Confessions of A Serial Scammer

Maxine Powell is a serial scammer. She just never thought that it would get that bad. Once she meets Christopher Thompson, she gets in over her head, and she knows that she can't go back.


6. 19 June

It's been the same story everyday. I wake up, then I sit in front of the TV. It's always on, but I never pay attention to it.

"Are you just going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself?" Christopher asks me everyday. But I never answer him. Until today.

"What else am I supposed to do?" I retorted. He shrugged at me, obviously surprised that I answered.

"How about I make you something to eat, and we talk," he suggests. He apparently went grocery shopping while I slept, because I don't think he's left me yet while I've been awake. I shrugged; I hadn't eaten for a couple days, even though he went shopping ages ago. I've been too depressed.

While he cooked, I couldn't help but notice the festering scar from when I bit him. "Do you want me to take care of that?" I asked, politely. He looked up at me surprised.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, uneasily. I pointed to his hand. "It's fine," he said, quickly, but I wasn't buying that story. I put all of the muscle in my mouth into it.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?" I asked. Christopher sighed, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with me.

"The cupboard above the desk," he said. As I went to get it, he finished cooking and put the food into plates before laying his hand into my waiting lap. His hand was large and muscled, with the fingers of a pianist. There was a dark silver ring on his fore finger that looked pretty old, but it was beautiful. The angry mark on his hand screamed at me.

"Did you try taking care of it?" I asked. Christopher shook his head. I took out the rubbing alcohol and dabbed it onto the cut. He hissed in pain, flinching slightly, but I kept working. I cleaned the wound until it looked vulnerable again, then I wrapped it in a bandage. Surprising Christopher, and myself, I kissed his hand like I would a child's.

"Thank you," Christopher said. He reached his arms towards me, but I moved away before he could touch me. I saw his eyes harden as he pulled his arms back, and pushed a plate towards me. We ate in silence for a while before he spoke again. "Why are you afraid of me?" he asked me.

"You scare me." Why should I lie? He should know that.

"But I love you," he said, as if he was trying to make a point. I stared at him. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Maybe if I wasn't held against my will in this apartment," I said, acidly.

"You are not against your will," he said. "You came with me. This whole thing was your idea."

"How was it my idea?" I demanded.

"When we met, you asked me if I would take you away." Christopher held my gaze. "You said you hated where you were. You practically begged me to take you away. You said you wouldn't object to wherever I wanted to take you, but you've always wanted to go to Brighton, UK. I remembered." He got me again.

"Ever think that people change?" I asked, quietly.

"Ever think that they don't?" he snapped back. "You still hated where you were. Why else would you sneak into a bar like you did?" I angrily pushed away my half empty plate. "Come on Max, you know I didn't mean that." He tried to fix everything with just his words, but it never worked. He reached over and touched my cheek, but I flinched away. He angrily pulled back. "What is wrong with you? Why are you so afraid of me?" He demanded.

"You can't control your anger," I said, simply. Christopher stared at me. He wrapped his arms around me. I flinched, but this time, he didn't pull back.

"I'll try," he said, sincerely. "For you. For us." He spoke with so much sincerity that I almost believed him.

"There is no us," I told him, pushing him away. I left him and went to the bedroom, where I've been all night.

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