Temptations

"Hi." I stepped into the jeweler's store, the security guard opening the door and giving me a curt nod. I tried to ignore the sound of my fluttering heartbeat. It had been so long since I had been in a store. With so many things. To steal. I ignored how my eyes started twitching at the thought.

You see, I'm a naturally talented thief, and without a doubt, unfortunately that is my one true vocation in life. And girls. Speaking of which, there was a particularly gorgeous one looking at me from behind the counter, her bright blue eyes framed by curly innocent locks-

Shut up.

Remember the last time you fell "in love"? My fingers curled around the engagement ring I had been holding. The one I was going to get a quote for today. The ring some girl I had picked up from my vacation in Mexico had thrown at my head.

"Could I get a quote for this please?" I placed the ring down, ignoring how my eyes were searching the room for any sign of cameras. Old habit. I forced myself to stop. Why was I being so evil? After all, my father was suffocating in money and, lets just say, has given enough of it to me so I could hop on a plane to Mexico every 2 months. I even dressed the part of spoiled rich kid, collared t-shirt and sexy pants. So why did I have the thoughts and behaviors equivalent of a sewer rat? No wonder she dumped me. How could I blame her?

"Hi! Let's see what we have here." the girl behind the counter smiled, opened a drawer, put on a pair of gloves, and inspected the ring from all angles. "Wow... this 24 carat gold? Usually for rings people go with 18 carat for strength, but the fact that this is still strong yet so pure..." she turned the ring so that the gems faced upwards.

"The diamonds and emeralds aren't lab grown too." I added. April and May birthstones. A royally expensive ring. A royally screwed up relationship.

Again.

Dad always insisted I get my money's worth for the expensive stuff and take it into the jeweler's to get cleaned up before selling it. Even as an old rich man, he hated to waste.

I didn't have the heart to tell him by the time I decided to get my butt to the store the next girl would've rolled around anyways. At least he didn't pay that much attention to realize I reused the same ring.

"I'd say you could get at least 20K, it hardly looks used!" she exclaimed, eyes wide in astonishment. Lie. It has been worn by at least 3 women in the past year. I should consider going to a more credible store.

"How much did you buy it for? I could probably take it in and give it a clean if you're looking to sell it for more."

It was happening now. He broke into a sweat and resisted the temptation to mop his brow.

Emerald necklace, just under the glass counter. Prettily layered diamonds, probably around 15-25K. A ft under the glass. Glass 2 cm thick. Key in 1st drawer right.

His eyes glazed to where the security guard was, who was staring rather profoundly at the ice cream shop opposite.

He had to get out of here. Now.

"Oh, I think it should be okay. I'm sure I can find something to polish it up," I rambled on like an idiot, cursing myself for thinking I could withstand the temptation after the past 2 times. "thank you so much for your help, I actually am running late to a meeting and should get going now." What a dick. Why had I even come? Judging from the look in her eyes, she was obviously thinking the same thing. I should have known I wasn't up for this, what an idiot I was to think I could handle the temptations.

"Okay!" she carried on in a sugar-sweet tone like nothing odd had happened. Stupid money driven folks. "Feel free to drop by any time if you have any other questions, or change your mind about that cleaning. My name's Tiffany, just for reference, and it was a pleasure working with you today!" He smiled in what he hoped looked like a sexy smirk and tried not to bolt out the door.

Just as he was passing the security guard, who mindlessly held open the door for him again (dude needed to up his skills) I felt the weight of something big settle in the palm of my hand beside the engagement ring.

The familiar poke of emeralds brushed over my skin.

Shoot.

Somewhere between the girl giving her spiel and the door, I had unconsciously stolen the necklace.

You see, I don't try to steal other people's stuff!! I wasn't trying to be evil, it just kinda.... happened. Ughggh. Some people stole for money, others for the thrill, and me because apparently it was built into my genetic code.

Cursing, I spedwalked to the ice cream store opposite, trying to let the rambunctious laughter of the children and chastising parents drown out the thoughts in my head. But those thoughts started crawling in anyways. Welp, regardless, I could certainly use some ice cream right now. I hopped in line, making sure no one was looking as I tucked the ring and the necklace into my inner jacket pocket. I took a deep breath.

"My brother says this community's police department is out of control." The lady in front of me gossiped with other middle-aged women while their children squabbled about what ice cream flavors they each were going to get, and how to convince their moms to let them get a cone instead of a cup. My ears crept their way into the conversation.

"4 major robberies in the past 2 months! All from different local shops around us! It happened at around the same time of day, and they're trying their best to hunt down the suspect. The ridiculous thing is, they don't have a clue who it is!! And they have a reputation of being the best of the best in this district! I sure hope Jorge and I won't have to move to another town, the people here are lovely and the kids are having so much fun at school, but this kind of criminal activity is getting out of hand!"

Well hello there, I'm your mystery man. I would have laughed if I hadn't been surrounded by minors. (My laugh could wake the dead.) Those 4 robberies had all been of my own, out of my own good will! Ha! Beat that, ol' lady!!

The line shifted upwards and I thankfully I was able to refrain from eavesdropping more on their conversation. Ahugh. This instinct of mine had been around for as long as I could remember, and it was like I was just starting to get the hang of containing it. It was a horrible, wretched, instinct that would sooner rather than later throw me in jail. I knew someday I was going down in flames. Yet not once had my instincts failed to impress. But I still felt guilty after every, single, time I committed a theft. It was like my soul was good but my brain was evil. I was losing my sanity. And unless I wanted to ruin my father's legacy and commit suicide, there was nothing I could do about it.

I finally had the honor of going from #15 in line to face to face with an acne-infested teenager who looked like he wanted to quit his shift.

"Chocolately Double Fudge please."

"Coming right up sir."

He set down an ice cream scooper, dripping with ice cream, on the counter and turned around to grab a tub of chocolate fudge. Before I could react, my eyes skimmed the room and the lone ice cream scooper disappeared off the counter. I looked down. Not a drop of ice cream on my jacket.

I groaned internally and paid for my ice cream.

"Hey Daniel, you see the ice cream scooper around?" I heard the poor teen ask one of his coworkers.

There had to be some way to fix this, I thought to myself as I walked outside, grabbing a seat on a bench, and dug into some insanely good fudge.

In the past, I had tried wearing Dad's glasses so it was so blurry I couldn't see. I had tried covering my hands in oil so everything I touched would slip right off, and had even gone as far as tying my ankles and wrists together and locking myself in a room. Yet every, single, time, this unruly instinct took over.

I didn't want to be the bad guy. I just simply couldn't help otherwise.

Lips stained with chocolate and taste buds relatively satisfied, I got up to toss my cup but nearly rammed into that same woman who was in front of me in line.

As she mumbled a quick "sorry!", my instinct reached out, unclasped her bracelet, and swiftly tucked it into the jacket pocket. All in a fraction of a second.

I wanted to scream.

It took her a hot minute to find out anything was missing.

"Oh! Marcy! My bracelet's gone!" She patted her wrist where it was only moments before. "I must have left it when we were trying on that ruby bangle! Oh dear, I sure hope that thief didn't come by and take it! It was my grandmothers', you know." She sighed. "Someone needs to punish this person and get all our jewelry back!" They yelled for their children to follow them over to the store, handbags clutched a bit more tightly to their chests.

I was about to be on my way with my scandalous little pocket of treasure when an old woman took me aside.

"I saw what you did there."

My heart stopped beating.

"Wha-what!?" I croaked, sure this was the end of me.

"Listen, kid." She didn't possess a single shard of fear. "Don't pretend you don't know what you're capable of."

The emerald necklace was suddenly in her hands and dangling in front of my face.

"How did you-"

"I watched the entire thing. And before you start protesting-"

"I did it. Take me to the police. Lock me up forever. At least then I won't commit more felonies," I blurted out like an idiot.

The faintest hint of a smile danced across her face. And she better remove it before I did.

"See, that's the thing," she whispered carefully, glancing around to make sure everyone else was out of earshot. Clearing her throat, she plunged into the deepest darkest secrets of my existence.

"I've watched you every one of those times, and you seem so annoyed with yourself you could possibly melt! Now, I've worked 35 years in the FBI agency and I know good skills when I see them. So, fine. I'll cut the crap. I'm here to offer you a deal. Call the number on this business card," she took out a small white rectangular square out of a pocket on her cream-colored jacket, "and I won't report you. Say to this person you're interested in becoming an agent, leave your name, state the college you graduated from and any relevant degrees you have, and ask for an interview. Oh, and say Kate Cliet directly recommended you. I do have quite the reputation." She smiled smugly, wrinkles forming around her eyes, and wiggled her eyebrows.

Whaa. Kate Cliet. Business card. Phone. I was too shocked to speak.

"Oh stop being such a chicken, honey." She shoved the business card into my hand. "And DON'T let me down."

With that, she winked and walked away.

I blinked and took a couple minutes to process what I'd just heard. And then I ran back into the line and waited a full 20 minutes for a second scoop of ice cream. On a cone. With extra sprinkles.

It wasn't until I was fully in my car and playing some soothing jazz that I pulled out the white rectangle she had given me. My hands were shaking; I could barely register what had happened.

I took out the ice cream scooper from my jacket, still drenched in ice cream. Then I took out the bracelet. Then the emerald necklace. And finally, my fingers closed over the engagement ring.

I was 28 years old. 28 years of hiding my supposed "talents." Years of guilt and embarrassment, and even more relationships gone wrong.

I had never considered going into an agency before.

Agency. Agency. Agency. Hm. The word had a ring to it.

I took a deep breath. It was about time I unlocked my full potential.

Slowly, as tentatively and sporadically as a child taking their first steps into life, a wicked grin swept through my features. 

I dialed the number.