I wasn't sure where I was going. All I knew, was that I was headed towards the busy streets of London.
I had to prove I was a thief. That is who I was, or at least who I thought I was...
I have to prove that I could return to my regular life. With the apartment, with the people I know. The bad people.
I have to prove to myself, that I am something. Even if that makes me a bad person, it still means I'm someone.
I could still hear my heart pounding in my ears. It fluctuated between fluttering, and hammering against my chest. Tears still blurred my vision, and I kept having to wipe them away with shaky fingers. Yet I still advanced into the crowds of people.
I am a thief.
My eyes danced around feverishly, trying to find a victim. They hastily fixed onto the target; a middle aged looking man, headphones, shiny wallet in his back pocket.
I breathed out a shaky breath, in attempts to calm myself.
I am a thief. I am a thief.
I began to stalk past him, close enough to brush past. Close enough to snag the prize.
I am a thief.
My trembling fingers, clumsily tried to grip onto the corner of the wallet, as my shoulder bumped into his.
I AM a thief.
I sped up my pace, in preparation to flee from the scene.
But a firm hand gripped and curled around my forearm.
"Hey!" My target growled. "Aren't you going to apologise!"
My eyes were wide, my tongue stiff, my body unresponsive.
I was caught. Again.
I'm not a thief.
"What's going on here?" A different voice interrupted, slightly out of breath.
I turned my head to find the source of the voice, to find Jack, who was now stood beside me.
"This little bitch bumped into me, and didn't apologise." His grip tightened more, and I winced. The man was an unsightly image; his face sagged around beady eyes, and a slightly upturned nose. His complexion was red with rage, and veins were bulging from his broad forehead. He looked uncannily like a disgruntled bull dog.
"Hey, let go of her." Jack said sternly.
The man didn't listen. "I'll bet she even mugged me!"
His hand patted his back pocket with his free hand. His eyes raged impossibly more.
"Where's my wallet!" He screamed in my face.
But before the man could do anything else, Jack gave him a powerful shove. The firm hold on my arm was released.
"Oh this wallet?" Jack said, violent sarcasm in his tone. He was holding the wallet in his hand, which I hadn't realised had left my own. He threw it roughly in the man's direction.
"You dropped it. Maybe next time, don't make idiotic assumptions."
The man had a scowling expression. But he didn't utter another word before he turned away.
"Come on." Jack muttered under his breath, and hooked his arm with mine before dragging my stunned form, all the way back to his apartment.
Not a word was spoken between us, and I was still too shocked too fight against him.
I'm not a thief. I'm a nobody. Just a bad person.
*
As soon as Jack closed the front door, he turned to face me, his hands encircling my forearms gently, as if he were afraid I would run away again.
"Matilda, are you ok? Did he hurt you."
I shook my head.
"Why did you run off like that?"
I just kept shaking my head. I didn't want to answer his questions, because the truth hurt too much.
"Matilda, speak. Say something." He pleaded.
He sighed, "please." With that one word, filled with so much desperation and agony, I ceased the head shaking, and looked at him.
"I'm not a thief, Jack. I'm no one."
My voice was cracked, and vulnerable. I cursed myself at how weak I was.
Once I had said it out loud, admitted it to myself, I felt so hollow. So empty.
I could tell Jack wanted to say something else, but he didn't. Instead, his arms wrapped around my torso, and he pulled me closer to him.
I completely froze, unsure of how to react with the unfamiliar contact. I was too confused with myself at the moment, and this just frazzled my brain even more.
But his hold was so warm, and comforting. The coffee smell enveloping, and warm. It was impossible not to succumb.
Hesitantly, I threaded my arms around to Jack's back, and hugged him back.
At that moment, I unravelled. My emotions and thoughts too overwhelming for the delicate state I was in. I sunk further into him, my limp limbs craving support.
My body shook with soft sobs, and Jack only held me tighter.
"It's ok," he whispered into my hair.
I indulged, and let myself believe him for a while.
*
Eventually, we ended up on the sofa; Jack was sat upright, whilst I sprawled across the rest of the sofa, my head nestled on a pillow on his lap. As Jack twirled ringlets into my dark hair, we mindlessly watched pointless programmes on the television.
It worked as a distraction for a while; though eventually, the pictures blurred and turned into flickering colours, the dramatic dialogue melting into nonsense sounds. I was left to my thoughts again, which was becoming increasingly dangerous.
I wasn't a thief. Not a good one anyway. I knew that now.
But what was I missing about myself, that Jack saw so clearly?
Perhaps my methods were slightly unorthodox.
When I shared my situation with Lexi and Norbert, the most efficient solution would be to go to Zona.
I knew that, but I didn't listen.
And their demeanour about their work, is so relaxed.
Cold, hard, indifferent and ignorant to the effects their actions can make.
All of them, bad people.
Perhaps everyone in the apartment was a bad person, but I was probably the worst: despite now being completely free of my previous ignorance, I couldn't and wouldn't change my ways.
That had to make me the worst person of all.
My next move was clear now; return to the apartment, and try to adapt again.
*
After another episode of the reality show ended, Jack asked if I wanted to go home.
I was slightly reluctant to return to the apartment, now that I knew I didn't belong; so I asked if I could stay a little longer.
"Sure, do you want some snacks, or a drink?" Jack asked.
I wasn't hungry or thirsty really, but I knew that Jack would want to get up after having my head resting on his lap for god knows how long. So I nodded, and shifted my position so that I was sitting up.
When he returned, he placed our drinks on the table in front of us, and cradled a bowl of popcorn.
"I swear, you never stop eating." I said, scooting closer to his side so I could reach the popcorn too.
"Well excuse me." Jack said, wrapping his arm around my back. "But looking after you takes up a lot of energy." He teased, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
I rolled my eyes, and grabbed a handful of popcorn.
"What are we watching?" I asked.
"Leon the Professional."
"What's it about?"
"There's a girl called Matilda..." He said, wiggling his eyebrows a bit.
"Oh god"
"And she gets in a bit of a pickle. So her neighbour, Leon, helps her out."
"Huh, my tutor was called Leon."
"Ah, but was he a hit man?"
"I'm not actually sure what he did for a living. So, maybe."
Jack whistled, "wow, that's a creepy coincidence."
I shrugged my shoulders, "just play the film, Jack." I insisted, but I couldn't hide the smile in my voice.
At some point during the film, I slumped even further into Jack, tiredness restricting my ability to sit up properly.
My head rested on his chest, and his arm lazily draped across my waist, his other hand in the popcorn bowl.
It was a peaceful moment, one that I didn't experience too often.
But, like all films, it only lasted a couple hours.
*
On the way back, we discussed the details of our next meeting.
"I know you're going through a lot, Matilda. But would it be ok to start on the book again?"
"Sure, no problem."
He looked surprised at my easy agreement; but quite frankly, any reason to keep me away from the apartment was a good one.
"Ok, good. It won't be interviews or anything... More developing scenery and characters and-"
"I get it Jack," I said with a smirk, amused at his rambling. "It's fine."
He cleared his throat. "So our usual cafe spot then? I'm not very productive at home."
"Sounds like a plan."
Our conversation ended, when Jack stopped the car at the same spot as last time.