One Week Girlfriend part 1

with that, I hang up. I don’t want to talk to her anymore. I don’t want to talk, period.
    Instead, I sit in my truck a little while longer, thinking. The cab gets muggy, the windows steam up from my breathing and the rain is coming down harder. I don’t want to go into my apartment and spend the night there alone. My thoughts are too jumbled, too focused on what Adele said.
    I wish she never told me the supposed truth about Vanessa. It would’ve been so much easier to go through life oblivious to that fact.
    But she shared in her misery and for that, I’m forever locked to her yet again. Just when I think I’m free of Adele’s shackles, she pulls me back in, locks me up.
    And tosses away the key.

 
     
    Chapter Sixteen
     
     
    One Week’s Up, Midnight
     
    I choose you. – Drew Callahan
     
    Fable
     
    I can’t sleep. I’m too restless, too worried, too…everything. My mom left hours ago after I encouraged her to call her new loser boyfriend to make up with him. He came by within fifteen minutes of her ending the call and they took off to their favorite hangout: a shitty bar the local drunks love.
    That I work at a bar doesn’t go unnoticed by me. I do realize I’m following in her footsteps no matter how hard I try not to. Makes me wonder if we’re predestined to end up like our parents anyway, regardless if we fight against it.
    Just the thought depresses me so I file it away.
    Owen came home around five, the relief that Mom wasn’t there evident by his easygoing smile and his teasing—if a little crude—nature. I really need to break him of the bad language habit he’s developing at a rapid pace, but who am I to talk? I curse all the fucking time.
    We order pizza, and it takes forever because it’s the Saturday night after Thanksgiving and no one in town wants to cook. We watch awesome nineties movies on cable—the one luxury I gladly pay for since it makes Owen, okay fine and me happy—and waited for our food, moaning and groaning how starved we are.
    All the while, I think of Drew. His smile, how he touched me, the way he looked at me when he hauled me into his lap that first time. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the touch of his hands on my bare skin, he haunts me while I tease my brother, as I watch a movie I’ve seen one hundred times, when I finally shove pizza into my mouth like I haven’t ate for weeks.
    I cannot stand the idea of him alone somewhere with his thoughts, his memories, his troubles. I check my phone again and again, hoping for a text, a call, something, but he doesn’t contact me. And I won’t contact him.
    Yet.
    Maybe he needs time, I reason with myself later in the evening as I watch Owen throw some clothes in his backpack. He’s headed back to Wade’s to spend the night. His friend called to ask and I spoke with Wade’s mom, reassured that he really was going over there and not running the streets in the middle of the night. I want to trust my brother but come on.
    He’s thirteen.
    So I’m left all alone and I’m used to that. Owen spends the night at his friend’s house a lot and my mom prefers staying out until the bars close. I’m always working so no one is usually home around this time anyway.
    The rain is still coming down, I can hear it as I lay in my bed in the dark, my eyes wide open as I stare at the ceiling. I can’t get Drew out of my mind. I need to know he’s okay, that he’s safe. Without thought I grab my phone and type in a quick text to him, sending it before I can second guess myself and delete it.
    Slipping out of bed, I go into the living room and curl up on the couch, slinging an old throw blanket over me as I flick on the TV. It’s past midnight. Our weeklong fake relationship is officially over.
    And as the minutes turn into hours, I realize he’s not going to come and rescue me. He kept his word to our agreement.
    My position as Drew Callahan’s one week girlfriend is done.
     
    Drew
     
    I passed out cold on top of my bed, still in my jeans and sweatshirt, not bothering to pull the covers over me. I must’ve slept like that for hours, because I wake up groggy and disoriented, my muscles aching and my mouth dry, my stomach growling since I skipped two freaking meals. I never do that.
    Glancing at the alarm clock on my bedside table, I see it’s past two in the morning and I sit up, scratch the back of my head and lean over to flick on the lamp. My cell is sitting on the bedside table, taunting me and I