Granting a Thief's Wishes

I marched into the same Starbucks and asked about the bracelet. Everyone answers were the same. It was rather disappointing, really. And here's the kicker: instead of getting the bracelet that day, I ended up spending on comfort food and a latte.

Sheesh.

Not to mention the power went out for an inconsiderable amount of time last night. I needed to sleep. And I couldn't sleep in the dark like any other people could. I once saw this show when I was in high school that said ghosts just adore to linger around in dark and cold places. And they never were in front of you. They would be positioned somewhere behind you or next to you.

I gave a tiny shudder.

I ended up shooting glances behind my back and hugging the throw pillow tighter and tighter that I swore I could have ripped it to shreds. It was so creepy! And I heard something rattled last night. Honest!

"Oh, I thought you might be here again."

I choked on my bran muffin and looked up at Nicholas Peterson. He was looking all casual and laid-back as usual (translation: looked as if he had just woken up from a slumber. Damn, I swear this guy was either lazy or just looked that way, all the time!)

But something was not right. If he did stole my bracelet, he wouldn't be turning up in front of me like that, would he? He didn't look guilty at all. He just gave me a sheepish grin and a small wave.

I almost cried out in frustration. If it wasn't him, then who the hell did? Where the fuck did my bracelet went off to? Did it suddenly grew tiny little fucking legs and ran off from me? Or was it a fairy too - grew wings and flew off?

Almost sloppily, I sipped my latte. God, I was becoming so bitter because of this bracelet.

"You don't look too good today," he said. I shrugged, feeling as if I should give up on the bracelet. The witch was a lunatic anyway.

"Yeah, well," I said, "I lost something."

"Is it important?" he asked, plopping down on a chair across me without even asking if it was taken (I mean, it might as well had been. Where were his manners?)

Oh stop it, Susannah, I thought irritatedly. I had a feeling that I was just trying to find excuses to hate him.

"Quite important," I replied.

Then to my surprise, his facial expression turned from friendly to somewhat playful.

"What?" I asked, looking around if he suddenly saw a long lost friend or something. But when I turned back to look at him, it was as if my heart jumped and got lodged somewhere in my throat.

Let's just say that I've finally got my reason to hate him.

"Give it back!" I said angrily. Or at least, I wanted to say angrily. I was so confused that it sounded more like, "give it back...?"

"Make me."

Oh god, oh god, oh god ohgodohgod...

Breathe.

I started to do those breathing exercises that people said would help, but all I did was hyperventilated instead. As far as I knew, hyperventilation is not an exercise at all.

"I'm so confused," I said. Or squeaked. The sight of the bracelet dangling between his fingers were relieving and confusing all at once. And it was starting to make my head ache. "Nicholas, I'm not here to play games."

"Neither do I."

I had a sudden impulse to punch him.

I didn't know why I was panicking so hard. It was like his eyes were portraying something. He had a smirk on his face, but his eyes were different. It was as if he was unsure about something.

"I'm calling the cops."

He laughed. "You've got no prove. And d'you really think they'd waste their time finding for an old bracelet while people are murdering other people as we speak!"

Nicholas Peterson was playing with my head. I knew it.

"Prove?" I said. My voice hitting several octaves high. "Prove? You've got it between your fingers! For god's sake!" I screeched. Businessmen who were on a break glared daggers at me.

Oh boo-hoo, Starbucks was open to public and stuff. It wasn't a freaking library.

"What's the point of doing this, anyway?" I asked, trying to calm myself down. "Is this some kind of a pick-up move? If it is then you're failing miserably, buddy!"

"I just enjoy doing this," he shrugged.

"Stealing? You actually enjoy stealing?"

He raised his hand up and I stopped talking. So I just glared at him. "There's something awfully interesting about being able to steal without anyone realizing. I mean, the bracelet was just on your wrist," he laughed. "It should be noticeable from the first time I stole it."

"What are you saying?"

"That either I'm just that good or that you're just that air-headed."

"YOU--"

"Now," he interjected firmly. "I usually would give stuff back after a few minutes and apologize profusely for it, maybe even get a slap or two in the face."

"Is it worth it?" I said sarcastically. He ignored me and continued on.

"But I got caught up in chatting with you that I didn't realize I've pocketed your bracelet."

"Then give it back!" I cried desperately.

"No."

Unbelievable.

It was as if my body was reacting on its' own when I lunged forward for that bracelet. He just threw his arm back as I flailed around for it. The bran muffin was probably squished under my belly.

ARGH! My muffin!