Illegally Yours |+18|

Bess. The system is s**t. Ever since I was a little girl I have been sent from house to house, like a ping-pong ball that can bounce from one place to another. Don't they know that playing ball leaves you with a horrible dizziness? Also, do all those psychologists and social workers really not know that foster homes are the worst thing that can happen to a child? Because those places are. Trust me and my experience. Countless times an alcoholic father has used me as his personal maid to carry his ice cold bottles of beer to his couch where he is scratching his fat ass like the lazy bum he is. There are countless times that psychotic jealous mothers have accused me of wanting to seduce their very slimy and disrespectful husbands; as if a fat, bald guy who smells like seven days without bathing is attractive. I don't remember when was the last time a horny son tried to make out at night. Fortunately, the knife that I always carry with me has been there to defend me. And the daughters with the air of a queen who think they can walk all over you? Wow, they are the worst. So if you ask me when am I going to go back to a foster place, my answer is... Exactly! Never! Even if I have days without tasting the food, and the clothes I'm wearing are already tired of having so many patches so they don't end up breaking, it doesn't matter. Because at least I don't have unpleasant people, treating me as if I were less than them for the simple fact that I had the unpleasant luck of having miserable parents who left me in front of an orphanage when I was only days old. Are you wondering if I get depressed that my parents abandoned me when I was just a baby? No, I'm glad they did. There is a saying that says that better alone than in bad company. Have you heard it before? Well, those are the words that rule my life. What kind of wacko would want to be with parents like mine? Fortunately, I don't. And praise all the muffins in the world, I never will be! So these are the plans of my life, the long list that I have organized in my head. Number one, wait until you turn eighteen, because of course, the i***t who said you have to be eighteen to work, ruined my life and that of a few others. Anyway, I must adapt to this disastrous world even if it seems crazy to me. Or maybe I'm the crazy one. Anyway... let's continue with my list. Number two, I think you already know that. Yes, ladies and gentlemen! Work, work and work! Because again, the i***t who said that you need money to live, yes, that guy also killed my life and probably that of all humanity. And item number three comes, of course, I'll tell you when I have it. Because as of now, I don't know. Depressing? Maybe, but dare to remove the smile from my lips and you will earn yourself a problem. And today, as I walk down one of the streets of the city, poorly protecting myself with the coat that is my most precious property —if not the only one I have—, I think that everything would be perfect if hunger did not existed. God, how many people have died from hunger? I just hope I'm not one of them and luckily, thanks to my great ability to be small and stealthy, I can steal some bills and food that help me survive day to day. Are you calling me delinquent? Because I am not. I know who I steal from, so don't get me wrong. For example, that suit-and-tie guy talking angrily into his phone while he's drinking a cup of what's probably bitter coffee, he won't even notice if a bill is missing from his very lucky wallet, right? Also, the fancy, open-air restaurant where he eats because he is obviously allowed to pay is proof of his very fortunate economic status. Definitely not. A bill for him won't make a difference, but he can buy the morsel I'll be able to eat after many days of hunger. So I stand there, pretending to read the board where the orders of the day appear. Yes, friend, not a good idea. My stomach growls under my clothes from all those appetizing foods I'll probably never have the pleasure of eating. The guy in the suit and tie is next to me, talking very entertainingly on his phone. I correct, yelling in his phone. A frown forms in the middle of his black brows at his anger, but it's just funny to me to hear him yell. So I smile as he continues to yell at poor Michael to do his job right. Poor Michael's mom because this guy has summoned her more times than I can count. I sing "bingo!" in my head when the subject, who by the way has deep blue eyes, gets up to go to the bathroom. You see it? It is not so difficult. Now all I have to do is find his wallet in his jacket that the i***t left on the chair, pull out a bill and get the hell out of there as fast as I can. Of course, while I do all of the above, I will pray to heaven that he does not discover me. Without raising any suspicions, I go over to his jacket and, as if I had been born to do so, look for his wallet, which fortunately is there. One of the main things you should know when you are going to do something illegal is that you should act naturally, as if you are not doing anything wrong. So, with my best serene expression, I open his wallet to... Oh my! There are many banknotes and credit cards here! I'm shocked because it's the first time I see so much money. Am I about to rob a drug dealer or what the f**k?! Determined I don't want to get into so much trouble, I pull out the least valuable bill in his wallet, ready to get the hell out of there. But oh, for all the bagels in the world! My luck sucks! "What do you think you're doing?" A deep voice says from behind my back, and thanks to all the screaming I heard while on the phone, I know it's him. The guy I'm stealing from! I immediately drop the wallet and it falls with a loud tinkle on the table, my eyes following it all the time, but of course, I also quickly put the bill in one of the pockets of my coat. What? I need the money. "Would you believe me if I told you I confused your wallet with mine?" I ask, squeezing my eyes shut, skipping the part where I say I don't have a wallet. I startle when a heavy hand falls on my shoulder, forcing me to turn around. Still, I don't open my eyes, because... I'm embarrassed! And yes, yes, damn, yes. I'm used to doing this, but I've never been caught. So what am I supposed to do now? “Did you even think about stealing a higher value bill? I don't know, there are fifty pound notes and you take the five." I hear the voice in front of me. "Which leads me to ask, are you a thief or a mock thief?" Oh, that did piss me off. "Listen!" I open my eyes to find two blue pools looking at me with… amusement? "I'm a professional thief... I've... I've stolen very valuable things... like... like..." "Like five pounds from a wallet full of money?" His lips twist into what I think is a smile that, of course, exasperates me greatly. “And you are a retard who laughs because they have tried to rob you?” His smile slowly fades. "Have you ever thought about why it was you I chose to rob?" I take his hand off my shoulder roughly. "Well" I answer- "I chose you because you look so stupid not to notice." "Obviously, I did notice." Unfortunately. "Good for you" I put my hand inside my coat pocket, and take out the bill that is the protagonist of this scene to shake it in front of his face. "And thanks for the money, idiot." Putting the ticket back in my coat, I walk past him ready to go, happy that this restaurant is open air so no one has heard our stupid argument because everyone is busy in their very happy lives. Before I can take more than five steps, a hand lands on my shoulder again. "Leave my shoulder alone!" I yell, turning to look at the i***t who's laughing because I stole it. Only now he's not laughing. Those blue eyes look me over seriously, as if they could see me through my coat. “You're so bony” he twists his lips and immediately an indignant snort is emitted from me. "How much do you weigh?" "Sorry, Mr. Fat," I scoff, feeling beside myself. "But my weight is none of your business." Regardless, he ignores me and takes my hand, leading me back into the restaurant. “Sit there” he grabs my shoulders and forces me to sit in one of the chairs at the table where he was sitting earlier. I do, feeling too dazed. "Waiter!" I watch between blinks as the waiter approaches and takes the order that the orangutan next to me asks for. "And quickly, please" asks the subject. "This girl looks like she's going to faint from how pale she is." The waiter runs into the place, fulfilling his order. I take my cheeks with my cold hands, feeling my pale skin. "I'm fair skinned, I'm not pale" I lie. "And I'm not a charity case!" "Oh, of course you're not." He keeps holding my shoulders to keep me from standing up and all I want to do is punch him in the balls. "But while I wait for the police to come for you, I feed you to prevent you from dying in front of me." Immediately, fear runs through my blood. "Policeman?" I raise my face to look at him. "Hey... y-you don't have to do this... No..." "You weren't stealing from me?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Because the five pound note in your coat is proof of that." “No, wait” my voice breaks slightly, so I pause for a second before continuing: “Here” I take out the bill with trembling hands and hand it to him. "Sorry, but don't call the police." He just looks at me, never receiving the bill. Instead, he lets go of one of my shoulders to pull a cell phone out of one of his back pockets and dials what I'm sure is the police. Oh God, this can't be happening to me. If he calls the police, they will send me back to a foster home and I don't want to go through the same thing again. No again. Please, please. "I'm underage!" That immediately gets his attention. "Please, please, don't call the police!" "Are you underage?!" He crouches down to my height, leaving his face in front of mine. “Christ, you're a kid,” he murmurs, detailing my face in minute detail. "Me..." "What the hell are you doing shoplifting on the street, looking so frail I could swear you're about to break?!" My eyes begin to fill with tears at the way he used to describe me. "And your parents?" I shake my head, denying. Not feeling so brave anymore knowing that he's going to call the police and worse yet, that he seems to read me like I'm an open book. “Please don't call the police” I look at him pleadingly, staring into those blue eyes that seem so deep. "You don't know what will happen to me if you call them." "Then give me your parents' number and I'll take you to them." And I explode. "I don't have parents, i***t!" I calm down when I understand that this is not the best way to deal with the situation. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" and my tongue begins to blurt out everything that comes to mind. “If you call the police they will take me back to a foster home and I don't want that. Look, what do you want in return? I can work for you, for free, for a few days, at whatever you want until I pay you that five quid or whatever money you think I should pay you. Or you just let me go and I disappear from your life and I swear to God, I will never see you again. But please, please don't take me back to a foster home. Those people are despicable and…” And I start to cry like a baby, unable to hold back my tears. And I'm not a crybaby, I swear. Look, I don't cry every night when I sleep in one of the seats in central park. I also don't cry when I take a shower in one of those disgusting public bathrooms. I cry much less when I have to wash one of the two changes of clothes I have in the waters of the city river. And the hunger? I'm already used to it, so I don't cry about it either. But despite the life I have, I'd rather live like this than live in a foster home. And it is that people can not only mistreat you in a s****l or physical way, which thank God was not my case, but they can mistreat you in a psychological and emotional way, making you feel like garbage. And I definitely don't want to go back to the same thing. The very idea makes me gag. I startle when two large hands take my face with a delicacy never used on me. That pair of blue eyes look at me with tenderness and some what can be empathy, I don't know. I shudder because it's the first time someone looks at me that way, touches me that way. With kindness and tenderness. "What's your name?" "What?" I ask, sniffling through my nose. He smiles at what I know is my rude action. "What's your name?" He asks again, exerting a little more force in his hands on my cheeks. "Come on, pretty, answer." “Bess,” I whisper very softly, causing his eyes to fall to my lips, probably reading them. "Bess Lee" His eyes linger on my lips for a long second before returning to my eyes. “I'm Aaron,” he says in that deep voice that he manages to give me goosebumps. "Aaron Cooper". I nod, repeating his name in my head. And so, I ask the only thing that matters to me. “Are you going to call the police?” I get nervous when he continues to look at me, detailing every bit of my face, as if it were something impressive. I just need him to cut me loose and let me go, dammit! "Reply!" I scream, losing control as he remains silent, just looking at me. Looking like he was fighting a battle with himself. "No, Bess," he says my name slowly. "I am not going to do it". I sigh, filled with relief. God, it feels like my soul has returned to my body. “Thanks” I say, feeling really grateful. “Seriously, tha...” "But in return, I'll put one condition on you," he interrupts my words, and before my mind can wander to what he wants from me, Aaron continues: "You're going to let me help you." "What?" I put my hands over his that are still on my cheeks and pull them away from me, feeling too embarrassed by his gaze. "What are you talking about?" He thinks for a long second before saying, "I want you to come with me." And then I laugh because this has to be a joke!