Lengths by Steph Campbell

Author:Steph Campbell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-08-09T05:00:00+00:00

-Thirteen-

Deo

There’s something epically depressing about cooking a girl a romantic celebration meal and ending up alone in the kitchen putting the leftovers in questionable Tupperware instead of rolling around in the sheets with said girl.

But that’s what I’m doing, because Whit doesn’t like people pawing around in her life and I’m like that cat that got all fucked up by curiosity.

By the way, I guarantee that stupid curious cat wound up yowling from the top of some junkyard fence, lonely, with a raging set of blue balls. If he wasn’t dead. Or eating someone’s face.

I shake my head to clear it of all cat-related thoughts and try to put together a plan. Whit said she needed ‘space,’ which seems like a colossally bad sign to me. Isn’t ‘I need space’ the universal couples equivalent of ‘I need you to pack your shit and get out of my life’?

I have no clue, since I’ve never really done this couple thing. I’m winging it and brilliant plan number one is just to keep busy and hope she cools off and comes back. But there are only so many dishes I can wash or piles of junk I can move around before I start to get antsy and wonder where the fuck Whit went. She grabbed her keys and her wallet off the table, but left her purse, which has her phone in it. So she’s driving around, possibly pissed and upset, with no phone.

I definitely hate all of this.

I decide to do a drive-by of Rocko’s. If her car is there, I’ll know she’s safe and come back. I can stay on the couch until she kicks me out or wants sweaty make-up sex. I’m seriously hoping for the latter. My brain is spinning jokes to keep things light and help aid in my anti-panic plot, but all comedy and calm goes flying out the fucking window when I’ve circled the parking lot for the second time and realize Whit isn’t here.

Maybe she’s at the beach. But she’s scared of sharks, so she’s not swimming, and I told her how the cretin fucking crackheads troll the shitty areas at night and to stay away. I wonder if she listened to me.

Maybe she’s just cruising around, clearing her head. But her fucking Lebaron gets dick gas mileage, and she doesn’t usually have money to waste on that.

Maybe she called Ryan.

For a minute I lose my trademark calm and smash my hands on the steering wheel over and over, screaming like a fucking maniac. I don’t give a goddamn who sees me or what they think. This is about Whit, my Whit, out somewhere, possibly not safe, and I’m feeling so out of control, I don’t really know what to do.

I’m either going to break my steering wheel or my hand, so I kick the door open and closed and stalk into Rocko’s store. He’s just finishing giving some cougar a tramp stamp when he sees my face and asks the woman, “Would you

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