Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’ve always known that I deserve better. Better than I have. Better than I was born into. I am better. People see me and think that I’ve never struggled a day in my life, and honestly, that’s what I want them to think. Not because it’s true, but because it’s no one’s business how I started out in this life.

I learned very early on in life that money was the only thing that could reliably make me happy. Whether through safety or fleeting pleasure, I found so much comfort in material possessions. They would never leave or betray me, call me names or hurt me. They were there no matter what I was going through. More than people, anyway.

I didn't have a lot of friends growing up. I preferred my own company. To read and learn things without others slowing me down. That’s how geniuses are. But occasionally someone would notice me. A teacher or a guidance counsellor would ask if ‘everything was alright at home’ and everything was as it had always been, so I said yes.

Though occasionally we’d have our moments. They didn't need to know about those. It’s my business.

And it’s during one such moment where we begin our story. I was the ripe age of twelve or maybe thirteen and I had an issue I had to raise with my mother. It went poorly.

*

“Mom?”

She looked at me with what I can only describe as disdain in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

“My teacher wants me to give you this.”

I handed her the piece of paper and she snatched it. I checked my hand quickly for papercuts but luckily had none.

“This better not be another failed test.”

“It’s not.”

She scanned the words, then rolled her eyes and set it down. “For God’s sake. Do those teachers of yours ever stop?”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

She slammed the letter down. “Tell that cow to mind her own business and focus on her own kids.”

“Okay. Sorry, Mom.”

“What’s going on in here, what’s all this noise?” Dad said, entering the kitchen waving his arms around.

Mom sighed. “Richard’s school. They want more out of us.”

“What is it this time?”

“An eye test.”

“A what?”

“His teacher wants me to take him to get his eyes tested because he keeps bumping into things. Do they even know how much that’s going to cost me? And what if he needs glasses? That’s another expense that’s going to be pushed on me. I can’t. I just can’t do it right now. I won’t.”

“Alright, alright.” Dad said. “Richie, stop bumping into things. Problem solved.”

“Dad, I don’t mean to-”

“Oh that’s enough out of you, Richard,” Mom cut me off. “Do you even know how hard I work for this family? How much money you cost? I haven't had a vacation in years because you're always wanting food or clothes. You should be grateful I give you a roof over your head.”

“I am, but-”

“Well you're not getting any more out of me. Go to your room.”

“But-”

“Go. Or no dinner.”

I went.

I sat on my bed that day wondering why she was so cross with me. Why me? What had I ever done? I didn't want anything unreasonable. If I wanted to ask her to adorn me with riches, I would’ve, believe me. But my mother was cheap. Or broke. Or both. She was always like that. Would expect me to sing her praises for giving me the bare minimum. Wouldn’t buy me new shoes if mine squeezed my toes. Wouldn’t buy food if she felt she’d bought enough, meaning I had to dig through cupboards some nights. Father was no better. He was barely around. ‘Working’ so he said, but in hindsight I don’t think that’s true.

The next day at school, my teacher tried to ask me if I gave my parents the letter. I told her to mind her own business. I got detention.

“Oh great, it’s Brokeard Wellington,” one of the kids announced as soon as I walked into the detention room for detention. “Why’s he here?”

“Have you seen what he’s wearing?” another one said. “His clothes have holes in them. I think he’s homeless.”

“And he smells,” a third one added.

“Hey, Brokeard, don’t you ever shower?” the first one said.

“Yes,” I responded.

“Do you really?”

I ignored him and went to sit down, but I could feel his gaze boring into the back of my head.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. What’s the matter, too thick to understand me?”

“He couldn't even read the board in class. He is dumb.”

“I’m smarter than all three of you put together, thank you very much,” I mumbled under my breath.

They heard me.

“Who the fuck do you even think you are?”

Better than you. 

Those words have haunted me for years. The fact that I had the opportunity to say them, and I didn't. And I meant them. Oh how I meant them. And I still mean them.

I'm better than you.

I am better than all of you.

That detention went about the same as all of my classes did. Trying to concentrate, while the other kids giggled and whispered and threw things at me. Then I would get out and start the long walk home, taking the longer route to prolong the time before I saw my parents again. I'd stop by clothing stores on the way just to stare in the window, not brave enough to step inside.

Gucci was my favourite. Their bags were things of beauty. Supple, matelassé leather, rough raffia and viscose, glossy platinum. In bold colours like pink, green, orange and blue. Some functional. Some discreet. Some flashy. All of them making a statement. Wearing them out in the world is saying to everyone else: I’m on this level. I can afford Gucci. I’m one of the higher people in society. I can do and buy and say anything you want. I’m just better.

I was afraid that stepping inside would cause the workers to chase me out like a rat because of my age, so I stuck to window shopping. 

One day, I thought. One day I'd be able to afford one of my precious babies.

But it wasn't just the object being an object that brought me the sense of satisfaction that I longed for. It was how I’d be treated. How people would look at me. With envy. With trust. With pride. 

Chapter Text

Things carried on at that pace. My eyesight gradually worsened and my mother eventually took me to have an eye test, for fear that my teacher would call CPS on us. She bought me the cheapest glasses they had. I looked like a buffoon. But at least I could see and wasn't getting daily headaches or scraping my knees up bumping into desks. Dinner that night was cold beans from the tin. I didn't complain.

Many years later, after graduating high school, I thought about going to community college. A lot of common people go to community college, I feel. And though I may have been common, I didn't feel it. I wanted more. More from this life. To be more.

Mother and Father just wanted me to earn money as soon as I was legally allowed to. They were convinced we were poor. Well I wasn't having it. I knew by that age that no matter how hard I worked, they’d scrimp and save and I’d still be miserable. But I had a plan. I told them I just couldn't find a job and it was an impossible market and I had no experience and bla bla but secretly, I’d gotten hired at a clothing store (I like to be around clothes and shiny things. It’s my happy place). There, my plan was to earn money surreptitiously until I could afford to move out and live my own life. And I wouldn’t save a penny, I’d buy anything luxurious that I wanted and I’d live the dream.

But I got fired after about a week.

Stupid manager. Apparently someone had an issue with my ‘attitude’ so they sacked me. That manager thought he was better than me because he was higher up than me, but ignorant him didn't know that no one is better than me.

So after that I just drifted a little. Mother and Father were still breathing down my neck constantly, but I ignored them. Most days, I’d get up early and just walk into town and just walk around. It beat staying in the house.

It was on one such day that a series of events happened that caused my life to change direction drastically.

I woke up around six am. Father had already gone to work (allegedly) and Mother was still asleep. I crept past her bedroom, avoiding the creaky floorboards and slunk downstairs. I took a single piece of brown bread as my breakfast as I quietly opened the front door and closed it behind me as softly as I could.

My mother would eventually figure out that I was gone, but she couldn't exactly stop me then. Nor could she bitch about how much that slice of bread cost her and how little I was bringing in.

I couldn't afford the bus, so I would walk to town. It wasn't too far and I was used to the way my old shoes rubbed, so I willingly went on my way. I’d window shop for most of the day, drifting through stores and touching clothes, sometimes trying them on, picturing my life with money. With riches beyond belief. I’d have a chauffeur and a maid and a chef and I’d be respected by everyone.

One day, I told myself. I didn't care how unrealistic it was, I wanted it, so I believed that I could will it into existence.

I was in one such daydream, walking down the street in a daze, when someone called out to me.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I whipped around to see a homeless girl about my age. She looked rather unkempt and smelled particularly bad.

“What do you want?”

“Sorry to bother you, is that your ring?”

She pointed to something on the ground. I looked. A small glimmer of gold caught the light and twinkled at me.

“Must’ve slipped off your hand,” the girl said, picking it up and inspecting it. “It looks real nice, you should take better care of-”

“Give me that,” I snatched it off her.

The ring wasn't mine. But it was indeed of very high quality.

“What’s the matter? It ain’t yours?”

“Why is it any business of yours?”

“Well hey, if it wasn't yours, then it is now. Looks like real gold, you could sell it.”

I glanced around to see if anyone was looking for it. No one so much as glanced this way. Was this…finally the universe giving me something? After being beaten down so much, was this the break I really needed?

“You know,” the girl said. “I did find it for you.”

I held it out of her reach. “I’m not letting your hands dirty this piece of art. It’s mine now and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“No, I know. It’s yours. I just think…you could give me a couple bucks for finding it for you? Please, I’ve got two kids to feed.”

“Save me your sob stories, woman.”

“Mom?” a voice came from behind one of the bushes.

It was a little boy, maybe four or five years old. He looked dirty and forlorn.

“Just a minute, Maxy, I’m talking to this nice man,” the girl said.

“I’m hungry.”

“I know, I’ll be able to afford food soon.”

He looked at me, held his stomach and then went back behind the bush.

“Sorry, he’s a little shy around people,” the girl said to me. “Listen, I don’t know how much that thing’s worth, but I’d be happy with anything, even just ten dollars.”

I glanced back at the ring. It was in immaculate condition, likely worth multiple hundreds. But if I wanted to sell it, she’d likely follow me around until I paid her. There's desperation in her eyes. But compared to how much it was  worth, it wouldn’t take much to get rid of her.

“Five dollars,” I offered. 

“Yes! Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”

I held out a five dollar bill and she snatched it and scampered away after her son. I scoffed and pocketed the ring.

The jewellery store had wall to wall glass cabinets displaying rings, bracelets, necklaces, watches, and everything else that I could only afford in my wildest dreams. They twinkled in the light, each one catching my eye as I made my way to the counter, trying desperately to look as though I belonged there. As though I had all of the money in the world.

I placed the ring onto the counter, which made a satisfying clack sound.

“How much for that?”

The man looked at it. Then looked at me, confused.

“Where did you get this from?”

“It’s mine. I want to know how much you’ll give me for it.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, we don’t really do that here, you're looking for a pawn shop or a private jeweller.”

I sighed. “Just tell me how much it’s worth. And don’t stiff me, either, I know it’s real gold.”

“Okay, fine.”

He disappeared under his desk, then reappeared with a strange contraption that looks like it came out of a bad sci-fi movie. He used the contraption to stare at the ring for a long time, turning it over in his hands.

“Don’t damage it,” I said, airily. “It was my mother’s.”

“It doesn’t have a hallmark,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It tells you what percentage of gold it is. You're sure this is real gold?”

“Of course it is! What do you take me for?”

He took another gadget out from underneath the desk and held it to the ring, the ring stuck immediately.

“Ah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Gold isn’t magnetic. This is definitely a fake. Sorry.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s quite a well made fake, but I’m pretty sure that if I scrape away the top layer, it won’t be gold underneath.” He picked it up and tossed it a couple of times. “Yeah, it feels light, too. It’s probably costume jewellery.”

My heart sank. It felt like the room was closing in on me. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. If this wasn't my chance to finally escape this life, then what was? When was it coming? How long would I have to wait and live like this?

“I can’t believe you're telling me this,” I said.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. A pawn shop would probably offer you $2 for it. Maybe $5 at an absolute push, but it’s not exactly as if it’s in high demand. You're better off melting it down for scrap.”

Unable to express exactly how I felt and not knowing what I could possibly say, I simply turned on my heel and left without a word, leaving the ring there.

This was supposed to be my ticket to riches. To security and luxury. To freedom. But I was conned. Scammed out of $5, and sold a false dream. I couldn't believe it.

Furious, I stormed into Starbucks. It was bustling, as usual, but I stood in line with my arms crossed. The girl in front of me took forever to order, so I snapped.

“We don’t have all day, you know.”

“Sir,” the worker said. “Please wait your turn like everyone else.”

I huffed. Everyone else. Why should I have to be like everyone else? I deserve better than this. I won’t let myself be beaten down and kicked around by life. Just as the girl was finishing, I started devising a plan.

“Hi, what can I ge-”

“Double mocha frappuccino with extra caramel drizzle and whip on top. And make it snappy.”

“Yes, sir. That’ll be-”

“I don’t want to hear your backtalk.”

I tapped my card before I could acknowledge the price and went to wait for my drink. The prices there were extraordinarily high, but some days, their coffee was the only thing that would make me feel better. Though I had to deal with The Help in order to get it. It couldn't be helped. I mean it wasn't as though I was going to do it, that kind of work was beneath me.

One day I’ll have a job worthy of me, I thought. Like a CEO or something. Or I’ll just be a pretty househusband.

“I’ve got a double mocha frappuccino for Richard.”

I sauntered over there, ready to put my plan into action.

“Is this made with oat milk?” I asked.

“Uh…no.”

“Well why not? I ordered it with oat milk.”

It was the same worker who took my order. A rather scrawny man with too much acne who looked like he was barely out of high school.

“I don’t think you did,” he said, looking at the ticket.

I raised my voice slightly. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, I just didn't have that written dow-”

“So I have to suffer because you didn't do your job? Are stupid?”

“I just-”

“I expect this to be remade and comped. Quickly. And don’t expect a tip.”

“I can’t do that. I can remake it for you, but it’ll still cost-”

“GET ME YOUR MANAGER.”

Managers usually have more sense to listen to me than the lowlifes because they actually care about customer satisfaction. The boy sighed and disappeared, then reappeared a moment later with an older man. The older man had ‘Manager’ written on his badge, so I smiled.

“What’s the problem?” the manager asked.

“Your worker refuses to make my order correctly or acknowledge that he messed up in the first place!” I declared.

“That’s not-”

“Shush,” the manager interrupted. “I’m so sorry, sir, on behalf of my worker and this establishment, I sincerely apologise. If he makes you another drink, will you wait?”

“I want it comped.”

“Of course, of course.”

“I’m not making him another drink,” the worker said. “At least not for free. I didn't mess up anything, he didn't say anything about oat milk until the drink was finis-”

“Are we going to have an issue here?” the manager said.

The worker looked at me, then back at his boss and straightened up a little. “Yeah. We are. Because you always undermine me. It never occurs to you that I’m the one telling the truth. I always try to follow the rules, but I get written up for things that aren't my fault.”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. You're fired.”

I watched the energy quickly leave his body. “What?”

“You heard me, get off the property.”

“You can’t fire me, I didn't do anything.”

“Out. Before I call the police.”

He slowly took his name badge off and set it down, seeming stunned. I smirked. That’ll teach him for talking back to me. I love getting people fired. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s like magic when it does. My moment of power. I control everything I touch.

“I’ll have that drink now, if you don’t mind?” I said, once the boy was gone.

“Of course.” The manager whistled to another one of his goons to get to work on it right away. They did so without a word.

The coffee wasn't the best, but it wasn't worth complaining about again. I didn't tip the next worker because I didn't feel like it, and she didn't say anything about it. As she shouldn't.

Chapter Text

The next day, I did the same. It was my routine, after all. I woke up around six. Crept past Mother’s bedroom, took a piece of bread, walked to town and window shopped all of the stores. I glanced at the people I walked past. Usually, they wouldn't interest me as much as the beautiful bags and clothes and jewellery in the shop windows, but I was still hung up on that girl who scammed me. I wondered where she was. I scoured every area searching for her, thinking of what cross words I’d have with her. Picturing her begging me for mercy or behind bars.

That’d teach her that I’m better than her. I’m better than all of these people I was walking past. The dog walkers, the mothers and their babies, the businessmen in their suits, the joggers, the homeless scum, the…

As I was perusing the people passing through, one particular boy caught my eye. He was no older than seven, but appeared to be by himself, just standing on the side of the road. What an irresponsible parent, I thought. He was holding what looked like two parts of a decorative box, clearly snapped in half. He looked around. I stepped closer, wondering what he was doing.

Then it happened. A woman walked past him, barely brushing him with her coattails, and he threw the box on the ground. It made a crack noise and she whipped around to look just as he started sobbing.

“Mom’s jewellery box,” he sobbed. “I saved up all of my pocket money. It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

The woman muttered some comforting words and handed him a few bills. Then left. He stopped crying instantly.

It was only then that I recognised him. He was the homeless girl’s son. He picked up the remainder of his box and looked around again.

I grabbed the hood of his jacket. “Tell me where your mother is this instant.”

“Get off me, strange man!”

“Tell me where she is or I’ll drag you to the police station and you’ll never see her again.”

“She’s over there. Don’t hurt me, mister.”

I let him go and he scampered away. I followed. He weaved in and out of the crowd and led me down a back alley. It was littered with trash and stank rather a lot.

“Ry!”

He ran straight to a person wrapped in a blanket. It was the girl.

“Harry, are you okay? Did you get caught?” she said.

She was holding another small child close to her side. The two were identical, as far as I could tell, and I had likely mistaken them for the same child. Not that it mattered either way.

“A man wants to talk to you,” the boy replied.

She looked up at me.

“Oh it’s you,” she said. “Did you hurt my kids?”

“I didn't touch them.”

“Harry, did he do anything to you?”

“He grabbed my jacket.”

“As I said, I didn't touch him , only his jacket.”

“If you come near them again, I swear-”

“Excuse me, who are you to make threats towards me? That ring you gave me was a fake. You're a fraud.”

“I thought it was your ring to begin with.”

“You know full well that it wasn't. You scammed me. You’re a con artist.”

“Well done,” she scoffed. “Look, you can’t prove anything. If you get the police involved, I’ll tell them you assaulted me. I can give myself a pretty good black eye.”

I didn't like that I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. One of her sons clung to her.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than scam people out of $5?” I asked.

“God, no. Does it look like I do? It was supposed to be $10 anyway, but you're cheap.”

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“I do. I hear that every day of my life. It’s hard not to be when no one offers you so much as a bar of soap.”

“How did you… And you have children too, you're the most irresponsible person I’ve ever-”

“Oh my god, dude, it’s all fake. Haven't you got it yet? When people think I’m a single mother, they give me more money, they feel sorry for me. No one cares about teenage ‘vagabonds’, they care about vulnerable young women. So I play pretend. I pretend I’m running from a boyfriend. I pretend I forgot my wallet and need money for gas. I pretend that my little brothers are my kids. Whatever people will eat up, I feed it to them.”

“They’re your brothers?”

“Yeah. Someone once mistook me for their Mom and that gave me the idea.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“...oh.”

“How do you think we got into this mess? Dad was barely keeping on top of Mom’s medical bills even after she died when he himself got into an accident. Now they’re both gone. It’s just me. And I do what I have to to make sure the boys eat. It’s that simple.”

“B…but it’s dishonest! You're taking hard earned money out of the pockets of-”

“Do you think I give a fuck? You can afford five fucking dollars so Harry and Max don’t starve tonight.”

“Haven’t you tried getting a job?”

“Oh my God, if I had a cent for every time I heard that, I’d be richer than you. I’d be richer than any of the damn billionaires in this country. You really think I haven't tried? And tried and tried? People won’t even look at me. They chase me out of shops like I’m a fucking sewer rat. Do you even know what that’s like? But no, surprisingly no one wants to hire the girl with no diploma, no home address, no car, no experience and no way to afford childcare for her brothers. So I do what I have to do. I didn't plan for this to be my life.”

“Well regardless of your life choices, I’d like my $5 back.”

“You are joking, right?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Dude. Read the room. I’m homeless. I can’t afford to give you anything.”

“I don’t care if you have to work for it, steal it, or what. But you will give me my money back.”

“Wow, so much for moral integrity.”

“I’ll have you know, that-”

“ Hey. You .”

I turned and a man I vaguely recognised was quickly approaching me. He looked rather out of sorts.

“Who are you, what do you wan-”

He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me towards him. There was fire in his eyes. Every muscle in his body was tensed.

“It is you,” he spat.

I felt my heart rate quicken, and my breath too. I was shaking. It felt like the world was closing in on me.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered. “I don’t know who you are.”

“You don’t even fucking remember?”

His knuckles make swift contact with my chin. I stumbled out of his grip and fell onto my knees, dazed, hurt and confused. The world had blurred, so I surmised that my glasses must’ve been knocked off my face, but as I glanced back, I could still see the blurry outline of the man coming towards me.

“You’re not better than me!” he shouted. “I can say whatever the fuck I want to you now. You're the worst kind of human and you shouldn't fucking exist. You ruined my fucking life.”

I scrambled to my feet. “What did I do?”

“If you don’t know, maybe you should have a fucking think about it, you fucking scum.”

I looked around for the homeless girl, but couldn't pick her out amongst the colourful smudges. She was either watching silently, or she'd run for it. Either way, I was alone against this madman.

“I…I’ll call the police!” I threatened the man.

“Call them. I’d rather spend tonight in jail if it means I get to beat your face into this fucking sidewalk. You don’t even know what you did to me and you don’t care. Because you don’t care about other people. All you care about is getting a free coffee with fucking oat milk in it.”

It finally clicks.

“You’re the worker from Starbucks,” I said.

“WELL I’M NOT ANYMORE, AM I?”

He delivered another swift punch. The sharp pain cut through my face and I tasted blood. I could hear one of the girl’s brothers crying.

“I’m sorry-”

“You’re not . You never will be. Because you’ll never learn how to care about people. You didn't want to listen then, and you're only listening now because you're scared I’m going to crack your fucking skull open.”

“I…” I couldn't say anything to that. It was true.

“Was this worth it? Huh? Was it?”

“No.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“Hey, buddy.” The girl was back. Or she never left. But her voice was like music to my ears.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded.

“You tell me, you're on my patch. And you just came storming up to this guy and beating the shit out of him in front of me. You're scaring my brothers.”

I looked again, and I think her brothers were clinging onto her, one on each side, though trying to make anything out was hurting my eyes.

“You know him?” the ex-coffee boy demanded.

“No,” the girl replied. “He gave me $5 and now he’s pissy about it.”

“It wasn't like tha-” I tried to cut in.

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t care.”

“Hey, alright, enough,” the girl intercepted. “Listen, you’ve had your catharsis or whatever, but you’ve gotta take this somewhere else now, okay? I’m sure Rich Boy deserves everything that’s coming his way, but I just don’t want to see any more of his blood spill onto that sidewalk. Drag him somewhere else or something.”

For a long time, I didn't hear anything.

Then something unexpected happened.

Someone started crying.

It took me a second to realise that it was ex-coffee boy who’s crying.

“Oh jeez,” the girl mumbled. “It’s alright, man.”

“I shouldn't have done that. This isn’t what Mom wants, it’s not gonna fix anything.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to make him feel as bad as I did when he got me fired. But he won’t ever get it. He doesn't know what it’s like to be poor. To have everyone control your life except you.”

“Actually, I do-” I tried to cut in.

“Shut your fucking rich face, you don’t know what it’s like to have a mom who’s too disabled to work and a dad who left because he doesn’t fucking know what ‘for richer or poorer’ means.”

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

“Isaac.”

“I’m Ryan.” She gestured to her brothers. “This is Max and this is Harry.”

“My name’s Richard,” I added.

“No one cares, Richard,” Ryan retorted.

As Isaac continued to cry, I searched the ground with my hands, delicately tapping around, trying not to get my fingers dirty, until I eventually found my glasses. They were somehow miraculously undamaged. The same couldn't be said for my face, however.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac sobbed. “Things have just been really tough at home.”

“I know.”

“The only way I can make money to survive is being berated by people like him .”

One of Ryan’s brothers pulled a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to Isaac. Then he looked at me. I touched my lip and my fingers came back blood stained.

“You’re a mean person,” the boy said to me.

“Harry, come back here,” Ryan called him back.

I stalled. I knew I should just leave, but I went there because I wanted Ryan to pay for scamming me, and she still didn't seem remotely sorry. At least, not for me.

“I don’t understand why you're allowed to be upset when I was the one who was assaulted,” I said.

Issaac said nothing, just grabbed a handful of gravel and tossed it in my general direction. None of it hit me.

“I don’t expect you to get it, rich boy,” Ryan said.

“I…”

I was about to retort that I was not rich by any means. But is that not what I wanted people to think? That I was wealthy and deserving of respect? When did wealth become some kind of insult?

“I don’t know why I should take that from a scammer,” I snapped back, instead. “Isaac, she’s all nice to you now, but just you wait, she’ll swindle you out of ten dollars! Or more!”

He looked at her. “You…scam people?”

“It’s how I survive. Little things here and there. I don’t really have another option.”

He scoffed. “Funny, you didn't seem to have a problem with scamming when you were in my place of work,” he said to me.

“That’s different!”

“Yeah, it is. No one needs coffee that badly. You didn't have to cost me my livelihood.”

“I never meant to do that. I didn't tell your stupid manager to fire you.”

“Didn't tell him not to.”

“Doesn’t mean I told him to. He wouldn’t have listened to me, if firing you was what he thought was the right thing to do, then he was going to do it anyway. He didn't value you.”

“Oh fuck him. Why did I kill myself for a job that didn't care about me? They expect you to be loyal to a fault but they can’t throw you a fucking bone for anything. Every manager’s like that. They don’t care about your own personal life and problems, they expect you to be a slave. That’s what I am. A slave to capitalism. Will be until I die. I wish there was a way I could get back at The Man, you know?”

“You could always join us?” Ryan said. “Help us out with the scams and split the profits?”

He laughed. Then he considered it.

“I’d make my own hours,” he said to himself. “Work from where I want, so I could be with Mom if she needed me. But…I don’t know, I don’t want to beat down on people who are worse off than me.”

“We don’t do that,” Ryan said. “We just take little and often from people who can afford it.”

“Ry says pick someone with nice clothes and watches,” one of the kids said. “And if they have young kids or babies, you leave them alone.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, I’ll…I’ll think about it. I’ve never been given a job offer like this one, but to be honest, it’s probably the best I’m going to get.” He looked up at me. “Hey, I’m gonna be you.”

“You’re nothing like me.”

“I sure hope so. What do you do anyway? Inherit Daddy’s business?”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MY LIFE. I mean…no. No, I’m…not currently working.”

“Look at that, he doesn’t even have to work. Must be nice.”

“Well no one should have to work. I didn't choose to be put on this Earth, I shouldn't have to pay to keep existing.”

“Yeah, you're telling me. Life’s like one big pay to win scam that no one signed up to.”

“Well you know the saying, you can’t scam a scammer,” Ryan said. “Beat em at their own game.”

“Yeah. Alright, I’m in. Thanks, Ryan.”

“Um…what about me?” I said.

“What about you?”

“Yeah, you can just swan off back to your mansion.”

“I don’t have a mansion.”

“Your parents do.”

“Look, I’M NOT RICH. I want to be. I feel like I need to be. It’s who I am in my soul. But as is, I’m…I’m surviving. Barely.” I could feel their eyes on me. “Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you, but either way, I don’t want to go out into the workforce to earn my keep either. Not after seeing that display.”

“The display that you caused?”

“All I’m saying is that if you two are going to cheat the system, I want in.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll tell the police that you two are scammers.”

Ryan smiles at me, smugly.

“What’s my name?”

“It’s Ryan.”

“Ryan what ?”

“I don’t know, you didn't say that.”

“What’s my home address?”

“You…don’t have one, you're homeless.”

“So how exactly do you plan on giving the police my information when you don’t have any on me? I travel light, I could be in any town at the drop of a hat.”

“I know where Isaac used to work. His manager has his details.”

“He won’t give them to you.”

“He’ll give them to the police.”

His face clouded over. He looked at Ryan. She was lost too.

“Oh wow. He’s not as dumb as he looks,” she said.

“Maybe you shouldn't make plans to do illegal things in front of people in future,” I retorted.

“Can’t fault you there. Alright, welcome in. But if you touch my brothers again, I will have Isaac beat the shit out of you.”

“Sounds good to me,” Isaac added.

“Fine.”

And so. Somehow, someway. The two people whom I’d previously hated more than anyone in the world became my work colleagues. My protectors. My everything, really. Because though we were from different backgrounds, we all knew what it was like to be kicked down by life and to want to kick back. We were vengeful and hungry for money and success. Well. I was, at least.

Chapter Text

“How much did you make today?” I asked.

“Five-ish. Enough for food anyway.”

It’d been a few weeks. Learning all of Ryan’s tricks and scams on the spot was a lot harder than I’d anticipated, but it was better than being a corporate slave.

“I didn't get much, but some lady gave me her sandwich,” Isaac added. He tore it in half and gave it to Ryan’s brothers.

“Thank you, Mr Isaac!” one of them said.

I sighed. “I want more than this.”

“Yeah, don’t we all.”

“I’m serious. We need to aim so much higher.”

Some days we’d earn maybe fifteen or twenty dollars. Other days we’d earn nothing at all. I saved every penny and talked and thought constantly about my first expensive bag. My first sign that I was an important person in society. That I’d made it. Isaac and Ryan just laughed at me and spent their money on food or whatever. 

“It’s best to play it safe,” Ryan said. “If you start asking randos for hundreds or thousands, they lose interest fast.”

“Don’t you want to be able to afford a place to stay?”

“Richie, you're crazy if you think that’s possible.”

“A car then? Something to keep the weather off you.”

“A car comes with car insurance,” Isaac said. “Don’t pay that and you could end up in prison.”

“Yeah, and then who’s gonna take care of Harry and Max?” Ryan added.

“Fine. But…Isaac, don’t you want to pay off your mom’s medical bills?”

“Look, I’m just trying to survive.”

I lay down a jacket that I stole off someone and sit on it, so I don’t get my pants dirty from the sidewalk.

“Look, I want to do something with my life,” I said.

“Like what?”

“I want to go to college.”

Ryan laughed. “You think that’ll save you from poverty?”

“Isn’t…that how it’s supposed to work? You work hard and then you get a well paying job?”

“Sure, worked great for me until someone got me fired,” Isaac said.

“That’s different, I just need a university degree. Then they’ll take me seriously.”

“My parents had degrees,” Ryan said. “They worked hard all their lives. And they still lived paycheck to paycheck. But any hope that I had for the future died with them.”

Isaac said nothing, but put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and rubbed it.

“I have to try,” I said. “I just want to feel like I’m someone.”

“You wanna be the rich person that you pretend to be,” Isaac said.

“Yes. Exactly that. I’m tired of life kicking me down, I feel I’ve earned the nice things in life.”

“Get back to me when your plan isn’t centred around a Gucci bag.”

“It’s not about the Gucci bag. It's about respect. It’s about being seen as equal.”

“That’d be nice. But I’ve been looked down on my whole life. Nothing’s going to change.”

“Same.”

“Listen,” I said. “I have a tremendous plan to get large amounts from people who can spare it. No one would give $200 to someone if they didn't have $200 in the first place.”

“Shut up, Rich,” Isaac said.

“I’m listening,” Ryan said, looking mildly interested.

“Okay. We won the lottery, finally our prayers are answered. But it comes with an advance fee. A mere $200 to receive our winnings of $500,000. Doesn’t take a genius to realise that it’s a good deal. But unfortunately, I don’t have $200. So I ask a kind stranger if they wouldn’t mind lending it to me.”

“For $200 back? It’s too much of a risk on their end.”

“No. For half of the winnings. $250,000 is a life changing amount of money for anyone, they simply cannot turn that request down.”

“You’d need a bank account,” Isaac said.

“I can start one. I’m eighteen and have a home address, and it doesn’t cost money to open an account, I checked.”

“So they write a check for $200 to your bank account,” Ryan said. “And if it flags we’ll say something like it’s your wealthy aunt’s birthday gift to you.”

“And once they realise it’s a scam, they can’t do anything because-”

“Because they wrote the check themself and can’t claim the money as stolen! Oh my God, Richie, you're a GENIUS!” She hugged me. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

“It has to.”

We both looked at Isaac.

“If you get caught, you're gonna go away forever, Richie.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He stared at me.

“I’m serious. I don’t have any reason to stay here. I need this new life. Or I’ll take prison. Either would be better than going home.”

I didn't mean to say that last part. I couldn't meet their eyes.

“Alright fine,” Isaac says. “But we’re splitting profits. And I’m not taking the fall for if you fuck this up. My mom needs me.”

“I know. We shall split it 30%, 30%, 40%.”

“What? That’s not fair.”

“Ten percent is more than fair given I’m doing all of the work and taking all of the blame.”

“Alright, I’ll do something.”

“Just don’t get him to pull off the actual scam, he doesn't have a way with people,” Ryan said.

“Hey, I put up with so many Karens in my last job, just cos one ruined it for me doesn’t make it my fault!”

We devised the plan, put it into action and it actually worked. I was and still am amazed at how well it came together and how easy it was to get that much money out of a random stranger. Isaac even played his part by phoning Ryan pretending to be the lottery office with a strict deadline for when they needed the fee. After that, I cashed out the check and we had our earnings. It was all over so fast.

After all of that, Ryan and Isaac ended up with $60 each and I had $80. Ryan spent all of hers on food and coats for Harry and Max, and Issac put his towards his mom’s medical bills.

“We should go out to celebrate,” I said.

“What, blow all of your earnings in one night?” Ryan retorted.

“Hey, I’ll go if he’s paying,” Isaac said. “I’ve never been to a restaurant before, except to ask if they’re hiring.”

“Bet Rich won’t tip.”

“He won’t even pay the bill, probably, he’ll complain about the food until they give it to him for free.”

“I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m rich.”

Ryan sighed. “Richie, that’s $80. It’ll last you like a week.”

I glanced down at the cash in my hand, thinking about all of the Gucci I was planning to buy, all of the Starbucks, the Ferraris and Porsches.

“But…”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a good yield, but we’ve got a way to go from here.”

“Yeah, that $60 is barely a dent in my mom’s medical bills,” Isaac added.

“Then we’ll do it again,” I said.

“Yeah, in a few weeks,” Ryan said. “Can’t have them too close together or we’ll blow our cover pretty quickly.”

So we did it again. And again. We’d move location, take day trips outside the city (often by conning people out of train tickets) and do the same scam there. But soon, everyone knew of our reputation. That’s when we had to move online. From there, we found other scammers and formed an alliance with them in return for a cut of the profits. Our little band expanded quite a lot in the next few years, and I was well on my way to buying my first ever Gucci bag.

When…

Well you probably know what happened. If you’ve heard the name Richard Wellington anywhere in the news, you know how I brought down my entire crime ring with one stupid mistake. Needless to say, it’s not something I’m exactly proud of.

I managed to get off a murder charge, but they racked up every other charge they could find against me. Manslaughter by temporary insanity. Aggravated battery. Pickpocketing. Identity theft. Serial fraud. Petty theft. Larceny. Tampering with a crime scene. Perjury. Resisting arrest. It honestly felt a little personal. And now I reside in a filthy prison cell for the rest of my days.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

I can’t make eye contact. I can’t even say anything.

“So they finally caught you, did they?”

I still say nothing.

I was offered one phone call. One visitor. And I didn't know who else to call. But now that she’s here, I don’t even know what to say.

“It was gonna happen eventually, Rich,” Ryan says. “You just aimed too high.”

“I just wanted nice things. I was never given anything nice in my life. And everyone expects me to be grateful because I didn't starve as a child, even though I was made to feel guilty every single day for existing and costing money. I didn't ask to be born into this world. I didn't ask to be born at all.”

“I mean, no one asked to be born, that’s not really how that works.”

I glare at her.

“Is that why you never talked about home?”

“Look. I’m not homeless. No one’s sick. No one has died. I was surviving. You didn't want to hear how hard my life was. It’s not as bad as yours.”

“I guess.”

“I tried to tell Isaac.”

“I remember. The day he beat the shit out of you.”

“But I was sick of just surviving. I’m not like you, I deserve better.”

“You still think you deserve better than us?”

“I just want to be special.”

“No one’s fucking special, Richard. Life doesn’t care about any of us. That’s why we have to care about each other. I knew Isaac had it better than me, but I still felt bad for him when you got him fired. You’ve never given anyone a reason to like you, all you do is tear everyone down.”

“I just…it’s not fair. I never even got so much as a trip to the zoo as a child. Or an ice cream. I got nothing but made to feel guilty for no reason.”

I see her take this in and consider it. “Yeah, that sucks.”

“Now you understand why I did it. I just wanted to get back at the world.”

“You wanted control.”

“I wanted respect.”

“No, I think you wanted control. You wanted to be able to control how much you got and from who with no one else managing you. You wanted to feel in control of your own life.”

“I don’t care what I wanted! It’s over now. Because of that stupid officer and his girlfriend and the phone and… Life just hates me. I feel like I wasn't meant to be born. I want to be here, but I don’t want to be here . I want to live, but not this life.”

“Well at least you don’t have to worry about rent or shelter.”

“Ryan, you're not helping.”

“Well what do you want me to do? I can’t bust you out. And it’s hard to feel sorry for you when you're still…like this.”

“What, because I won’t cry about my problems like Isaac, you don’t care about me?”

“You don’t have to cry, you could just…I don’t know, be less whiny.”

“I am not whiny.”

“Whiny is all you are. If you didn't whine, you wouldn’t be yourself.”

I just scoff, unable to believe she thinks so little of me.

“So does your mom know you're here?” Ryan asks.

“God, no. I’d rather die.”

“So you…haven’t told anyone? You don’t have anyone?”

“That’s not true. I have you.”

She looks at me. Then looks away.

“So which scam did you do that got you caught, anyway? Was it the lottery one?”

“No…”

“Tell me it wasn't the jumping in front of cars one. You just can’t sell that one, Rich, you're too dramatic.”

“It wasn't a scam. I… There was an officer…and I panicked… It was all a stupid mistake.”

“You, what, hit an officer?”

“I pushed him…to his death.”

Her expression shifts into something I’ve never seen before. It’s not just shock. It’s pure disgust, nothing more, nothing less.

“You killed someone?”

“I didn't mean to. I thought he knew about us, about our schemes. I thought about your brothers and Isaac’s mother. I didn't know what to do.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

I feel as though my soul has been exposed and is being painfully poked at.

“Don’t act as though you're better than me, you're a criminal as well! You're a lowlife nobody who should rot in prison. I don’t deserve to be here because of one mistake.”

She says nothing. Just slowly turns and walks away.

“Ryan, wait.”

“For what? You to become a better person? That’s not going to happen, Rich. Look, I hate cops too, but that guy probably had a family. You're never gonna learn that the whole world isn’t about you.”

“Well maybe it should be.”

“Do you think you're the only person who’s ever thought that? When my mom died, I used to cry myself to sleep every night wondering why me, why’d it have to be my mom? But it wasn't like some higher power picked me deliberately. She just got sick. That just happens.” Her face screws up. “I still really fucking miss her, y’know. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could run to her and cry and tell her everything and just let her fix all my problems like she used to. She made me feel like everything was gonna be okay.”

“I don’t have anyone like that. Or at least, I didn't until…”

“...until me?”

“You made things happen. Everything you did made sense. You…gave me purpose and hope.”

“Are you hitting on me? Because we’re both quite clearly gay in opposite directions.”

“Shut it, you ingrate wretch!”

“Alright! Sorry, didn't mean to ruin your moment.”

“It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

“You know, that actually makes sense.”

“What?”

“The reason why you think you're the best person in the world is cos everyone you’ve ever met sucks. You’ve never been humbled. And that’s why you don’t feel bad for killing that cop. Because to you, that’s all he was good for.”

I do feel bad. I feel horrendous. I feel like a monster. Not because of the man himself or his hypothetical family, but because I don’t want this to be the person I am. I’m a con artist. A drifting virtuoso. A genius. I’m not a blood crazed monster.

I don’t know how to explain this all, so I don’t. I don’t think Ryan would get it, anyway. For as long as I’ve known her, she still doesn’t know me or think highly of me.

“What is this? Therapy?” I say, instead.

“I’m just saying. No one’s ever earned respect from you, so now you think you don’t have to give it to anyone.”

“Whatever. So are you going to get me out of here or not?”

“What do I look like, a locksmith? No, I can’t break you out of prison. Sorry. I could sneak you something, but you’d better get comfy.”

“Fantastic. So I’m stuck here because of that stupid lawyer who can’t even tell people’s gender’s right.”

“What?”

“He called you all conmen. He thinks you're a man. Probably because of your name.”

“You told the lawyer about us?”

“No! I…” My stomach drops. “He found out on his own. He found your contacts in my pho-”

“HE KNOWS EVERYONE’S NUMBERS?”

“I DIDN'T MEAN TO LET ANYONE KNOW! I simply lost my phone. It ended up in the hands of some stranger and one thing led to another and…”

“Oh my God. They’re gonna find Isaac’s address. And then his mom will… Rich, do you realise what this all means? I can skip town no problem, but not all of us can.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

“Well what else do you want me to say? That everything is going to be okay? I can’t say that. Because I’m not your hero. I am and always have been a burden to everyone, I’m only here to fuck up everyone’s lives.” I punch the glass.

I just want to do the right thing for once. But I don’t know what that is. I never have. And now I’m stuck behind bars, unable to do anything.

“Hey, listen, I’ve got a plan,” Ryan says. “You don’t care that much about your parents, right?”

“What?”

“This is desperate, Rich. You’ve gotta pick your battles. Can your parents spare money for bail?”

“You’re going to ask them to bail me out?”

“No, idiot, I’m gonna make them think they’re paying your bail. Then give the money to Isaac so that he and his mom can get the fuck outta dodge before any of this shit hits the fan.”

“My parents wouldn’t pay my bail. They haven't even come to see me, even though they must know by now.”

“Shit.”

“You’d be better off just mugging them at gunpoint.”

“Where am I gonna get a gun? Do you know how much those things cost?”

“I don’t think I’d want you to do that anyway. They’re bad, but not worth traumatising.”

“Rich, we need something. Anything.”

“The bathroom window is broken.”

“What?”

“Of my house. The hinge is damaged somehow so that it won’t close all the way. They won’t get it fixed, of course.”

“Rich, what are you-”

“You probably couldn't fit inside. But one of your brothers might. Weekdays between 9 and 5 there's no one around.”

She ponders this.

“No cameras. Take whatever you’d like.”

It’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever done. Which is a joke, because it involved me giving something away that wasn't mine. But that’s how I am. Destined to be selfish because I don’t have anything, I suppose. I’m a dirty criminal now, so I don’t know why anyone expects more of me.

Ryan phones back the next day. Success, she says. I don’t know what exactly she took, but I don’t ask. I don’t care. As long as the man who punched me in the face is safe. Isn’t that funny?

I write him a letter. I feel I ought to say something, anything, but it’s hard to get the words out.

In the end, the best draft I can come out with is:

Dear Isaac,

I don’t have words for how sorry I am. I could write out sorry a hundred times, but it wouldn’t mean anything to you, I know.

I don’t know what to say. I’ve ruined your life, I know. I didn't mean to do it, I was just stupid and careless. I hope you believe that, because it’s true.

I wish you could punch me in the face until I bled again. I know I deserve it.

I hope your mom is alright.

Yours,

Richard

For a few days, I don’t hear anything from anyone. Then, a reply.

Richard,

Mom and I are gonna leave the country. I made up some shit about cheaper healthcare and she was desperate enough to buy it. She’s getting a lot worse. I know it’s just a temporary flare and she’ll be back to normal soon, but even normal is hard to deal with. I’m so fucking tired, Rich. But I love her so much that I’d do anything for her.

You're right, I am mad at you. If I didn't know you any better, I’d hunt you down, but you're just an idiot kid who doesn’t know the consequences of your own actions. Now you do, I hope. Thanks for trying to put it right, but for my own sanity, I’m still gonna tell you to go fuck yourself. So go fuck yourself.

I’ll probably never talk to you again. No offence, but keeping in contact with you isn’t worth the risk. But I hope you become a better person. Or at least stop hurting people. If you want to matter, then you have to accept that what you do matters. Good or bad. You're not exempt from anything cos you’ve apparently had a hard life.

See you,

Isaac.

I sigh and place the letter aside. I’m not sure what I expected, really.

“What’s that, letter from home?” comes a voice from the door.

I look up. It’s some kind of twink with the hair covering half of his face like he’s an anime character.

“Who are you?” I say.

“What, you don’t recognise me? C’mon, dude, don’t you watch movies?”

I gesture around myself. “Evidently not.”

He chuckles. “Then you can just call me Matt, I guess.”

“Richard.”

“So what are you in for?”

“You first.”

“Oh you know, some messy stuff with an assassin. Won’t bore you with the details.” He pulls at the edge of the duvet cover, looking disgusted. “We’ve really got to stay in a dump like this? This is worse than that three star hotel I stayed at for that charity campaign in the middle of nowhere.”

He’s a movie star. Wealthy. Well known. And he ended up in the same cell as me.

It’s as if life is trying to beat me over the head with a moral.

I don’t know if I want to take it.