Page 32 of Finding Storm

Jesus. I’ve been driving for almost four hours.

Last time I checked the time, I’d been driving for just under an hour, and I wasn’t ready to stop.

Clearly, I had a lot of driving left in me. I must’ve completely zoned out.

Lost in my head, on total autopilot.

I wouldn’t say I’ve calmed down, but I’m not as mad as I was.

I just feel … like shit.

And I’m fucking tired of thinking about it.

I spot a sign for a gas station. The gas light on the dash has been on for a while, so I’d better fill my girl up. I could do with some fuel myself, and I need to take a piss.

And also figure out where the fuck I am.

I reckon I’m out of LA by now. I was heading east on the I-40, so I’m either in Nevada or Arizona. And I’ve done the Vegas route enough times to know, this place isn’t Sin City.

I take the off-ramp and follow the signs to the gas station.

Yep, I’m in Arizona. The big-ass sign over there says, Welcome to Lake Havasu City.

I pull in the service station and stop at the pump. It’s self-service.

I turn off the engine and glance over at my cell.

I wonder how many missed calls and texts I have.

They’re probably worried about me. I know them.

Well, they should have thought about that before they decided to lie to me for the last eleven years.

Anger quickly coats any guilt I was feeling.

I grab my sunglasses from the glove compartment and slide them on. Using the little button on the inside of the door, I pop open the gas cap.

Buy an expensive car, you get some lazy-ass gadgets with it.

I climb out of my car. Yawning, I stretch. Man, that feels good. Pushing my glasses up my forehead, I rub my eyes again and then let the sunglasses drop back into place.

I grab the only gas nozzle on this pump and stick it in the gas cap. It’s a tight fit. I have to give it a good shove to get it in.

Basically like when I’m fucking a woman with my big dick.

Child that I am, I chuckle to myself.

I fill her up and tug the nozzle back out, hanging it back up.

On another yawn, I go inside the gas station. Firstly, I use the restroom, and then I get a to-go coffee from the machine. Wandering around, I pick up a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, M&M’s—peanut, of course—and Twizzlers.

I go to the cashier and pay for my fuel and food, and then I head back to my car.

I unlock the doors as I approach. Using one arm, setting the coffee and all my shit against my chest, I open the door and climb inside.

“Ah fuck!”

I spilled the damn coffee all down my front.