26. Why You Don't Become a Thief

                                    

                                          
(Listen to the whole thing before reading)
                          


                          
Mae

                          
A lavender hue falls around my black-clad shoulders as I pull gloves over my fingers. I give them a nice, snug yank before looping my mask around my ears. Dawning the hood, I take placid steps across the sidewalk. The sun is now completely gone and the purple atmosphere shifts to a blue tint.
                          
I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here, but I promised I would have some paintings for mom and dad, by tonight. I never go back on my promises.
                          
Fog, gathered in my sigh, puffs before me in thick clouds, only to be split in two by my quick pace. I am ready to just get this done with, whether hoodie-I mean Jake is here or not. That is one thing I'm still trying to wrap my head around; I have been fighting my best friend since college started. Why can't I accept this? Is there a chance that I'm totally wrong? Can there be a small, insignificant clue as to why he wouldn't be my worst enemy? Maybe that is the part of me that still wants to keep them separate; two distinct persons. Or is that just my need to stay positive? Nothing's making sense.
                          
What better way to clear my head than an easy pull like this art museum, right? Wrong. This is the exact thing I don't want to do right now. I would rather stuff my face with squid than be here. Heck, I would rather listen to dad lecturing me than this. Thing is, there is a 95% chance, he will come tonight. Jake will somehow magically appear and be the hero in his self-righteous cape. And what irks me, is the part where I have the option to hurt him. Like last time. The blood I found on his hoodie was enough to make me noxious, let alone. If I saw his actual gash, I may have, more than likely, passed out. I don't want to hurt him. He doesn't deserve that. Even if he is my arch-nemesis.
                          
I bite the inside of my cheek as I work on the back door of the security office. My thoughts distract me so much, I don't notice when the door clicks open.
                          
I find myself staring inside the office, still crouched down. Giving my glazed eyes a few blinks, I stand, letting my legs feel the lack of circulation. They scream in defiance at each step.
                          
I make my way to the security room, glancing at two guards sitting before a handful of surveillance screens. Their backs face me and music drifts from a small speaker in the corner. I instantly recognize the song, mentally banging my head on the wall.
                          
"What is love? Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more." Karma is doing an excellent job, tonight.
                          
An open box of donuts sits between the two men. I watch one of the guards reach for one, his face never drifting from the screens. They are vigilant, I'll give them that.
                          
Staying close to the wall, I study each camera position on the screens, looking for blind spots or nice hiding positions. They have no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way.
                          
Satisfied with my observation, I pass the security room and locate the lockers. Thankfully, the music doesn't follow me.9
                          
An abandoned uniform sits on a bench. The unlucky owner forgot his pass. Score! I click the ID card onto my belt loop, not giving the face or name a second glance. If everything goes smoothly tonight, the card will be found in its rightful place by morning.
                          
Motion sensing lights line the hallways. A few sprits of spray paint solves that problem and the cameras are left none the wiser, sitting in the dark.
                          
The sets of doors open to a slide of the card in my hand. I allow myself a smile at how easy this pull has been, so far.
                          
By the fourth door, I reach the actual art museum and cease to fight the full grin. It's like a candy store. There are millions of dollars' worth of art hanging on these walls and I'm going to scratch off a sweet bite.