𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐔𝐬

35. Fuckin' Fuckin' Fuck.

T H I R T Y - F I V E
Fuckin Fuckin' Fuck.

This is part two of a two-part update, go read that before this (or don't, up to you) <3

December, 2010.

The frigid temperatures wrapped Bobbie's small body like a vice. Her little nose was pink, her lips chapped no matter how much expired lip balm she slathered on, her gloved hands wrapped around her thick jacket a few sizes too large, her cheeks stinging from the harsh conditions and her toes numb. She was most certainly not in a good mood.

It was one of Bobbie's best traits; she was almost always happy. She'd find joy in something, smooth stones, pretty flowers, her duck toy, baked beans. No matter what, the little girl could find somewhere to source her happiness. But, in the freezing cold, there was nothing close to making a smile curl over her lips.

She sat there and sat there. Waited, then waited some more.

Under Bobbie's hot-pink wellies, the snow crunched as she checked the road where she and Tommy had exited the car—where Tommy forgot her.

Her scarf had caught in her mouth and her short legs tripped as she tried rushing through the fresh layer of snow, desperately trying to get the attention of Tommy who was starting to drive off. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the coldest.

The seven-year-old couldn't exactly work out timings, good things felt too short, bad things felt too long. And waiting in the snow while shivering and hoping it was a joke—but knowing it had been too long for that to be the case—was definitely not a good thing.

More snow had begun falling from the skies above her, and she decided she hated the cold. If her scarf didn't get in her mouth and stifle her shouts, and if the compacted snow didn't make her trip, she wouldn't have got about forgotten this time. Bobbie wasn't entirely sure what to do, there was no way she could walk back, she was hungry, cold and tired, not to mention not good enough at direction. She'd also remembered Joel telling her after the first time Tommy had left her, after only being in their "care" for a few weeks, to find somewhere to hide and give them—meaning Joel—a way to find her.

She hid under a fallen tree, tucking herself away from the snow. Every time her tracks got covered she'd walk out to the road, then walk back, making sure to stamp the print of her small shoes into the snow.

"Fuckin' cold. Fuckin' boring. Fuckin' fuckin' fuck." An unimpressed Bobbie muttered to herself while tugging her beanie further down her face then blowing away some hair that fell from her braid and tickled her face. She still wasn't good at them, Joel was beginning to teach her how to do them herself after doing them for her, she needed to learn how to do her own hair. The light was beginning to dip down behind the trees and Bobbie tried not to panic. They—meaning Joel—had always come back to find her, tell her it was okay and Tommy was forgetful, then bring her back.

Bobbie crawled from her hiding place that provided a small amount of warmth from the close quarters, and shielded her from the snow. Trudging herself back through the snow, making the indentations of her feet more visible. Bobbie was fuming. But she was mostly scared. Every cold night, for as long as she could remember, she'd been covered in jumpers and blankets enough to have her warm. But now the bottom of her trousers had begun to get soggy, as did her beanie, gloves and scarf. The snow that melted on contact with her skin was soaking into her clothes.

Her small wellies, which had seen better days kicked a rock, because she was angry. And she was angry at Tommy, for the first time ever. She was convinced that this was the longest she'd been forgotten about.