One Week Girlfriend - By Monica Murphy Page 0,68

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 week long 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 grab it, push the button to see if anyone called or texted when I see it. A text from Fable and it says one word.

Marshmallow

Holy shit. She sent it to me hours ago. Hours. Feeling like a complete asshole, I practically trip over my feet as I scramble off the bed, shoving my phone in my back pocket and grabbing my keys off the dresser. I should text her back, but that'll take too much time and I'm consumed with the need to see her. I've left her hanging for hours. The thought of disappointing her...

I can't stand it.

I leave my apartment and charge out into the still-pouring rain, climb into my truck and take off. The streets are pretty much empty, I pass only the occasional car and all I can think about is Fable. Maybe I should've called her. What if she's in real trouble? What