Letting Him Go and other short stories

Tenacity

I wondered what kind of life I should be living. My purpose. These passing days that I had, what were they for? Nothing, really. I had nothing. If there was something, I didn’t know. I carelessly walked through life. I went to school only because it was the law. I strived for good grades, because, well, that was what everyone else aimed for. Good grades, good college, good job, good life. My life had a routine. A routine I blindly followed.

Pretty monotonous.

Nevertheless, I didn’t hate it. But, I didn’t particularly love it either. I was simply---content. And honestly, being content was good enough for me. I felt satisfied and I was completely alright with that.

That was, until I met him.

He made me unsatisfied with mediocrity. I no longer wanted simple and quiet. I learned how to crave, to want, to desire, something more. He taught me that dreams should be seized with passion, with fervor, with commitment. He saw in me, things I never realized I had. Later, he imparted me how to live life without him. To live life complete without anyone else, but showed how life with others made it more fruitful, but at the same time, not completely necessary. I learned how to depend and how to be dependable.

Max was his name. Good looking, yes, but he was an egotistical, immature jokester with unruly curls for hair. His lips forever upturned into a snide smirk and his hazel eyes glinted with secrets, with mischievousness.

I wasn’t sure how it happened. It just did. I slipped out of school one day and he stood there, leaning against the entrance wall. I didn’t think he waited there for me so I passed by him.

“Sara.”

I stopped and turned around. When I realized he was referring to me, I eyed him suspiciously. The mere fact he knew my name surprised me, not to mention he actually called me. Max was popular. I was not. I kept away from the riffraff, away from the crowd. I focused on my own circle, my own little bubble. I stood there, watching him.

Max pushed himself off the wall and walked towards me, smirking. I wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face. I never understood how someone can permanently keep that expression on all day.

This was when it all started.

He progressed towards me, our distance diminishing. It didn’t seem like he was going to stop when he got close, so I retreated. He stepped forward. I stepped back. He stepped forward. I stepped back. One of his strides equaled two of mine. He eventually caught up to me. His slender fingers wrapped around my small wrist and he pulled me closer.

My face rammed into his hard chest. I hissed in pain and shot my head up, glaring at the guy who hurt my nose. “What the hell are you---”

Max lifted my chin up, silencing me. His face closed into mine, our lips millimeters apart. I made a quick breath intake. He stared straight in my eyes, studying my expression. I fought the blush that crept in. Max’s gaze trailed elsewhere, down. I felt like his eyes imposed themselves on me, until he took one step back and spun me around.

He appraised me.

Max finally stopped and turned me to face him. His hand firmly gripped my shoulders. “Looks good.”

I gave him a quizzical expression.

“You, Sara Henderson, I need you.” He made a small pause. “I need you to be my model.”

What? Like, runway model?

I stared as if he was crazy. My eyes narrowed and then I shook my head, walking the other way.

*

“Sa-ra,” Max playfully called me the next day.

I ignored him.