Chapter 4 Theclub Thief

• Amanda’s POV
• The thumping bass of the club's music was a distant roar in my ears as I darted away from the body of people dancing so close to each other.
• "Part of the entertainment, do you want me to take you home tonight ? I will be really good to you all night long" one man shouted into my ear, his hot breath and the sharp stench of alcohol making my stomach churn.
• I shook my head, my eyes wide with fear, and jerked my arm away. He laughed, thinking it was a game, but I was already pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape.
• Back in my shadowed corner, my heart raced uncontrollably. I clutched the stolen wallet tightly against my chest, my breaths shallow and rapid. I didn’t want to steal it.
• I wasn’t a thief by nature, but what choice did I have? It was either this or face the very real possibility of not surviving another day. It wasn’t about wanting more; it was about needing enough to live.
• With the weight of the wallet pressing against my ribs, I scanned the area for an escape or a place to hide. The neon sign for the ladies' room glowed like a beacon, and without a second thought, I dashed toward it.
• The hallway was dimly lit, narrowing as I approached the door. I shoved it open, my eyes darting around to confirm it was empty before I slipped inside.
• The room echoed slightly, the sound of the club muffled by the thick door. I rushed into one of the stalls, locked it, and finally allowed myself to sit on the closed toilet lid.
• My hands were trembling as I pulled the wallet from my pocket. It felt like a brick, heavy with consequence.
• I opened it slowly, my fingers numb. Inside, I found several hundred-dollar bills stacked neatly together. I laughed, a short, humorless sound that bounced off the stall walls.
• There was close to two thousand dollars—a fortune to someone like me, who had nothing. The money felt hot in my hands, like it was burning me, marking me as a criminal.
• Guilt washed over me in an icy wave. Why was this man carrying so much cash? Was it meant for something important? A family emergency, perhaps, or a critical payment?
• By taking it, I was potentially ruining someone else’s life. He might have worked hard for this money, and here I was, about to steal it. But then the harsh reality of my own situation clawed its way back into my mind. I needed this. It wasn’t greed; it was survival.
• I sat there for a long moment, the bills in my lap, wrestling with my conscience. I couldn’t take it all; that would be too much. I removed two of the hundred-dollar bills and hesitated before pulling out another, leaving myself with just one.
• A hundred dollars could feed me for a few weeks, find me a safe place to sleep away from the cold and the danger of the streets. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a temporary reprieve.
• With a heavy heart, I tucked the remaining money back into the wallet. My hands shook as I zipped it closed, the weight of my actions settling deep in my stomach.
• I had never imagined my life would come to this—hiding in a bathroom, stealing money just to survive. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I forced them back. There was no room for weakness now.
• I stood, slipping the wallet back into my pocket along with the single hundred-dollar bill. I needed to get out of here, to disappear into the night before anyone noticed the wallet was missing.
• Just as I reached for the latch, my heart stopped. The door had opened quietly, but the presence of someone else in the room was unmistakable.
• I turned slowly, the stall door creaking as it swung open. A very tall man stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His light brown eyes were fixed on me, intense and unreadable.
• He must have followed me in, or perhaps he had been waiting for someone like me to make a mistake like this. Panic surged through me, a wild, desperate thing that threatened to choke me.
• He looked down at the evidence in my hand, and his gaze sharpened.
• "Confess" he said simply, his voice low and surprisingly calm.
• Fear knotted in my throat, making it hard to breathe. My mind raced with the possible consequences of getting caught.
• Prison was a real threat, a terrifying place to be heard. It's worse than the streets. I wasn’t a criminal; I was just trying to survive.
• But how could I explain that to him? How could I make him understand that this wasn’t a choice driven by malice or greed but by sheer, unrelenting desperation?
• I opened my mouth, my lips dry, words failing me. "I... I’m sorry," I managed to stammer.
• "I didn’t want to... I just need to survive." My voice was a whisper, laden with the weight of my despair.
• The man watched me, his expression unreadable. Every second he stood there silent, my fear grew.
• Would he call the police? Would he understand? Or had I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
• continued to watch him, his expression still unreadable as my heart pounded in my chest. My hands were shaking, and my voice barely rose above a whisper.
• Suddenly, he stepped forward, closing the small gap between us. Before I could react, his hand was around my arm, his grip firm but not painful.
• He pulled me gently but firmly out of the stall, and I stumbled slightly as I tried to keep up with his long strides.
• It felt like I weighed nothing as he dragged me out of the ladies' room and down the corridor. The club's music pounded in my ears again, mixing with the rapid thumping of my heart.
• "Where are you taking me?" I managed to ask, my voice quivering. The fear of the unknown clawed at me, and despite his intimidating presence, I needed to understand what was going to happen.