Disclaimer: I don't own YYH.
Chapter 2: Continuation…I stop watching out the window for my dangerous dirtbag dad and walk to the bathroom. As long as I'm bored, I guess I'll look at myself. It's what I do occasionally.
I walk the several paces to the bathroom and watch the teen in the mirror.
I admit, I've always been kind of vain about my appearance, and I like to watch how I look and all that.
I look the same as I've always been. Blue eyes, long brown hair; thin face, wiry body, not very shapely yet; the usual. I'm always going to look like this. It's my destiny, if you want to put it that way.
But one thing I am never happy with is my clothes. I go out at night so often that I wear out my clothes, piece by tiny piece, and I hate stealing from clothes stores – it's like a maze in there. So naturally, I don't usually get more clothes than what I have. And like every other girl my age, I always am never happy with my clothes.
I touch the tattered fabric of my jean capris. My partially shredded T-shirt needs work, too. The ends are starting to get frayed.
I laugh to myself. You could say that I'm a bit of a prep. Kleptomaniac prep. Now there's a new one… But I guess I am also a tomboy in some ways as well. Kind of a crazed mixture.
I stroke the ends of my hair lovingly. Just recently I got a load of hair dye from this barber's shop, and it's one of the few things that I have actually bought. I saw the bottle of black hair dye, and I liked it so much that I figured that it should be respected enough to be bought with money. I always wanted to have black hair. The Koreans are so lucky, all that shiny black beautiful perfect hair.
Only my dye wasn't black. It actually turned out to be green. Most girls would have gotten all oh-no-oh-no someone might see me, but I don't really care. I actually kind of like the style, and who's here to judge me anyway? I guess it's a good thing that I only dyed the ends. Now I don't have to go around looking like a punk, just punk-ish. Nothing too weird or strange.
I stare at myself some more. When I'm bored and don't feel like going out, this is what I do. I excessively obsess over my reflection. I'm never satisfied with myself, and not just in terms of face value. I also don't care much for my life, either. A drunken dad, constantly committing felonies, having nothing in my life to be proud of.
It is hard, and I know the way I live is wrong, I'm not that stupid. But this is the only way I can have fun and survive at the same time.
I give my reflection another gaze, and stride out. Maybe I'll go to my hedge and think. Plan my next happy little outing.
I go to my dingy little wooden door. I open it carefully, because if you rip open my door, the doorknob is the part that will do the ripping.
I step outside, trying not to breathe. Our little city is chock-full of poisonous smog, and I really don't feel like slowly dying. Walking about two steps, not even, I dive into my bush, something that would look odd to the average passerby. I feel some leaves and petals crunch as I land in the center like a cat. I roll accidentally and end up jabbing myself with an unearthed root. Ow, that hurt!
I massage my butt slowly, looking around my little clearing. No one would ever guess this was here looking in. It just looks like a thorny bush. But internally, it wins the Best Hideout medal.
The way my bush is built is that the stump connected to the roots is on one side of my "yard," and it creates a little canopy over the whole thing. Of course, some branches have collapsed to the bottom, limiting the crawling space, but the good thing is that they fell in a yard-by-yard ring. Now, whenever you want to just dive in, you have to accept some scratches from the outside, but inside, it makes one of the safest fortresses you could ever want. Thorns on the outside and an extremely well hidden circular inside. It's perfect for hiding anytime, anywhere.
This is my thinking spot and my planning spot too.
This is the reason why I like to call it my friend. It is the only thing I really like about my home.
Getting into the typical Indian cross-legged position, I put my head in my hands.
I'm running out of places to rob. It takes these areas awhile to replenish their wealth, so they are pretty much out of the question for a few months. I don't want to do individual burglaries of people's houses, just because much of their wealth is stored in the banks, which I already ran through anyway.
So what and where can I steal? I…I need to steal. Like I said, I am a klepto, and kleptos need to steal. That's all there is to it.
I think once again through all of the places I have taken stuff from.
New Jersey Center Bank: That was the one I just robbed, and the security systems were little more than a joke. All I had to do was slip under, above, and around them, and I got to the vault without a scratch. NJ Trust Company: They weren't expecting me to rob them, so they had no security features. The Harleysville National: They had armed guards, even though they were blind as bats in the dark. The 'We Come To You' bank: Motion detectors. I nearly got caught. They picked me up and set a silent alarm through the place, and I didn't realize it until I was almost gunned down by cops. I escaped because I hid inside the building until they went away for a break, and I escaped. The Kay Jewelry store: The most beautiful place I have ever robbed. Instead of selling all of the gems via the black market, I kept a few of the prettier ones. State Farm Bank Industry: They had those red-beam motion detectors. I guess I owe my limber body for getting me through successfully. NJ Mint…that wasn't hard, but it was such a maze inside that I was there for hours, and the vaults of coins were sealed in stainless steel. To get them, I had to come back, night after night, and waited for someone to leave the vaults open. On the eighth night, someone did, and I made $10,000 in quarters. Those were my most memorable "kills."
I'm not exactly sure, but I think that's about all the major moneymakers of this town. I keep the money I steal in this little suitcase, which I hid in this little pen. It's buried about 6 inches down, and I know no one will ever come looking for it here. That is the main function this serves. In all, I made about $10,000,000 from all of them combined, and I can't even use the money. People would wonder how a 15 year old got ahold of such millions, and they would get even more suspicious when they saw this tiny trailer shack that I live in.
But even if I had only stolen $11, I wouldn't use it. I'm saving it all for that one special goal…
I get lost in my daydreams.
Awhile later, I wake up. Jeez, how long has it been? I'm frickin' starving!
I get up off the ground, massaging a cramp in my neck, and get out. This is where is gets tricky. This shrub it built like a lobster trap – easy as pie to get in, and very difficult to get out.
I slowly start to pull apart the branches holding me hostage. I ignore the pain from the minor thorns. It's not that bad. I can deal with it. I can deal with a lot of things. It's one of my few prides. I just don't panic under any situation. I remain calm and collected, and it really helps you to focus and think. That might be one of the reasons why I am so stealthy. No emotions or conscience to start nagging and give me cold feet and ultimately, make me screw up and land myself in prison. I have no intention of going to prison, oddly enough.
Biting my lip, I pull and tug rhythmically, finally getting a small hole for my efforts. I stick my arms through, widening the gap, and finally pull my torso through, followed quickly by my legs.
I suck my bleeding hands, and walk up to the door, pulling it open quietly. I don't want to wake anyone. All of my neighbors already have a problem with me, and I don't need to wake them up again. It would be the third time this week, and it's only Thursday. I have a habit of making a lot of noise at night, just because I am so desperate to hear something. I talk so little, and make so little noise, that all the quiet is going to my head. I need to make a sound. Anything at all; anything to distract me from the thieving secretive quiet nightmare that is my life. And this anything is usually during the night, for whatever reason. There's plenty of noise in the daytime. Night is the most trying part of every day for me, and inevitably, it irritates the neighbors.
I guess I'll get something to eat because I'm starving. I'm not usually this hungry, but I guess thinking about where you are going to steal next will do that to you.
I open the door, trying not creak, and foolishly don't look forward.
I know right where the refrigerator is. I don't need to look forward. I'm just concentrating on the ground so that I don't step over all of my dirty laundry that heaps across the floor, and the other thing is not to trip over my couch.
I'm almost there when I see a horrible sight.
It's my father. He must have come back while I was sleeping…
Shit.
This does not look good. I can only see his side profile, but it still does not look good.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is all red, hived, and pimply. His dirty blonde hair is even dirtier than usual. This is never a good sign. He has had quite a few beers recently, and he wasn't washed in a very long time.
And the only thing I fear in the world is my dad in a drunken state. So what does the world give me? My dad in a drunken state. Jeez, I really am the unluckiest person I know.
And I just figured out I lied. This is a situation in which I panic.
No. Calm down.
He is digging in the refrigerator, muttering inaudibly. I can see his profile although it is dark.
He hears the door creak shut behind me, and turns his head slightly. He stops chomping on something and watches me as though I am about to run and attack. He really does look scary like that.
We stare at each other, like a tiger that has just found an elephant. Only in that case, the elephant can do harm.
I don't want to hurt my dad. I really, really don't. Yet, he usually wants to hurt me. Now you see why I cherish my rhododendron shrub.
I back away, my eyes not leaving his disgusting, swollen face. He leers at me. At least he isn't in a very violent move, although something tells me that he will be later tonight.
See, the thing the alcohol hates is noise. As long as I don't make a sound, I should be okay. That is what really tips off his violent side.
The major objective is for me to get out of my house without making a sound. That guarantees my survival.
Oh damn, why did I walk so far from that door? It's going to be a miracle if I get out without tripping.
The absolute worst part is that I'm going to have to walk backwards. I need to keep my eye on my dad. If he makes any sudden moves, I'm hightailing out faster than humanly possible.
Well, time to see if it works. He hasn't moved yet, he's just transfixed on my movements just like I am on his. Hah. Apparently he's afraid of me. How ironic. Yay. Now we are terrified of each other.
I bite my lip and start to move backward, slowly and surely. As long as I don't trip, I'll be okay. I'll be okay. I'll be okay.
Each step seems to take hours.
But fortunately, apparently I am doing a good job of keeping quiet. He still hasn't moved. This is pretty uncharacteristic, but I'm certainly not complaining.
I can't risk a glance to see how far I've gotten to the door. That would be taking my eyes off of him. Even a second could mean trouble for me. Big trouble.
I compose myself once again. Out of the corners of my eyes, I can tell that I am about 5 steps away from the door just be seeing the sides of the walls. I will make it, see? See? I'm gonna do it.
I will actually win. I'll make it out in one piece.
3 steps…
2 steps…
1…just 1…
There. I can feel the handle.
Now all I have to do is swing around really, really fast, pull open the door hard, and fly outside, alive and free.
My sweaty hand grips the handle. I smile nervously, to get my courage up. My dad watches me like a hawk.
Now's my chance. It'll take him at least 15 seconds to try and catch me if he hears me, because he needs to get off his knees and stagger over to me in all his drunken daze, plus all the elapsed turnaround time factored in between…
It all equals my successful escape.
I smile wider.
I whirl around in an instant, all of my thief's instincts taking hold, and I grab the handle really hard and yank with all of my might.
The handle comes off in my hand.
A/N She is the most unlucky person I know. Review!