Perfectly Imperfect

Have you ever robbed your own family’s house, along with 3 randos you came across in a run-down bar? Probably not…or at least I hope not. It’s not my ideal job either, but sometimes, the desire to fit in is enough to push you over the edge.

‘Stand back! Arms up!’ Lucian ordered.

The guests complied, gasping as they stepped back and toppled over each other, inching away from the “Monsters of Faerland”—It was what they called us, and I really wished it were an exaggeration in this situation. But it wasn’t. Dahlia and Eve promptly began grabbing doors and scrounging overly decorated rooms. I forced myself to look at the crowd, praying that I wouldn’t see my parents within it. They wouldn’t recognise me under my mask and all my clothing, but I knew that if I met their eyes, their cold glares would strangle me.

My eyes flickered across the room, waiting for Dahlia and Eve to find the safe. It would’ve been faster for me to just tell them where it was, but then they’d be suspicious of me, and it was best I wasn’t questioned about my identity. I breathed a sharp sigh of relief as I saw Eve gesture for me to come.

I ran down the hall and was met with the safe. I took a deep, shaky breath, stepping closer as Eve watched me with a wary glare. She seemed nice enough, but god, she could be terrifying. Especially in a time like this, where the police could be arriving any minute.

One click, two clicks. I carefully shifted the dial, waiting for it to align with the lock gates, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my head was a clustered mess. Guilt crept through my body, paralysing my hands as realisation settled in—hell, I was robbing my own parents.

‘Hurry up Alexi.’ Dahlia said sharply, her voice like daggers threatening to slice me if I didn’t keep moving. I flinched, taking another deep breath.

These guys always insisted on shattering windows and striking fear into people’s hearts when they robbed a house—and even though I couldn’t deny it was fun sometimes, it was not fun at your own house.

“The Monsters” only ever robbed the rich, most often during parties. Why? Because then more rich people could watch and be warned if they were considering hosting a wild house party. They enjoyed seeing dozens of pretentious, rich snobs begging for their lives and praying that the same never happens to them. And sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder what they’d do to me if they ever found out I was a runaway rich boy. Probably mock me and ask why I ran from a perfect life of luxury and comfort. How would they accept a boy who hasn’t suffered the same as them? A boy who abandoned a perfect life to go rob his own parents?

Tension left my body as I heard the satisfying click, the bolt disengaging and the fence falling open with a thump. I reached in and grabbed a stack of cash, Dahlia and Eve doing the same. We dashed out, and as we did, I kept my head down, though not without catching a glimpse of my mother’s gaudy dress..

Soon, Lucian was running behind me, along with Dahlia and Eve to our hideously red car. Over a course of time, I realised that this gang enjoyed flash and drama, anything to mock the rich and their lavish, privileged lifestyles.

Dahlia shoved herself into the driver’s seat, Lucian beside her and Eve at the back with me.

A moment of silence lingered between us as we settled in our seats, before Eve burst out into hysterical laughter.

‘Oh god! Did you see the amount of people there were? It’s ridiculous, who invites that many snobs to a single house?’

‘I know.’ Dahlia said listlessly.

A sneering grin crept across Lucian’s face. ‘They only have themselves to blame. A party that big? They’re just asking for us to rob them.’

I flinched, trying not to feel targeted by their insults since we’d just robbed my own house. If I had never run from home, I would’ve been there, afraid and trembling along with those guests before the Monsters of Faerland.

I took off my disgustingly decorated mask and stared down at it—remembering my terribly impulsive decision.

It was just last year—I was seventeen and reckless.

My parents had been disappointed that, for once, I’d slacked in school—in life— after being “perfect” for them for so long. I’d ripped apart and clawed my books, crying out and wishing that time would just take a break for me, and was that really such a selfish wish? Why couldn’t it just stop and let me breathe?

But all that crying—my desperate screams, begging for them to let me rest, was useless under their ignorant eyes.

I ran away. Ran faster than I’d ever run in my “comfortable” and “easy” life. I didn’t even know where I was going. I could’ve been running straight into danger, diving straight into my death, but why would I care about myself when no one else did?

My parents only cared about the reputation that I gave them at my own expense—with my damaged, bleeding heart. I’d always thought I could buy their approval by selling every part of myself for “perfect” parts that weren’t at all me, by dropping down at their feet, stripped down with only a sliver of hope that they’d look at me without disapproval—even for a moment.

Yet they never did. All my sincerity, and all those times I broke myself to live up to their expectations, and they never once looked at me without contempt. They never would while I was imperfect and flawed.

All those seamless, “perfect” images of me were taken apart and undone by my own hands—and who could blame me? I didn’t want to live everyday chasing after my parents’ approval, never being able to catch it. I didn’t want to watch my friends live their lives, while I was trapped under the scrutinising eyes of teachers and tutors who only expected excellence out of my ruined body.

I didn’t want to live.

The next thing I remembered was stopping by some crappy, run-down bar that wasn’t even checking ID to confirm a customer’s age.

Just how far had I run?

Far enough to get myself killed. Was all I could think.

——

I strolled into the suspicious bar, my eyes tear-stained and dark, walking past aggressive faces with scrunched eyebrows and permanent frowns.

Then I saw him—a boy probably 18, standing behind the bar with scars and closing wounds across his arms and face in wild slashes. Yet he was still…beautiful, with his brown hair so perfectly messed up, and his eyes a striking green upon scarred skin. I’d always thought of scars as flaws, permanent signs that you’d been marked by terrible things, but on him, scars seemed like proof that he’d overcome weakness, and had come out stronger.

Though of course, I was scared. I quickly staggered over to a dark corner of the bar, seating myself and picking up a menu. I doubted I’d order anything—I hadn’t even brought any money…or my phone…

I scoffed and cursed myself. Running off somewhere foreign without money or any way of contact. How smart.

So, I did something stupid. I let my gaze flicker around the damp, tense room, letting them catch on anything that could be useful to me. That man with an obvious clump of coins in his pocket, or that woman with an awfully shiny bag.

I stopped myself from any more stupid thoughts. What was I about to do? Rob someone? I sighed, still eyeing that shine of coins from the corner of my eye.

Dammit. Why should I care anymore? I’m hungry, and practically a disappointment to every figure of authority in my life. And at this point,, I could only bear to be one of those two things.

I stood carefully, making sure I stuck to the shadows and stepped carefully over the dark wood floors. I checked my surroundings, my muscles tensing as the air around me seemed to grow denser. No one was looking, too focused on their own meals.

I positioned myself right behind the man. He was alone, sitting right in a corner where I could reach him. It seemed too convenient really…in fact, everything did. I retracted my hand, noticing how everyone wore such shiny things—gaudy, jewelry that shone dimly, and fake designer bags. Another shine caught my eyes—a pouch of coins in another man’s pocket, but it seemed bulkier…

And fake.

That’s…strange. I thought.

I shook that thought away and tried not to think about anything but that pouch of real gold. It was the realest thing here, and it wasn’t so big that the man would feel if it were missing. How should I do it? I thought. Snatch it from here, or walk past him and grab it? But would he feel that? Although he did seem very invested in his meal, distracted even.

I let air gush into my lungs before stepping forward, brushing up against him and using three fingers to grab the pouch. I pulled swiftly, then, I shoved the man. His eyes shot up and I pocketed the coins.

‘I’m so sorry sir, are you ok?’

He simply grunted in response and went back to his meal. That meant he hadn’t felt the coins leave his pocket…

I couldn’t stop guilt from wrapping around my head at that thought. I tried to shake it off, pulling away from its grasp, it was no big deal, right? It was just a few coins.

I sighed and walked back toward my table, mind buzzing with some sort of strange adrenaline—it felt good.

I stopped when I felt something against my foot. A mask…?

It laid on the ground, its flashy beads and fake gemstones outlining the cut-out for the eyes. It was a masquerade mask…but it seemed hastily crafted, with marks of glue sticking from its edges, and the jewels shining unnaturally. Why is everything here so dodgy?

I jerked my head around the room. I’d sworn this mask was not here before…did someone drop it? I picked it up gingerly, feeling its edges and bumps—definitely badly crafted.

Before I could react, a hand grasped my arm from the darkness and wrapped around it like a hungry vine, another clasping over my mouth, pulling me in. Great. Now I’m gonna die for my stupidity.

The next thing I saw were 3 people—including the scarred boy I’d seen before—looming over me with serious expressions. One of them was small—seemingly sixteen—with big hazel eyes that would probably look kind, if she wasn’t scowling at me. Another girl stood next to her, tall and grim. I assumed she was the oldest out of the two, just by looking into her serious eyes.

Is this a kidnapping?

‘He looks weak.’ Said the tall girl, breaking the silence.

The girl next to her shrugged, ‘Don’t judge based on appearance, Dahlia.’ Her lips curved into a wicked smile, and I realised that that was even scarier than her scowl.

‘Don’t act like you don’t.’ Dahlia retorted, her voice sharp like daggers…and speaking of daggers…she had three at her waist, smiling at me and daring me to say something stupid.

The scarred boy rolled his eyes before speaking in a crackling voice. ‘I don’t care if he’s small, and I don’t care what the hell he looks like. You don’t have to be pretty to have the hands of a thief.’

A thief.

Was this what this was about? Had they seen me rob that man? Were they some sort of undercover police? Who looked awfully like some sort of street gang…

‘Um…what…?’ I muttered, which was brave considering how threatening they looked.

“What? Did you not rob that man?” Dahlia said, this time the words seemed like bullets, shooting my conscience right in the gut.

‘Ah… I—’

‘Don’t try to defend yourself. We’re not police.’ She spat as she said “police”, and I wondered if that should’ve made me feel better or worse.

The shorter girl laughed at my expression, the sound pulling my nerves and sending shivers through my spine. She’s terrifying.

‘Aw, did you think we were the police?’ She mocked.

‘Enough, Eve.’ The boy said calmly, glancing at me warily, looking concerned. Did I look scared?

“Eve” scoffed loudly, stepping back and eyeing me hungrily.

The boy met my eyes with a cold glare, ‘you know why you’re here?’

I shook my head urgently.

‘You had a whole room of people you could’ve robbed, but you found a target with real gold—one who you selected cleverly. He was sitting by himself, alone in a dark corner.’ He sneered. ‘You think like a thief—and you’re good with your hands.’

I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat tightened and trapped my words before they could escape. I was a good thief?

‘I…I was just…’

‘Where are you from?’ He interrupted.

‘…an orphanage…’ I said, the lie dripping off my tongue way too easily. Apparently I was a liar as well as a thief now.

The boy tilted his head. ‘The mask you took. You know why you found it?’

I shook my head again.

"We need a pickpocket in our group, a thief. And you’re fit for the job.’

I paused, wondering if I was dreaming. I was getting hired to be a criminal?

‘W-wait…Who are you?’ I asked, panicked.

Eve let out another laugh, grinning in delight as Dahlia continued to glare at me.

‘The “Monsters of Faerland”. Do you know that name?’ He asked.

I froze. I did know that name.

A street gang

‘Yes…’

‘Good. So you’ll join?’

Everything was going way too fast.

These guys were criminals who stole from the rich. I was part of “the rich”in question, and yet, they’re claiming that I’m fit to join them.

They’re accepting me.

——

I should’ve said no at the time, should’ve left as soon as I could, but their acceptance was too tempting, and by the time I’d done my first job—I was hooked. I was high on that adrenaline rush, the attention everyone paid me during a robbery. Even though they only paid attention because they were afraid, it was still attention, and it felt good. Better than any attention I’d gotten for being the golden child of the Vanderbilts. Now, I was Alexi—I was a thief.

Being a thief meant that no one expected me to be perfect, it meant I was no longer under someone else’s control. Instead, I was free. The adrenaline heists gave me made me feel light, as if all the tension and stress of my life as a “perfect boy” was lifted after each robbery—little by little. I could strike fear into other’s hearts and be known for it, rather than being known as a perfect kid who would have nothing without his rich parents.

For once, I was valued. The Monsters of Faerland cared for me. And I enjoyed being with them, no matter how much I tried to deny it.

I cared for them too, despite the fact that they just had me rob my own parents.

——

‘…Oi, Alex.’ Lucian was saying, turned in his seat to face me.

‘Yes?’ I replied quickly.

‘You did well. I know it was…hard being in that house.’

What?

I stared at him, then at Dahlia and Eve. Their expressions were neutral, kind—or at least as kind as they could look.

‘You’re not that sneaky, Alexi. We know.’ Eve said, her voice unnaturally calm.

‘…I…wait. You don’t understand—‘

‘It’s fine, Alex. We’re not gonna ask you to explain yourself. Just know that it changes nothing.’ Lucian said gently.

Maybe I’m dreaming…

‘…You guys knew?’ I asked carefully, slowly. My heart felt like it would come out of my mouth as my thoughts fought each other in my head to be heard, mushing together to become one obscured mess. I was scared that if I moved, this would all end and their hatred would come crashing down on me.

Dahlia scoffed from her driver’s seat. ‘Didn’t you hear what Evie said? You’re not as sneaky as you think. The Vanderbilts have had a missing child for a year now—isn’t it coincidental that you’d arrived at our doorstep on the same day?’

They knew? And they didn’t care?

My voice was caught in my throat, my eyes wide in shock.

Lucian smiled. ‘Come on, darl’, we said it didn’t matter, did we not?’

‘Well, you did.’ Eve cut in.

Lucian gave her a sharp look, silently telling her off. The three of them continued their friendly banter and back and forth teasing. I always noticed that they fit together so well, despite their differences in background. I couldn’t help but stare blankly, musing on their casual words.

The one thing I was ashamed of didn’t matter to them. They brushed it off as if it were nothing, despite their hatred towards the rich. And I realised, at that moment, that I was wholly accepted, and not just acceptable to them.

It was strange that of all the people I could’ve fit in with, I fit in with criminals, imperfect, flawed, and scarred outcasts.

For the rest of the car trip back to our run-down, imperfect bar, we laughed, and for once, I didn’t have to worry about my flaws. All four of us were imperfect, and that didn’t matter—who could judge another for their shortcomings when no one could be flawless? People bond and form relationships, supporting each other and making up for each other’s flaws. Relationships are built upon imperfection.

And that’s perfect.