Letting Him Go and other short stories

The Heist

The Heist

I could feel the sticky water trickling down my forehead as I ran through the bustling city under the scorching August sun. I had been on the run for the past hour. My endurance was draining. I couldn't understand how this man still had the energy to chase after me in this ludicrously hot weather condition. Damn he was persistent.

I felt thirst clenching my throat and I grew weary. When I looked behind me, I noticed his face losing steam. Looks like he was human after all.

"Okay!" I finally surrendered turning around with my hands raised. I kept my breathing steady.

He stopped a few feet away panting softly and wiped off his sweat. He slowly advanced towards me anger filling his face. His eyes narrowed with his brows furrowed and his expression annoyed.

I stepped back each time he stepped forward. Studying him, I knew he wasn't going to let me off easy. All thoughts of finding a middle ground left me. I took off running again.

I shoved through pedestrians, each one cussing me out. As I weaved through the streets, I could hear angry drivers honking at me and yelling whether I had a death wish or not. I scoffed at them. Can't they see I was running away from death? I felt the man's eyes pierce through me from behind---they filled with animosity and death itself.

This chase wasn't going to end any time soon. In terms of stamina, he clearly had more. I was sure to pass out before he does. I had to do something---something that would outsmart him.

I made a quick glance at my watch. It was a few seconds before noon. I released a sigh. In five, four, three, two, one...ding ding ding ding ding. That was it. The blaring railroad tracks bell signaled my cue. I steered my direction towards the sound and ducked through the red and white lever as it descended. Just as I finished crossing the tracks, the train whizzed pass me and through the spaces between each cart, I could faintly see the figure of the man that was after me. He stopped right across the tracks.

A triumphant smile plastered on my face as I ran away from his view. A few moments later after I felt I was far enough, I caught my breath and sauntered down an empty street, casually flipping through the wallet I received today. I took out the contents and stuffed them in my pockets. As I started walking home, a sudden grip pulled my arms back.

Startled, I spun around kicking the offender in the crotch and kneed his chin. Despite my attacks, his long, slender fingers still firmly held my wrist. After realizing it was no use, I stopped fighting back. When he locked his fiery gaze into my eyes, genuine fear crept within me.

I couldn't let him know. I couldn't let him feel superior. I steadied my heart and decided to play it cool. "Fine, I got it! You win." I said handing over his wallet to him. But before he managed to grab it, I tossed the black leather case far away on the street. I ran off smirking the moment he took his hands off of me.

After a good distance, I no longer felt his presence from behind. I stopped and looked back. The man didn't come after me. I saw, after he picked up and opened his empty wallet, he turned his direction towards me, our gaze matching, and whether I saw correctly or not, a slight sneer appeared on his face.

What?

*

"Ah!" I jumped out of my seat. It was a Friday. My friends and I were at school, comparing the ID card from the wallet with the guy that just passed next to us in the cafeteria---they were the same people. He attended my school---my most recent, what friends call, 'victim.'

I did this often. Pickpocketing.

It was horrible, I was aware of that, but the thrill of being chased, the thrill of being cursed at, it felt refreshing. It sounds twisted and most people say I'm warped, but nevertheless I still do it. What I do is a crime, but I always thought it was okay, because I never get caught.

This, however, this was karma. To think that the guy that made me suffer by running over an hour attended the same school. Ashton Holmes, read the ID card. Born the same year as me. The picture showed his extreme jelled jet-black hair, spiked in front and his piercing blue eyes that killed.

"Hey give it back," I ordered my friends referring to the ID card.

"Yeah, give it back."

I froze. The deep, thundering voice came from behind me. Shit shit shit shit. I felt the speed of my pulse heightening. I turned around, cautiously. I plastered a sheepish smile. "Hi there..." It was him. I glanced back at my friends, putting on the best 'please help' face, but all they did was smirk and left me alone. I reverted back at Ashton, who returned my expression with a sarcastic smile.

"Hi."

"See what happened was---" I started to explain, but he interrupted me by grabbing my arm and dragging me out the cafeteria into a secluded place outside. I hissed in pain, pulling myself away from his grip. "Dick," I cursed under my breath.

"Wallet?" he shot at me.

"I gave that back to you," I retorted while rubbing my arm.

His eyes narrowed. "Its contents you fucking thief." He forcefully poked my chest causing me to topple back.

I steadied myself. "Well your ID is on the cafeteria table."

"My credit card and cash? I believe I had at least sixty dollars in there."

Sixty-eight actually. I couldn't help but release a chuckle. His glare silenced me.

"You better get all my stuff to me by tomorrow or I swear to god I'm going to turn you in to the police."

I studied his face. This guy was adamant. I saw his seriousness and raised my hands in surrender. "Roger that."

Ashton gave a vacant smile before turning away from me. I saw him head back to the cafeteria to retrieve his ID, his face furrowed. I laughed watching him from outside. I found this whole thing pretty funny. I mean frankly, I had no fear to be turned in. He had no proof. Zero. Zilch. It was all good.

And you know what else was good? Tomorrow is Saturday. There is no school tomorrow.

*

The next day I woke up early to do my morning cardio exercise I do twice every week. I put on a pair of headphones and stuffed my phone into my back pocket. I walked to the trail near my house before I started gaining momentum, turning it into a jog, then into a full out sprint.

Ten minutes in, a hand gripped my wrist startling me. On impulse, I kicked the offender in crotch and kneed his chin. Yet, the grip didn't loosen at all. I struggled to be let free, but then suddenly stopped. This felt oddly familiar. I looked at the figure. Of course it was him, Ashton Holmes. But this time, the situation was different---he had the upper hand.

One hand locked around my wrist, the other one dangled my phone between two fingers. His face bore a smug expression.

"You---" I bit my tongue silence. I lost. I have completely lost. "Fuck you," I finished lamely, lowering my gaze away from his.

That very moment, he walked me to my house---his hand firmly gripped my wrist the entire way. I returned everything to him and he gave me back my phone. One would call the entire thing a truce, but there was one thing he stole from me without returning: my interest.