• “Hurry the ******** up, Austin.” I whispered slowly, elbowing my friend in the back as he noisily pulled out jewelry from a drawer. I nervously looked over at the expensive clock hanging above the king-sized bed, considering stealing that as well, before noticing the time. “Austin. We have about ten ******** minutes until they get back from the doctor’s—we haven’t even made it to the master bedroom yet.”
    “Look at how much s**t their grandson has.” Austin said with something that could only be described as a giggle, yanking out another handful of silver necklaces and golden earrings, gawking at them before shoving them into his already-full pockets. “Gen, you go check out the bedroom. I’ll stay here and look for the cash. These people are ******** loaded.” He had such a big, childish grin on his face that I couldn’t say no—but I didn’t want to say yes either—so I just left to go find the master bedroom instead.
    I passed some empty rooms that Austin and I had already pilfered the furniture from, when I finally came across a room three times the size of any room I’d seen yet—and being experienced in robbery, especially in mansions such as this, it was something to be said. I ran straight to the tiny jewelry box I saw sitting on the vanity.
    Realizing the box was locked, I unzipped my backpack and slipped it in; hopefully the contents were worth taking. I turned around, hearing some noise outside—I prayed it was Austin—and looped around into the private bathroom they had.
    It was bigger than any bathroom I had ever seen—which again, was definitely saying something—and the first thing I went to was the medicine cabinet. I pulled out the pretty orange pill bottles and lined them up on the sink in front of the cabinet.
    I heard some noise outside yet again, and I felt the classic, craved-for adrenaline rush pounding in my chest. The slam of a car door knocked me out of my euphoria—I focused my attention back at the bottles instead of on the earsplitting footsteps I heard pounding my way.
    “Genevieve!” Austin yelled from the entrance to the master bedroom. “Get the ******** out!” I didn’t budge: I did nothing but stare at the pill-filled oval bottles sitting in front of me. “Gen?”
    “What?” I snapped, scooping up my two favorite bottles—cyclobenzaprine and oxycodone—and shoving them into my already-full backpack.
    “They’re ******** back.” Austin told me, inviting himself into the bathroom and sliding the frosted window open. “We’re gonna’ have to jump.”
    “We have our car out front though.” I said, snapping out of my daze. “We’re ******** caught. It’s full of their damn furniture, it still has the plates, what the hell are we—”
    “What are these?” Austin asked with piqued interest, ignoring the piercing sound of hysterical talking and footsteps that kept on getting closer and closer. He picked up a bottle filled with aromatic, medical marijuana and smiled. “Too bad they don’t have OxyContin.”
    I don’t know why I did what I did next—I reached into my backpack, now oblivious to the voices and noises from the homeowners’ return—and pulled out the heavenly bottle of green pills. The look on Austin’s face made filled my heart with satisfaction, at the same time I felt it drop into my stomach.
    I had never seen such a look on his face (all from a bottle of pills, too) and, while I was proud that I single-handedly could make one of my best friends so happy, the absolute greed in his eyes scared me.
    The bathroom door burst open and a familiar person appeared, outraged, with a crying wife behind him. He glanced over at the left-over pill bottles on the sink counter and then focused his eyes on our faces.
    “Gen? Austin?” He paused. “…What the ********?” For an old man with cancer, he sure had a mouth. He took a step forward and looked me right in the eyes. “While I’m out at the doctor’s office, you rob your own grandpa?”
    I was stuck speechless, my trembling hand still gripping the pill bottle. “And what the hell is this?” He continued, motioning towards the assortment of pill bottles I had set out. “Genevieve Alice Mathers… what are you doing?”
    “I’m…” I felt a lump form in my throat, like I had dry swallowed a huge pill and was on the verge of choking on it.
    “Get on the ******** ground, old man.” Austin said firmly, reaching into his pants so quickly that I didn’t realize what he was doing until he pulled out a handgun.
    Grandpa just stared at Austin with a challenging stare. “What, you’re going to shoot me? Over some pills and furniture?”
    “Damn right.” Austin said, tearing his gaze away from Gramps to my grandmother for a split second, before grabbing her arm and jerking her over to where we stood. He put the gun to her head and held her arm firmly.
    I looked over at my grandma, looking at the sweat collecting on her forehead and between her delicate wrinkles. She made no noise. “Austin…” I said slowly and carefully. “I wouldn’t—”
    “Shut the ******** up.” He didn’t look away from Grandpa, but I knew he was talking to me. “If I were you, Gen, I’d grab the rest of those pills, too.” I did as I was told. “Get on the ******** ground, old man.”
    Gramps just stared at Austin, a mixed look of hurt and confusion, before slowly moving his rusting bones to lie down on the ground.
    “Good.” Austin said, resting his foot on top of Gramps. “Now, Gen, reach into my back pocket.” I zipped up my over-flowing backpack and unhurriedly snuck my hand into his pocket to grab what I knew he was looking for. I had to do what I was told—I pulled out his sharp, threatening army knife and held it out to him.
    All he did was look down at the knife and then up at me. “Not me. You.” I felt the adrenaline racing through my chest all over again, but this time, I didn’t like it—it was teasing me; my body wanted me to do it but my mind screamed at me, leaving me a panicked mess.
    “You… want me… to… what?” Not only a panicked mess, but a confused one as well.
    “Don’t make me turn this damn gun on you. Do as you’re ******** told.” Austin’s voice contained so much authority that I flipped out the blade from his knife and stared down at my grandpa. Gramps didn’t move, but I could tell he knew what was going to happen next.
    I looked over at my grandma, knowing her fate as well. “On the count of three.” Austin told me, and I got down on my knees next to Gramps. My eyes were beginning to water, but it was all on their own—I felt no emotion. “And stop being such a ******** p***y. He’s dying soon anyway.” It was like he could read my mind.
    “Gen…” Gramps said quietly, and Austin pressed his foot down on Gramps’ back harder.
    “One.” Austin said, pulling back the slide and releasing it. Click. “Two.” I pressed the sharp edge to Gramps’, where the neck and the head met. “Three.” A synonymous trigger pull and knife thrust sent a flurry of crimson blood flying and pouring out everywhere.
    Austin slid his gun back into his boxers. “Let’s get the ******** out of here.”
    I did as I was told.