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My phone pings atop a kitchen's counter.

Text: What the fuck you mean you don't have it yet? 😡

Milk spills from a bowl in my hands, splattering to the floor, as I lean over to read the new text.

Who is this?? I mentally ask the random contact in my messenger.

Just delete...

No, say, "you have the wrong number 👋🏻 "

No, just leave it alone.

I continue eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. I liked to have the marshmallows outnumber the cereal. I always pluck out the hard pieces for a bit before being satisfied. I devour the bowl of sweet crunch like the damn hulk. When done, I tilt the bowl and sip the fruity milk. While gulping it down, another ping comes from my phone.

Text: Use this card get the shit!

I lean over yet again to read another message which bares 25 numbers, including a CVV and an expiration date.

Ooo, money! Stupid ass! I'm gonna wring you dry!

I grab my phone off the counter and go to IMessage, copying the numbers to my clipboard, then exporting them to my notepad app.

This is club money 🙌🏼

At a bumping, flashing club, I order a round of drinks for myself and my friend...who I once dated. Sam.

“So the motherfucker texts their card info, you should have seen how fast I saved it!!!!”

“Was it a guy?” I hear a bit of shielded jealousy in his tone.

“I don’t even know.” The bartender hands us glasses of vodka mixed with orange juice. I down mine in five seconds and slide the glass away with a cockiness. “Thank yoooouuuuuu for putting this on tab! I’m gonna tip you big.“(With my new card info, of course). I wink at the skinny emo kid who grins widely before going to serve others. I slide from a barstool and go to the dance floor, hopping like a crazed bunny to bass-filled music. Once in a wavering crowd, I twerk to the rhythm. “Bitch, you gotta drive. I’m drunk!” My cut up, midnight shirt swings, my flawless lace wig bounces. I knew my tiny ass was snatched in these black skinny jeans I had on. I catch a few hoes looking as I work my hips.

“Don’t try anything!” Sam, the buzzkill, warns in a shout over the ever-rising music.

I roll my eyes. “Or what?!”

“Or you’ll go to jail!”

I stop dancing, feeling deflated from his serious mood. I turn to Sam, the only one not dancing. “Fuck off, why ya mad? You can use the card too! We can go shopping! And-”

“You don’t even know how much money is on there!”

“YES, I DO! $10,000 HOE!” I clap my hands with each word.

Sam gives me a baffled look, ready to question how I knew this information. “How-”

I cut him off with a flick of my wrist. “Google. Google is god. I paid for the account information.” A buzz vibrates the inside of my skinny jeans, shaking my skin. I jam my hand into a tight pocket that holds my phone, struggling to get enough wiggle room to even take it out. I strain my fingers for a bit before retrieving my phone. Damn tight pants...

Now under neon lights, I read a text on my lock screen while swaying to the hype music. “Come here, look look look!!” I exclaim, dying in laughter and waving Sam closer. He inches over to see what I want.

Text: Fuck you, I’m tracking your phone 🔪

“HAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!” I bellow over the music.

My Reply: Imma just get another 😛

Sam disapproves of my text, huffing, he tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But when I’m this lit, my grip is like glue. “Uh uh, stop!” I smell alcohol on my breath and feel the drinks doing their work. The room spins.

“How much have you spent?!” He hisses at me, coming a little too close to my face. “This is dangerous!”

I huff, then blow raspberries at him before power walking to the restroom. With each step I take through close-knitted partiers, I feel Sam tailing after me.

In an untidy restroom, with tissues and wrappers all over the floor, I enter a stall and drop my phone in the toilet. I flush it and watch it whirlpool around the bowl; illuminating it with its white glow. My eyes dart to my wrist, where I’ve written the card number in pen. I smirk, then turn to Sam, raising my shoulders rhythmically to the booming, muffled beat outside. “Solved!”

NEXT DAY

I live in New York...that must sound appealing, but trust me, it isn’t. I fucking hate it. The city is too damn crowded, full of rats and trash, smells like unwashed bodies, shit, and piss. It also gets way too cold. I should move, but it’s human to stay put. I work at Forever 21. I must say I prefer the fast pace over a slow job that weighs on the brain. Benefits of working in a mall: 🤑 everything looks good on you in your mind, so you buy the hell out of shit. Swiper, yes, swiper 🦊.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

My booted feet stomp through five inches of snow, downtown, where millions of people smell their own funk and lose their right to personal space.

Crossing times square, I eye a car, a yellow Kia parked on the busy curb, my Uber. I don’t want to walk the whole way to work. But, like many, I need to cut costs, even if I have $10,000, that doesn’t mean I can’t be a penny pincher. Bitter coldness whacks my face and my cheap wig as I stroll a stamped of people, all making their way to work through thick, snow flurries. I get shoved and nearly knocked down, but that’s New York. Deal with it.

I sniffle, feeling a slight throb of an oncoming headache. Fuck, come on, aspirin, save me! It’s too early for this. I dip out of the way of elbows and fast-moving feet, racing to an opening.

I take a backup phone out of a puffy purple coat...bless me for being smart to have two phones. Everything from the one I drowned is backed up on it too. My Spotify playlists especially. I place in my headphones and play Nicki’s Stupid Hoe. I open safari and view my amazon cart. Inside a new phone case, rose gold, boots with heels, a new wig, short, black with caramel ombré highlights: a Yolo shirt, and charcoal clay masks. The total is $500. I press the one-click buy now button.

At work, I ring up customers who pile clothes upon clothes onto the counter. A fifty percent off sale is going on, so adults and teenagers grab up everything from perfume, oversized shirts, dresses, shoes, jewelry, underwear and graphic tees. Women usually come for jewelry and shoes, men for coats, watches, or jackets, today that norm was out the window. Everything hits the counter; scan, scan, scan. The register beeps as I power swipe items across the conveyer belt.

“That’ll be $75.80.” A woman rummages in her bag, striking my nerve. You know ya gonna need to pay, why wait to look for your card now?? My sight ventures to the windows of the store, outside to crowds of people passing or entering other outlets. My gaze focuses on shiny floors and colorful mannequin displays while the lady goes on digging for her card.

On my break, I add random stuff to my cart, a face laser mask and a water flosser; then, I check out; $350. In the break room, I munch on a KitKat and Flamin Hots, junk for brunch, as I sit and browse amazon. ”Heyy, Chris!” A girl’s voice catches my attention.

“Oh, heyy,” I reply half-heartedly to Jasmine, an ombre haired, light eyed hot girl. Jasmine here thinks I like her, even though I show no signs of it. She’s under the spell that I’m bisexual and won’t stop poking. I’m not even gonna get into what happened between us...just know we used to be tight. “WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING TOGETHER!” I sing cleverly while I search up vegan yoga mats.

“I like that song too.” She scoots a chair beside me. I look ahead at the door with a deadpan expression. Really, girl?? “Whatcha doing?” She asks all perky, her tone medium and soothing.

“Looking up dicks.” I switch over to my google tab and show her my search page from last night. Big dicks, to be exact. “Hmmm, mmmm, that’s all I want in life.” I hint heavily. “Gotta go, byyyyeeeeeeeeee.” I didn’t really have to go I had five minutes left on lunch, I just needed to make a statement, and a sudden exit always works. Back in the store, a new round of customers circulate, sorting through racks and heading to dressing rooms. I center my badge on a long sleeve pull over jacket. My hoeless feet step the floor. This causes some of the customers to stare at my socks, confused as to where my shoes are. “I’m ready for my picture.” I pose dramatically, placing my hands on my hips.

“CHRIS!” I hear my boss yell. Oh, my fucking god. “Put on your damn shoes!” A fat ass bitch scolds, observing my fluffy, pink socks with an evil eye. My hand flips my long hair back. My boss hides a look of disgust as she approaches me; I see it pinching at the side of her mouth. The Bitch hates anything that isn’t straight: ”Oh, I’m fine with those kinds of people.” She legit said this before: ”those kinds of people.” Da fuck 💁🏻‍♀️

“I’m still on break, you know I have a condition, it’s either you want a smelly store or you let me let em breathe.” She fights so hard not to glare and fire me on the spot, knowing if she did, there would be a lawsuit bigger than her house. “Thank yooou!” I stroll behind my register and lean onto the counter. Damn, I left my snacks. Ugggghhhhhh, I don’t wanna walk back. It’s so...so far away. Instead, I get on my phone, hiding it below the register, so I don’t get caught. The cashier beside me, bucktooth Trisha, peeks over with her never closing mouth. This hoe is just waiting to see a dick pic so she could tell the boss.....like a Hermione with a nosy complex.

I receive a mail notification from the balance website about the funds of the card; I didn’t care to read the name of the company. All I wanted to read was the body of the email. I click on the notification and read: your balance is $9,150.

On a purple bed, I order jeans, shirts, sexy underwear, jackets, and eyeliner on my phone. My cart equals out to $200 worth of items. Thank you, hack site! Just by entering the card number, CVV and expiration date, I received the routing and account number, all for the cost of a $60 service fee. I add more random items in my amazon cart, feeling like royalty.

Should I slow down? Ummm...

NOPE!

I scroll the cart, reviewing house shoes, sleep gowns, makeup brush sets, and tube socks. When I try to check out, immediately my phone screen switches to an incoming call. Absentmindedly, I answer, too annoyed to read the caller ID.

It could be no one else but Sam.

“Sam, leave me alone.”

“I’m tracking you.” A deep voice threatens.

My eyes widen, I hang up fast and lock my phone, readying myself to throw it...shit, I don’t have another backup! My phone rings again, causing me to jump off the bed. I let it ring. Thinking. Oh, fuck, now what? I’m going to jail na. No, I’m too queen for that. I fight my fear and answer the call. “Okay, I’ll stop now.”

A long pause from the other end makes me uneasy. As if a monster is listening. The skin of my neck trickles with chilly bumps. “No! You don’t walk away, asshole! I have your address!”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you! You pussy ass motherfucker!”

The guy exhales longingly. “It’s your funeral.” He hangs up.

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