I bought a lottery ticket with the money from the wallet I pickpocketed.
I’m sitting in my apartment. My life has changed forever. In my bedroom, separated from the next by a thin, worn-out curtain, I stare at the ticket held in my stilling hands. I check the numbers again. Again, again, and again. And again for extra measure.
Alone. This money is mine, and mine alone. I won’t tell a soul. They’d never believe me anyway.
I am a nothing-child, from a nothing-world, destined for nothing. A bartender at a shady restaurant, living in the flat above with six others, men and women, all doomed by fate to work at this nasty place. Someone to hate for your sins– someone to blame for everything. Pour a drink, and another, and watch your colleagues smooth talk more money out of clients– observe, and split the cash. It is better than other ways. To survive, in my nothing-world, I have a few rules. Things to remember. Things I can’t risk forgetting. I tell myself:
Don’t think about wide eyes or grins or childish laughter. Don’t think about a mistake that cost you everything. Don’t think about shared holidays and fighting monsters together. And whatever you do, don’t think, even for a second, that you deserved any of it. A failure at everything– remember. You have no family. You have no friends.
I am alone. Alone, me against the world. But that’s okay. Alone protects you (and your money, too.)
As quick as a flash, I’m up, shoving the winning ticket into the pocket of my work pants, slinging my winter coat over my shoulders, and I’m out the door. I stride past Gia (she’s just one of the six) and her latest fling, pointedly ignoring the pair acting all lovey-dovey on the couch. In two weeks, she’ll leave him for a newer, richer, older man. I don’t even glance at Tom, a chef, as he fiddles with his bag frantically in the corner. Who knows what he’s looking for? Certainly not me and I don’t care to know, either. The less I know the less I have to tell the cops. My roommates are all doomed to lives of misery, of riding one high till they can reach the next. A life where they can do no good, a life we all deserve. A life I deserve. If I am miserable, maybe I can make it up to him. For what I’ve done. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I did. A mistake that cost me everything. A mistake that cost him more. I don’t pretend to know where he is, but I know in my heart that he is doing well. He always could. We could do anything together– but he could do almost anything alone.
Friends are rare in my life. Some people think they need other people to live. To breathe. But not me. I won’t need anyone but my banker. I can get a better job, buy a house, and afford groceries. I can prove I’m not what my parents said I am. I needed a ticket out of hell, and I think I just got my free ride.