a sharp object that will free me from my confines.