three things before this story starts:

1) this is my first ever story so if it sucks blame anniepear she made me join this cite

2) this first chapter is ridiculously long but that's only because I merged the prologue and first chapter into this monster-chapter. just bear with me.

3) feedback is the reason I'm alive so don't be afraid to share how you feel about this story! (really, just let it out)

ok, that's all. let me debut story on begin!

Ch.1: A Not-So-Great Idea

I knocked on the door once, twice, three times before my grandmother finally opened it. The woman's eyes widened in a way that would've been comical if a) it wasn't raining and b) Daphne and I weren't standing outside in the dark and c) my parents weren't dead/gone.

"Lieblings," was all the woman said, quickly grabbing the two of us by our sopping hoods and all but dragging us inside. Granny Relda got the still sniffling Daphne situated with hot chocolate and a blanket beside the fire as I sat on the cold tile floor, playing with my pony tail holder and recounting everything.

Walking home from school with my sister. Waiting for my parents to come back from work. Cooking dinner for Daphne when they didn't. Tucking Daphne in when they still didn't. Trying to calm myself down on the living room couch when they still didn't. And then, finally, phoning the police, who were kind but intrusive and pushy and only seemed to deliver bad news that upset Daphne more and more. And so when they told me there was a strong possibility my parents wouldn't return, I had simply grabbed my sister, packed a bag of crackers and money, and piggy-backed her to the road where we took a taxi to our grandmother's neighborhood.

"Sweetheart, I'm so, so sorry, but I'm sure your parents will come back. I know my Henry. He never leaves anything unfinished," Granny Relda said a long moment after my story was done, a long moment after she'd let it all sink in and blinked away her own tears.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't sure if it was the freezing rain still soaking my clothes and hair or the attempt to ignore the grief-fueled hurricane inside me, but I only felt a hard, dull numbness.

"The police said it didn't even look like they were kidnapped. They said it looked like they had left on purpose."

I studied Granny Relda carefully as the woman's eyes crinkled up in this odd mixture of confusion, pain, and pity. It was the truth, after all. The police were very straightforward with me, at least after I'd demanded they be. They said the lack of clothes in their closets and the disappearance of personal things like wallets and phones and the almost empty fridge (which had been full just the night before) all pointed to the same thing – a rushed, but planned, departure. I wasn't sure if that scared me more or just made me mad, or whether my madness was at the police for suggesting such a thing or the fear that my parents actually did just grab what they needed and leave.

More importantly, it begged the question: was I not important enough to be taken too? Was I unnecessary enough to leave behind?

Granny Relda stooped down then, pulling me in for a hug despite my still dripping clothes. "Liebling, no matter what happens from here on out, your parents love you. I love you. Sometimes bad things just… happen, without warning or reason."

I didn't answer, because I had learned not long ago in science that, quite to the contrary, everything happened for a reason. Everything had a reaction force that triggered its opposite and equal reaction force. And if my parents weren't kidnapped or killed, if they did just leave… what made them do so? Was it my fault?

After Daphne fell asleep to her own crying and the lull of the fire, Granny Relda carried her over to her own bed and plopped the little girl down in it. With my sister asleep, I finally decided to take a look at myself, staring at the damp hair and muddied jeans and dark jacket and refusing-to-be-red-or-wet eyes in the plain bathroom mirror. I stripped off my stiff clothes, stepping into the warm shower and maybe letting a few tears mingle with the silky drops as they tracked down my cheeks.

But that was all I allowed myself. I turned off the shower, slipped on a pair of Granny Relda's smaller and older T-shirts and shorts, and climbed into bed beside Daphne. My sister would sometimes sleep with our parents, and was known for attaching to Veronica like a leach. It seemed I was no exception, as the little girl's arms wrapped around my waist and she buried her head into my chest. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and tried to go to sleep. Instead, I lay there, staring at the wall and listening to my grandmother shuffle around in the living room, talk to some people over the phone about "Everafters" and "Scarlet Hand" and a whole jumble of meaningless words Henry had warned me his crazy mother sometimes rambled about.

And it was when I heard Granny Relda retreat into the guest room across from us that I made up my mind. My grandmother was a widow who hadn't taken care of children in over thirty years. Daphne was (no offense at all to the over-exited girl) a bit too full of energy and a bit too hard to handle. I myself was even worse than my sister, not in the energy/happiness part but on the hard to handle part, only my problem was temper and attitude while my sister's was neediness and rambunctiousness. And that was the last thing my grandmother, who was used to living alone and probably didn't have the income to support two growing girls, needed.

So at exactly 2:17 in the morning, nine-year old me maneuvered carefully out of bed, gave my sleeping sister a kiss on the forehead, repacked my bag with more food, more money, and more clothes, and wrote a note saying I couldn't stay and would miss them both but love them more. Because, I realized in harsh honesty, I couldn't stay. I felt something deep and agonizing and devastating growing inside me and the last thing I wanted was for others (namely my sister and grandmother) to have to deal with those feelings. And I didn't want to be stuck living with people who only reminded me of said feelings either. Besides, it would be easier for Granny Relda this way, raising only one girl instead of two. It would be less likely for Daphne to have a rough childhood or have to be taken away by childcare and shipped off to some orphanage or foster home. And if it meant protecting my family, it was something I had to do.

My parents had always said I was too old and too smart for my age. I didn't think of it that way – I just thought I was one of the few nine year olds who realized what they had to do as opposed to what they wanted to do.

And just like that, I slipped on my mud-caked tennis shoes and pulled on my slightly damp sweatshirt and stepped into the now soft drizzle of the night. I stood there for a minute, one foot outside and one inside, and even then I realized this was a crossroads. I could step back into the house, where there would be sadness but life nonetheless, safety and comfort and "I'm sorry" and "we'll get through this." I would have to live with always knowing I was a burden to my grandmother (because I knew the woman enough to know she wouldn't ship us off to an orphanage until she absolutely had no choice) while having my own burden of Daphne and the weight of being reminded every day that we were now either orphans or abandoned.

Or I could step outside, cross out onto the cracked sidewalk and whatever lied ahead. Because there was no way of knowing what did lie ahead – it was the most undeterminable mystery of my life and yet, as orange streetlight illuminated each drop of rain and the cool wind whistled lazily past my ear, it was somehow the preferable option.

So I pulled the bag up on my back and closed the door behind me as quietly as possible and then, without even a glance back, I started walking. Down the street and out the neighborhood, not knowing where I'd go or what I'd do and yet feeling almost lightheaded with the relief of it all. It was as tangible as the promise of more rain in the air – the action of leaving everything behind, my past and my parents and my grief and my pain and my guilt and my burden and my self, was one that also seemed to set me free.

And so as I curved down the edge of the road, out of view of Granny Relda's small house and anyone who might be in it, I took a deep breath of the dank, stale air and could only wonder if this was how my parents felt when they left. And if that was the case, maybe, just maybe, I could someday understand.

*.*.*

"Sabrina, this is a bad idea."

I rolled my eyes, shooting a glance behind my back at where Peter stood, a few paces from me and fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt.

"In what way?" I said, looking forward again to the edge of the slightly-higher rooftop of the restaurant across from us. I heard Peter sigh loudly, and it made my lips quirk ever so slightly. Peter was the closest thing I had to a friend – closest only in the sense that occasionally he agreed to give me a few extra wads of cash or help me out with my little heists. But not close enough to offer me a place to stay when it was raining or do anything too far out of his comfort zone for my sake.

But I had learned from his constant blabbering that he was an orphan too, adopted by a ridiculously wealthy family, so I guess I had to be grateful that he was using their money to help me out from time to time.

I wasn't good at grateful though. So instead, I found myself only slightly amused and slightly irritated at his doubt.

"Well," he began, "for one it is illegal. And that's not mentioning the fact that you could get hurt, or more importantly I could get hurt, or even arrested, and then my parents-"

"Stepparents," I corrected easily. I could practically feel his glare on my back.

"Stepparents, would kick me out."

I shrugged, scooting myself a bit further on the roof's edge. My feet dangled precariously below me, kicking at open air. For not the first time, I wondered how easy it would be to just push myself off, fall the six stories to the ground. Sure slamming against the pavement would definitely kill me, but the free fall between the roof and the ground must be exhilarating. And in a life where exhilaration was all I had, I would do much of anything for it.

"Well, I'm sorry, but your stepparents aren't my main concern right now," I said, still staring at my floating feet. The world danced on below me, and Peter snorted.

"Of course not. I forgot you only cared about yourself," he scoffed.

I whipped my head around again to shoot him an icy glare. "In case you didn't notice, I don't exactly have a choice. My own survival is a teeny bit more important than your posh owners."

"They're not my owners! They are my parents and they love me."

I raised an eyebrow and smirked at him lightly. "Oh, I apologize. I forgot that people actually still believe in love."

Peter crossed his arms and gave me an irritated look, brown eyes squinted slightly in the light of the setting sun. Mad, like he always got when I said things like that.

Part of me was just joking around. I knew most people could still love, still fall in love, still feel loved. But I also knew I wasn't one of those most people. And I knew I'd never have parents like Peter's, who died in a car accident but managed to shield him with their bodies and save his life, or even his stepparents, who funded his entire life and didn't even question the money he snuck for me. So I didn't feel too bad about being the slightest bit bitter about it. Although, despite popular belief, I didn't go out of my way to upset people.

It was about then that I heard the sudden cheering below us. My smirk turned into a grin, and I saw Peter's shoulders tense up, rigid and broad. "They're here," I said, and then I was turning back around to look down at the entrance of the nearby building, the restaurant that was the object of my newest scheme.

And sure enough, they were there. Four expensively dressed people stepping out of the customary sleek, black limousine they travelled in. The royal family, with King Oberon leading the pack and his sons and wife following.

I rubbed my hands together, feeling that spur of excitement and nerves expand inside me. "Ok Peter, hand me the rope."

"But Sabrina, what if-"

I let out a long, heavy sigh. "Peter James Pan. If you do not give me that rope right now, I swear to God," I said warningly. Instead of turning around to look at him, I listened as he groaned and walked forward, feet scraping against the hard cement of the roof. He stopped beside me, albeit a bit closer to the safety of the roof than the peril of the edge, and I glanced up as he dropped the end of the rope into my lap.

"This is fucking stupid," he muttered under his breath.

"Well, if I had two filthy rich fake-parents to pay for my life, I guess you'd be right. Only I don't."

"I know, but-"

"You know what Peter, not everyone is quite as lucky as you. So why don't you just grow some balls and get over yourself."

Which was a bit harsh, but in my mind, only one thing mattered: Oberon and all of the riches he and his family no doubt had on them. And if Peter, if anyone, tried to get in the way, I would make sure they knew their place.

"Fine," Peter snapped as I fastened the rope around my wrist. I paused for a moment to look up at him. Still-glaring eyes and a lean, tall body that seemed to tower over my own sitting self. He must've seen me looking, because he tilted his head and caught my gaze.

"I've gotta do this. You understand that, don't you?" I said quietly. The cheering had died down, meaning the family had no doubt entered the restaurant and their fans had disbanded. Peter was staring at me with this look I hadn't really seen on him before.

"I do, it's just… Sabrina, sometimes the risk outweighs the benefit."

I found myself, once again, smirking. "Peter, when you have no benefits if you don't take the risk, there's not really a choice."

His lips twitched upwards the slightest bit. "Just be careful in there, ok? If things go bad, I can't promise I'll hang around."

I rolled my eyes. Of course, he said that all the time, but he'd never left me before. I trusted, if anything, his indecisiveness and desire to please. Besides, even if he wasn't the bravest, I hadn't yet had him pegged as a coward who'd abandon me to my fate if it meant saving his own hide.

Of course, if there was anything I had learned in my sixteen years, it's that people will surprise you.

"I will," I answered smoothly. Then, Peter stepped back to where the rope was hooked to a metal pipe a few meters from the roof edge and went back to gnawing on his nail. I pulled myself away from the edge, put my feet on the ground, and stood up before taking ten steps backwards. I was even with Peter, and could hear his teeth destroying his nail ends.

"Here goes nothing," I said, and then I was running, starting off slow but getting faster and faster and faster. The wind whistled in my ears as the harsh drop of the rooftop quickly approached. My heart thudded in my chest and I had the quick thought of just dropping off the edge of the building again, just falling and plummeting and briefly living in this world where gravity had never been more apparent but flying never more achieved.

Instead, my right foot crunched on the roof edge for the last time and I threw myself into the air, tucking into a tight ball and pulling my head to my chest as my left foot left the ground too. For a few moments, I was weightless. The euphoria of exhilaration took whatever breath I had left away, and suddenly I wasn't Sabrina Grimm, evasive thief and abandoned daughter, I was Sabrina Grimm, potential bird.

Then, the back of my bent head shattered through something and I pinched my eyes closed as my entire body broke through the nearby window. I landed on my right shoulder, hard, opening my eyes to see I was lying on a plain wooden floor, surrounded by splinters of glass. For a moment, I stayed like that, breathing these rapids puffs of air and looking at my shattered reflection in the pool of glass shards. Sometimes I wondered if this was what I looked like to others, the distorted image of a girl made of cracks and breaks. I swallowed down the thoughts, because this wasn't the time. Instead, I pushed myself up, taking a deep breath and looking out of the newly broken window once I was on my feet.

I could see Peter on the roof across from me. He was crouching down and still squinting in the practically set sun. When he saw me, he gave a little wave. I returned it with a quick thumbs-up before turning back around.

"Ok Sabrina, let's get this over with."

I had asked around enough to know the basic layout of the restaurant. There was the first floor, which consisted of an overly-fancy lobby and a kitchen that was hidden behind a door and solid wall because it was substantially less overly-fancy than the rest of the room. Then up the stairs was the second floor, which was where everyone dined and somehow even fancier than the lobby. Then there was an employee's room (third floor) and, last but not least, a storage room (fourth floor). The room I had just busted into. Old looking chairs were stacked into a corner, as well as a broken table, an assortment of paint cans and electrical wires, and a pile of what appeared to be tablecloths, curtains, and napkins.

I walked past the clutter, ignoring the dust wafting lazily around me, and stopped in front of the door. I pressed my ear to the cold wood and listened – nothing. Knowing I didn't have much time before someone noticed the hole in the window, I took a chance and cracked the door open slowly. The hallway it opened up into was empty, save for another pile of cloth. I slipped out of the door and closed it slowly, eyeing the prize at the end of the hall. The prize, of course, being the other door. Still coiled for any sign of movement or noise, I walked quickly over to said door, careful that my steps weren't loud enough to be heard from the floor below. Because judging by the state of this room, it wasn't used very often, so it would be more than a little suspicious if someone came up to find a random blonde teenager creeping around.

When I reached the door, I pressed my ear against it, just like the last. For the most part, I heard nothing, besides what sounded like distant shuffling. Taking a breath, I pulled open that door too. A steep staircase yawned under me before ending in, yet another, door. I went to step towards that one too, but when I moved my foot onto the staircase, the entire thing whined in this loud, pitiful creak. I rolled my eyes. Fantastic.

Instead of maneuvering down the creaky-as-fuck stairs, I decided to use a little skill I had mastered a few years ago when robbing a woman's house with equally loud staircases. I bent down, pushing my hand against the wall to my right with as much force as possible. I took a sharp breath before throwing myself forward, using my legs to launch into the air and my hand on the wall to push myself even further upward. And as soon as my descent began, I stuck out my left foot, making contact with the wall and using the temporary balance to jump forward again. When the next fall began, I did the same with my right foot.

And just like that, I sort of skipped down the walls of the hall, the process much faster after a few years of practice. Boost with foot, boost with foot, boost with foot, all the while steadying myself with a hand on the wall as often as I could. In no time, I was at the door and had avoided the loud staircase of hell. I dropped down carefully, did the ear-press again, and then opened yet another door, a bit more cautiously this time. I peeked my head in to see one man and one man only sitting on a sofa doing something on his phone while the TV mumbled nonsense in the background. I cracked my knuckles and opened the door further.

"Hello? Sir?" I said in my most innocent voice. The man turned around, eyebrows shooting up when he caught sight of me, most likely because I wasn't exactly supposed to be traipsing around in the employees-only room. "I think I got lost. Would you mind showing me how to get back down to the main floor?" I asked.

His eyebrows were still raised, but a moment later he was dropping his phone and all but jumping up from the couch. "Uh yeah, sure. How'd you get lost?"

I shrugged, taking a step closer to him, putting on my most frightened expression. "I don't know, I was just walking around and next thing I know, I'm in this hallway and I can't find my family and… oh please don't be mad it was just an accident! I just wanna get out of here and I don't know where here is and I'm so scared and-"

The man raised his hands in the air and shook them a bit frantically, clearly not adapted to handling situations like these. "Hey, no one's mad ok, just calm down. Now come see, I'll walk you back downstairs."

He walked closer, outstretching a hand to comfort me. I should've felt bad, to be completely honest. Here was a middle-aged man who looked way too scared about the current circumstances than he should've but was still willing to help a lost teenager to safety. Hopefully I didn't ruin his good-natured streak. But then again, I probably ruined something, because as soon as his hand made contact with my shoulder I was grabbing him by the wrist, twisting sharply, and kicking him in the stomach so he stumbled backwards towards the couch. I saw the brief look of complete terror and shock as his lips formed an 'o' and the scream began to bubble out before he hit the back of the couch and quite promptly tumbled over it. He landed on the cushions, still facing upwards, and all it took was grabbing the nearest hard object (a lamp, it turned out) and slamming it over his head before he was out. The scream died before it had even made itself known, and the couch blocked out any sounds of his fall or struggle.

I put the lamp back on the desk, let out a short breath, and clapped my hands together. Now, to the good stuff. I crossed to the other side of the room, pulling open what I assumed was a closet and – yep, I was right. The wall was lined with these matching black and white outfits that the man I had just taken out had been wearing. Employee garments, no doubt. Instead of stripping down, I just grabbed the one that looked like it would fit the best and pulled it on quickly over my current outfit of worn out tights and a black shirt. The collar was a bit tight, and the pants a bit loose, but it would just have to work. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, grabbed a pair of glasses from the table in the center of the room, and walked confidently out of the door and down (yes, I'm sorry) more stairs. The next door I walked through opened up right into a bustle of activity.

Full tables, people chatting, smooth music playing, waiters hustling about – fancy flower arrangements and sparkling golden wine and red velvet carpet and an air of sophisticated relaxation. It was a place I only frequented when I was a) pretending to be someone who belonged here or b) stealing something. Today, it was a b.

It only took a quick second of looking around to spot the Goodfellows. The others in the restaurant were constantly glancing their way, gawking and whispering and generally just being awestruck by the royal family, and a man I recognized as the manager was talking lightly to Oberon. I couldn't help but roll my eyes a bit. After all, it was sort of stupid that people would make such a big fuss over other people. But that aside, I quickly fastened the tie on my neck and rolled back my shoulders.

Into the battlefield.

I walked slowly to the table, taking my time so that the manager would leave, and once he did, I made my move. I was almost there when I saw another waiter walking up to take their order. We made eye contact, and I just shook my head and smiled at him, mouthing "I'll be with them tonight," as deliberately as possible. He looked slightly confused, either because he was probably supposed to be their waiter or he was trying to remember if he recognized me from the staff. Either way, he was delayed ever so slightly and I made it to the table first.

"Good evening, my name is Daphne and I will be serving you all tonight," I said sweetly, grabbing the first name that came to mind. Daphne's, of course. It was always on my mind. "Let me just start off by saying what an honor it is to be able to serve you all. Anything you need, anything at all, it will be my utmost pleasure of doing."

I made sure to look at each of them as I spoke. King Oberon, the most familiar face of the bunch, with slightly balding hair and a tall, broad frame. And beside him, a wife I was almost certain was named Titania, with these elegant pointed features and long dark hair. And of course, the two boys, who I didn't know the names of but knew were just as famous as the rest of their family. The one with shorter hair was sitting straight, posture as impeccable as the polite smile he directed at me, while the other one with the longer, curlier hair was slouched down in his chair, attempting to fold his napkin into what I could roughly guess was a duck or something. Each of them was dressed in pristine, pressed clothing. Each of them was no doubt possessing things of untold fortune on them.

It wasn't every day the royal family was all in one area like this. So much money in one spot was something I couldn't exactly resist.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Daphne," Titania said with a warm smile, hands crossed delicately in her lap. "It is us that should be thanking you, really. We don't always get to dine out together like this, and we're extremely thankful we have such a sweet girl to make the experience a pleasant one."

The curly-haired one snorted, and my eyes flicked over to him briefly. He had apparently accomplished his origami, or had given up on it, but either way it was just sort of a slump of napkin on the table. "Pleasant my ass," he muttered.

"Manners," Oberon warned, voice casual but with an undercurrent of a threat. I found myself raising an eyebrow, but when the man turned to me I let it drop back down.

"So, we'll start with drinks then, I assume," he said crisply. I nodded, fumbling a bit for the notepad I felt in the pants' pocket. Oberon didn't wait for me to grab the pencil too, and instead began reciting drinks for his family.

"I'll have a glass of red wine, as well as a water, and my wife would take the same. The boys can both have water as well, unless… Mustardseed, would you like some wine?"

The straight-haired boy waved his hand at the offer. "No thank you father. I'm fine with just water. Puck on the other hand might want something…"

I didn't miss the boy's pointed glance at his brother, but their father simply shook his head. "No, I don't think so." The one named Puck smiled flatly at his plate. Then, Oberon turned back to me. "That will be all, thank you."

I knew when I had been dismissed, so I nodded with a smile and walked over to where I had seen waiters exiting with drinks. I quickly filled up the ordered wines and waters and whatnot, all the while taking inventory of the obviously expensive things I had seen from my short encounter. Oberon's golden wristwatch. Titania's set of sparkling rings. All things that I could make a quick (and successful) grab for. I took a deep breath before gathering the glasses onto a tray and walking back the way I'd come.

The waiter I had made eye contact with earlier was at another table, but his eyes were fixed on me. I felt a sharp pound in my chest. It wouldn't be long before someone figured out that I wasn't actually a waiter. It was now or never, and never wasn't an option.

I put on the brightest smile I could muster as I approached the table. "Here I am back with your drinks. Four waters, and two glasses of r-"

That was when I tripped. Purposefully, of course. The tray jerked and glasses flew (the ones on the tray, not on my eyes) and just like that, the royal family was covered in four waters and two red wines. I tried my best to look horrified and not amused.

"Holy shit I am so… I mean… Jesus Christ this wasn't supposed to happen here let me-"

I cut myself off, grabbing the nearest napkin and making to wipe off Oberon's coat. He looked the most shocked of the group, sputtering and gaping like the very idea of this happening to him was too outlandish to even consider. Titania and Mustardseed's expressions of polite disbelief were practically matching, while Puck was simply smirking slightly and shaking droplets of red out of his curls.

"I'm so sorry, really, so sorry. All I wanted was to make this a special day, I mean meeting the King and Queen of Faerie for Christ's sake, but no I had to go and mess everything up by-"

I continued with my healthy stream of rambling, not letting them fit a word in edgewise, and as they all slowly began wiping off their faces I snagged my first prize – the watch on Oberon's wrist. It was easy, really, with a fairly simple clasp that I just had to twist and it came slipping off into my waiting hand. I stuffed it into my shirt and continued drying off his arms.

He pulled away before I could finish. "You've helped quite enough, thank you," he said coldly. A single drop of red wine was still on the side of his cheek, dripping like a bead of sweat.

"Oh god, this is so humiliating," I muttered, quickly moving from him to Titania, who looked far less upset but was having trouble drying off the side of her dress. "Here, I've got it, please, let me help," I said. I saw her give Oberon a little glare, that clearly said "don't get mad," and then she turned back to me and smiled.

"As you wish," she said kindly, and I almost felt bad for slipping four rings off her hand as soon as she looked away. She didn't seem to notice, considering I had been drying her hand at the time, and so I smirked at the ground and dropped them into my shirt too. So far, so good. I stood back up, glancing over at the boys to see if there was anything of interest on them. Mustardseed had this golden ring on, but one look at the rest of the Goodfellows and some of the staff and customers let me know my time was up. The spill had no doubt been brought to the manager's attention, and there was no doubt in my mind that when he saw me he'd know I didn't actually work here.

"Here, let me go get some more napkins, or something," I said hurriedly before turning on my heel and walking towards the employee's room on the other side of the restaurant. Soft, jazzy music was still playing. People were still laughing and talking amiably. Everything seemed to be sinking back into normalcy until-

"Hey you! Stop right there!"

There was no one else the voice could be talking to but me. So instead of the whole 'fake innocence' deal I just ran. I heard some people gasp and a few even scream as I sprinted past their tables, choosing to jump over the ones directly in my way instead of wasting the time meandering around them. Glass shattered, more wine spilled (I was really on a roll with that), freshly cooked meals were kicked onto the floor. I honestly could've cared less. If these people were rich enough to be wasting their money stuffing their faces, they deserved it.

I was almost to the door when I felt a hand snag in my hair, which had apparently fallen out of its ponytail. I let out a little grunt of pain before spinning around and slamming my fist into the person's wrist. He reflexively let go, and we made eye contact for a brief moment. It was Puck, and he was still smirking.

"I think you forgot your tip," he teased, and before he could make any more horrendous jokes, I butted my head against his. He staggered backwards, and then I was turning and running again. I threw open the door, pulling it shut behind me and hearing Puck's body slam into it as I ran up the stairs three at a time.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitsh-

Then I was in the employee's room, and caught a brief look at the guy from earlier still passed out on the couch. I was halfway to the other door when the one behind me swung open. I whipped around and Puck was standing there. When he saw the unconscious man, he threw his hands up in the air.

"Really? That's just blatant disrespect right there," he said, shaking his head.

I rolled my eyes, and as soon as I saw he was about to move again I grabbed the desk on my right and chucked it at him. I heard a muffled, "-the fuck," and a thud but before I saw if it had actually hit him, I was spinning and running through the other door. Up another set of stairs. Exhilaration pounded in my lungs and my heart knocked against my ribs as I threw open the final door into the storage room I had broken into. Through the shattered window, I heard distant sirens – so they had called the police then. But it didn't matter – I was home free, and the thudding of footsteps on the stairs was too late. I was running, feet crunching against shards of glass, and then I was at the window, grabbing the rope, quickly fastening it around my waist, shouting Peter's name, alerting him that it was time, that as soon as I jumped it would be his job to heave me up.

He was strong, so I had no doubts. No worries. I was even smiling as I heard the door to the storage room fly open. I glanced backwards, making sure Puck saw my smirk.

"You can just keep the tip," I said, and then, without a second wasted, I was diving out the window. My stomach flew to my mouth. My eyes stung with the cold wind as I swung to the other building. My heart seemed to burst from its cage, engulfing me in its rapid pulse, in the excitement and peril and rush of the moment. Hanging there in the air, knowing I had won, knowing I was holding more money than I had in years, knowing I was free – it was the best feeling ever.

But it didn't last. My shoulder hit the other building painfully, bricks digging into my arm. I grunted, looking up and hoping to see Peter holding the rope and pulling me the short distance to the roof. Instead I just saw the sky.

"Peter!" I shouted. Maybe he hadn't heard me. Maybe he was just taking his time. But nothing happened. My heartbeat went from being bright and happy to suddenly filling with this piercing dread, each thud resonating and forming as many explicit words as I knew (and I knew quite a few).

Where the actual hell was Peter?

"Peter!" I shouted again, voice sounding painfully desperate, something I preferred it never to sound. Nothing. Hot tears of fury, of panic, of confusion burned in my eyes. I was so close, I was so close, I could do it, I could make it. I grabbed the rope, trying to climb it, but the sharp bristles just ran through my hand. I tried again, pulling as hard as I could, ignoring the burn in my palm as I pulled and pulled and just tried to do anything besides hang there in the air. I turned back to look at the window, and saw Puck standing there, one eyebrow raised and looking incredibly pleased with himself.

He was holding a gun of sorts. The exhilaration in my chest transformed completely into terror.

"Please, don't-" I began. I caught his eyes, this bright green even across the distance, hoping to see something in them, guilt, pity, anything. Instead, all I saw was his smug grin.

"Really sorry about this ma'am," he said loudly across the distance. I watched his finger pull the trigger and a second later, my body went limp as I sank against a wave of pain. The last thing I thought was that hanging from a roof with a wristwatch in my bra was a really pathetic way to die.

so that was that. a whopping six thousand words. don't worry, next chapter will be toned down a bit…

again, criticism (constructive criticism, mind you) is always welcome. this story should be updated next week (when school ends holla).

until then, liVE LIFE MY FRIENDS.

-cLeoo