My Mistake

Ireland Rowlins is a pathological robber. She hits a music store, and is almost caught in the process. By the store owners son. She is drawn to him, and leaves the store empty handed. Since her mistake, she's been going back and forth, between deciding to turn herself in and ending her reign, and hiding the past she is willing to put behind her.

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3. That Night

Later that night, I snuck into the outlet mall. I'd told my mother that I was with Savannah. She's so dense; I don't know a Savannah. She doesn't exist.

I approached the door that had a big sign on it. EMPLOYEES ONLY it read. I snorted at it. Do they know how many people snuck their boyfriends or girlfriends through that door? I pulled a bobby pin from my hair; a girl's and a robber's best friend. Who needs keys anymore?

I flattened the pin and stuck the unflattened end into the keyhole. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. My usual mantra for breaking and entering. The door obediently clicked and I tested the knob. It twisted open in my hand. I smiled to myself. This got easier and easier with every attempt. I clicked the door closed behind me, quietly. I looked for the security pad. I sensed something to the left of my head. Bingo. I peered at it. If I were a guitar and music store, what would my pass code be? I thought for a second, and almost hit myself when the answer was as clear as day.

E, b, g, d, a, e. I punched in the numbers 3, 2, 4, 3, 2, 3. The screen flashed green. This was too easy.

I looked around for the beautiful guitars I spotted earlier. I found them easily. The were both in separate glass cases, locked from the outside, and with security triggers on the inside. I sighed; this was going to take a little longer than I expected. Of course they weren't just about to leave it open in the broad daylight. I whipped out my bobby pin and started on the first lock.

Once I got the lock opened, I looked intently at the security trigger. I didn't look too complex; like something I could take apart with a screwdriver. I looked down at my gloved hand. Or a bobby pin. I had to work diligently with this. I took a deep breathe. It's okay, I assured myself. I've got time.

I heard the back door open behind me. I sucked in a quick, sharp breathe and swore. Or not! My mind screamed at me. I frantically looked for a place to hide myself. I spied a big grand piano and threw myself into it, pulling the hood down onto me, leaving it open so that I could slide out if I needed to. I just could hope that my visitor didn't want to play the piano.

I peeked through the crack, while trying to keep my head down. It was a boy. A really cute boy. He wore jeans, that hung loosely off his hips and a sweatshirt that I just wanted to take from him and snuggle against it. His brown hair was long and curly as he shook it away from his face.He wore Nike Ruckus, Mids. He had a very beautiful face. He was muttering to himself over something. Then he went to the back room. I stuck my foot out behind my to begin lowering myself to the ground. He came back with an acoustic guitar. It was a beautiful Gibson; it was a true Hummingbird, probably vintage. He sat down at a box, and began to play.

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. Watching him play was even more amazing than listening to him play. His long hair brushed the front of his guitar, and I could tell his eyes were closed. He was playing While My Guitar Gently Weeps by the Beatles; my favorite song, except I could never play it on my guitar. I quietly stepped out of the piano, and rushed towards the door, banging my shin against the piano bench as I fled. I bit my lip as it screeched against the floor. The playing, as I predicted, stopped.

"Who's there?" The boy called. He was looking straight in my direction. My heart stopped; I couldn't breathe. Then I remembered, I was hidden in the shadows. He glared at the instruments. "Damn instruments," he muttered. He turned back to his guitar and continued to play. This time, he sang. His voice was so alluring and I wanted to sit at his feet and eagerly listen to him perform. But I couldn't. I crept to the door, and quietly opened the door, just enough to let me slip through.

"I look from the wings at the play you are staging, while my guitar gently weeps." I heard his sweet voice sing before I silently closed the door behind me, and ran.

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