A Quick Buck

She had never been a fan of being the bad guy. She didn't think it suited her well.

Although, she would be the first to admit that she had her years of pouting when she was younger. Causing a stink in a public place, refusing to eat her vegetables. Coming home with mud stains on her paints when her mother had clearly said not to get dirty. Sometimes it was out of spite - not agreeing with what her parents had told her, wanting to go against the grain. Show them how dumb they were being. But most of the time, she was just acting her age. Stubborn. Not wanting to give in. No other reason than to argue for the sake of arguing. It never took long for her to snap out of it though. Her parents saw right through her charade and knew that the tiniest amount of pressure would cause her to break. A simple raise in tone of voice and her nerves would kick in. She was like an animal, ears folded back low, tail hanging between her legs. They knew how to make her feel wrong quickly. It never took long for the tears to well up around her eyes and her bottom lip to start quivering - followed by the obligatory "sorry."

But he. He was so different.

Over the years she had watched him grow. From a toddler, to a young boy - sprouting into the teen that he was today. It had never been too much work. Just an easy way to pick up some spending money while she was making her way through high school. When he was younger, he had been such a sweet boy. Innocent and harmless. He'd listen to her. Treat her well. But as the years went on and he continued to mature, his mind seemed to remain in the past while his body grew. He still argued about what he wanted to eat for dinner, when he'd have to go to bed, if he could have friends over. It never seemed to stop. It was always more, more, more, me, me, me.

And tonight had been no exception. It had begun with what they were going to eat. His parents had left her some money to go out and buy food with and cook at home. But he insisted that they should use it to buy pizza. As much as she declined his suggestion, citing what his parents wanted them to eat, he fought back. Raising his voice every time it was his turn to talk. Sometimes calling her names. A tactic he had always used - one that only made her roll her eyes since she had done the same to her parents. Eventually he gave up, seeing that she was not going to back down. So it was onto something else. Inviting friends over to hangout. Nope. Again - his parents had warned her not to let anyone visit. It was a school night and he had some work that needed to be done. Time for play could come later.

Before she had time to prepare, he was storming out the back door of the house and into the yard. As she followed him out, she was shocked to find him, plopped face down in the grass, kicking his legs and banging his arms - yelling into the perfectly cut grass. So she stood there for a few minutes, just soaking it in. Perplexed that even he, at that age, would be having such a tantrum. She had been bad when she was younger. But she had never resorted to anything so pathetic. And the more and more she thought about it, the less and less she cared. So she turned around and walked back inside. Happy to know that she only had a few more hours with the little turd before his parents came home and she'd be able to leave, money in hand.

And as she walked away, she felt a smile on her face. Maybe being the bad guy could occasionally feel good.