Lucy
The telephone box is clearly not managed by anyone, or anything. Cobwebs dominate most of the glass and there's moss on the floor.
I dial the number of Mickey's garage. I sweat.
"Did she go anywhere after she went to the cafe, Luce?"
"I don't know."
"When did she leave?"
"I told you, I dropped her off at like half two or something!"
"Sorry, sorry, the calendar was distracting me."
"That fucking calendar again? Why hasn't someone taken it down?"
"We're all men. We like boobs."
"Fuck you, Mickey."
"Hey, calm down. I'll be leaving in like ten minutes. I'll help you look for her, okay? I have my pickup truck with me."
"Mm. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Luce. Now stop worrying so much! I'm sure she's fine, I mean-"
"She's a pretty girl outside on her own!"
"You have a point. Anyway, David is calling me. Gotta go. See ya."
"Mick, wait-"
The line goes dead. Fuck. Fuuuck me. I shouldn't have been fucking with her. I should've just left her alone to fuck around with her fucking mummy issues.
Ugh, God damn it. I'm fucking worried about her. I swear too much when I'm worried, and it's not fucking good for me. God fucking damn it.
Fucking bitch ass cunt shit.
Where the fuck is she?! She won't answer my calls or my texts.
I wonder if her friend gave her drugs or something... Penny! No!
Noo!
"Get your fucking ass in your fucking truck and let me the fuck in as well!"
"Lucinda, I will not accept that language!" Mickey snorts, but fumbles with his key and unlocks the old vehicle. The door creaks when you open it and it takes a few tries to get the engine going. You'd think he'd take better care of his shit, being a mechanic and all.
"Shut the fuck up. This is an emergency."
He looks in the rearview mirror, admiring himself. Then he adjusts it pointlessly, wiggles around in his seat a little and straightens his oily overalls. He knows he's infuriating me.
I growl.
Mickey whistles, pretending I'm not there, before firing up the engine and slamming on reverse. The truck flies out of the lane, zooming past doorways of flats and plant pots and startled old people with dogs. He does an illegal U-turn and heads for the town centre.
"You idiot! I told you the cafe was on the beach!"
He shrugs. "She could be anywhere by now, honey. It's been like four hours. We should start from the middle and head outwards."
I blink at his logic and slide down in my seat. The fabric of it clings to my shirt, pulling upwards and letting the cold air flush over my hip. I don't care.
Oh, no. What if she's gone home?
YOU ARE READING
Bubbles
RomanceI like bubbles in the air - I like watching them meander upwards, into the clouds. She likes bubbles in her alcohol - she likes them searing down her throat, and settling in her stomach. (A.N. - this was written long ago and is cringeworthy)
