The Thief Monologue

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Pages: 5
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I must be a lunatic for not tossing the thief out on her ass or at least calling the cops to come pick her up. But waking up to a hot girl dressed in all black standing over your bed is, oddly, a turn on. Okay, I didn’t realize it was a chick immediately. Once I did notice the tits, kicking her out was far from what I wanted to do to her but then my nephew started bawling.

Right now I am thinking: if the thief turns out to be a serial killer; maybe she will go ahead and put me out of my misery, then the decision will be taken out of my hands. But as luck would have it, she is only an amateur, and my hopes of crawling out from underneath this burden are useless.

“You have a baby,” the thief screeches, following me through the house, matching …show more content…
“I don’t want to be a father,” I shout heavenward.

WAHHHHHH WAHHHH WAHHHHH!!!!!!

The kid has lungs. I’ll give him that.

“Who are you talking to?” the girl asks over the shrill sound of the crying baby. “That is a shitty thing to say. That you don’t want to be a father. A little too late for that, don’t ya think? Maybe you should have put a condom on it.”

I turn my head, locking eyes with her all the while continuing to rub Bubba’s back. “You really want to take penises now?” I ask. Her mouth snaps shut. She thinks Bubba is mine. Why wouldn’t she? It does appear that way doesn’t it?

“Where’s his mother,” the girl asks.

“Gone.”

“Well, don’t just let him cry. Pick him up!” she demands. I’m sure my face screws up. “He has crap on him. You do it.”

I don’t expect her to, not really, but that is exactly what the girl does. She swoops in and takes over, elbowing me out of the way and scooping Bubba up, cradling him close to her chest. She soothes him, gently bouncing him in her arms. “You’re are more messed up then my last boyfriend,” she says moving straight past me into the den. I follow, stopping by my room to shove my legs into a pair of …show more content…
Her arms are almost submerged to the elbows in water, supporting Bubba while he is in the kitchen sink. My part is lathering the rag and cleaning him, which gives her a lot of time to stare at me. I shake my head. Her eyebrow lifts. “Never?”

“Nope.”

“No wonder she left.”

“Do you have a filter,” I ask. “Cause you say some mean shit.”

She considers the question before answering. The front of her shirt is soaked. She doesn’t seem to care. “I think it would hurt not having the guy I’m with participate. To be invested. We’re supposed to be a team.”

My gaze lingers on her face, the shape of her lips. I’m intrigued. “Us?” I ask.

“You know what I mean. You failed to do your share of the work, and it shows. I don’t even know why I’m helping you.”

I make a sound in the back of my throat, but don’t defend myself. Why tell her the baby’s not mine, technically, he is. If she wants to think I’m scum, then let her. I learned not to put too much stock in other’s opinions; it’s impossible to please everyone at the same time. I stop trying years
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