Chapter Text
It was an itch you could never quite scratch.
As soon as the thought entered your head, that terrible, yet familiar, pressure would develop again. It felt like it would sit right in the center of your gut, building and intensifying to where you could feel it in your chest. Your arms and your hands. The thought would circle like a starving animal, biting and tearing apart your resolve until you found yourself stealing the object that caught your attention if only for the release that followed. The pressure would step off, your heart would stop racing, and you would be stuck with a pile of objects in your home that often had little monetary value or use to you.
Did you need empty bottles, pens, half empty cartons of cigarettes and kettles? No. Yet, you found yourself adding to the collection of miscellaneous items you had gathered, always saying you’ll sort through the drawer and sell what you could, yet that never happened. It felt like something you would tell yourself to fight off the creeping anxiety and guilt about the compulsive stealing. That nobody would care or miss the item. That nobody would ever see you stealing in the first place.
That line of thinking seemed to work in your old town, but not this one. In this town, there was always someone who could see you, and he often did.
The giant policeman was hard to miss, a massive figure that sat right at the outskirts of the town and almost seemed more like a feature of the town than a resident in it. You could see him at almost all times, outside of when you could slip between two buildings or in certain spots on a slope in the road. Yet, that didn’t always mean that he couldn’t see you. More often than not, when you would glance upwards, you would meet his impassive gaze. A single, brown eye watching your movements from under the brim of his hat and where he rested his arms on a propped up knee, deceptively casual.
Did he care about you carrying around an empty bottle that you picked up off of someone’s step? No. (So long as you weren’t intending to turn it into a weapon.) Yet, when you would pull someone’s radio right off the window sill to the point that you had to tug the power cord out the socket, that was different.
You always ran, even when you knew you would get caught or when the item was ultimately worthless. Hearing the rumble of his stern commands to comply, seeing his giant body start to move, his massive hand reaching out toward you, it pushed a primal fear to the forefront of your mind. You couldn’t help but flee.
This time was no different.
You sprinted down familiar streets, feeling the power cord of the radio smack against your legs as you scrambled to fold it so it wouldn’t get caught anywhere. You could toss the damn thing, really, yet you continue to carry it in your panicked attempts to escape. If that was from some sort of pride or your mind cluttered with racing thoughts, you didn’t know. What you did know was that, despite how slow his movements seemed, the giant was always faster than you assumed. He was always closer to catching you than you expected him to be.
This time, he was particularly fast. Maybe it was the fact that you were more out in the open or if you were in the part of the town that was closer to where he sat, but you caught glimpses of his hand looming above you much quicker than you were used to. He hovered his hand over the town, following your movements with unexpectedly accurate precision, wait for the moment where he could–
You slammed into something solid, a darkness falling over you momentarily until you felt hard pressure on both sides of your body. Suddenly, your feet were dangling off the ground, the ground dropping away from you at a nauseating speed. Your stomach dropped, head swimming somewhat at the rush of motion as you were lifted upwards. A pair of fingers grasped you as you were lifted miles above the town, aware that a single twitch or mistake in his grip would send you plummeting to your death.
Immediately, you winced at the uncomfortable popping in your ears at the sudden shift in altitude, yet it only served to remind you of how vast the size difference was between you and the officer that held you between his fingers like a mini figurine.
While this wasn’t the first time this happened to you, it still proved to be an experience that you knew you were never going to get used to or enjoy. How many times was it now? Your second? Third? Regardless, it was always one too many for the local law and you knew that would only spell trouble eventually. (As much as you felt like you couldn’t control yourself, sometimes…it was hard to explain, even to yourself.)
“You, again…” the officer commented. His voice was deep–unnatural, vibrating inside you in a way that always settled uncomfortably.
You felt something prod at the bottom of your feet–fingers, allowing you to place your feet on something and not just dangle uselessly in the air. Though, you weren’t sure if it was just the illusion of stability, given as you never really relaxed in his hold. By doing this, however, you had a feeling that he wasn’t going to just take your stolen items and place you back on the ground. It also made you aware of the radio that was being dangled by the power cord that you still held onto in your hand, a sense of frustration cropping up in you that you couldn’t place.
“I’ll take that,” he continued, his voice reflecting a similar irritation you felt, as much as his expression was as impassive as it usually was.
He brought his free hand up a little more, waiting for you to toss the radio over yourself as he usually did. You hesitated, shifting unsteadily as you grasped his fingers somewhat for support before you flung the radio out toward his waiting palm and settled back with a sigh, arms shaking somewhat. Don’t look down.
A silence followed, your gaze locked on his face as you waited for his verdict. He almost seemed to study the object you tossed into his hand, turning it over somewhat with a fingertip with a surprising gentleness. Really, given he could crush you easily in his hand alone, everything he did was surprisingly gentle. This was a little odd, however, as if you could almost hear him turning over observations and questions in his head. Whatever he was thinking didn’t show on his face, however–as much as you could see, anyway. The one eye you were closest to was big enough to take up most of your vision, downcast before his gaze shifted to meet your own again.
“...Why do you keep doing this?” he asked finally, holding your gaze steadily.
You took in a breath to answer only to realize that you didn’t have one to give. One that would make sense, at least. You rarely sold what you stole, as much as you could use the profit. Most of what you stole was generally worthless, too, something you had seen him notice before but didn’t comment on. You could feel that odd frustration boil up again, making you almost want to snap. What does it matter? I stole, so just fine me or whatever and don’t ask useless questions.
“I…was bored or wanted to see you or something,” you deflected lamely, sighing heavily.
“You can lie better than that,” he replied, though you noticed a slight tightness to his brow. Another silence followed; an expectation.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I’ve done this all my life, but you…see nearly everything so it seems really out in the open now. It was just there. ”
He dropped his gaze almost thoughtfully, a sort of heaviness sitting in your gut at your reply. It was truthful, but it wasn’t the full picture as to what it was like in your head when you were in the middle of the urge. The pressure, insistent thoughts, and the momentary relief once you stole something but it never lingered. After that, you were either in situations like this one or you ended up carrying around another useless object that you don’t know what to do nor really want beyond that brief moment. How did you go about explaining that, though? It didn’t give motive or reason to your actions.
“...That seems to be the theme to your crimes,” he replied, pulling you out of your head as you watched him shift, depositing the radio into his shirt pocket–as miniscule as it was in comparison. You could see him let out a sigh before leveling you with another look that was hard to read. “Final warning.”
A sense of relief settled in you, as much as you were a little surprised. The way you were thinking, you were expecting something harsher.
“Whatever reason you have, petty theft is still a crime…” he continued, “If I keep letting you off easy, it reflects badly on me. Next time will be more. Stay out of trouble.”
As he deposited you back down on solid ground, your legs wobbled but you glanced up to give him a somewhat imperceptible nod.
Feels like he says that every time.