Authors: Ever McCormick
"Okay." I was sort of listening. I gave most of my attention to the uneven ground below me. I didn't want to trip again and give this guy something else to laugh at.
Once we reached the porch, he pulled his arm back and stared at it with a confused expression.
"Thank you," I said. "I'm glad you were there." That was pretty much as close to an apology as he was going to get
from me.
"You're welcome." In the yellow light coming from the cabin windows, I tried to get a better look at his body. It was hard to notice anything beyond that scruffy beard. I not
iced his eyes, though. His eyes were a light color—blue, I guess. All I could see was their paleness, and how that contrasted with the rest of his dark countenance. "Now, can you do
me
a favor?" he asked.
I nodded and waited for him to go on.
"Can you go in your cabin and lock the door and try to be careful? I've seen a lot of people get hurt on this mountain because they don't know what's good for them. I'm not bossing you around. I'm not invading your privacy. I'm just asking that you look out for yourself, okay?"
Feeling rightfully scolded, I nodded and cast my eyes to the grou
nd. He walked off the porch and I did as he asked, sliding over the dead bolt and flicking on a switch by the door which turned on an exterior light. Duh, I probably should have done that before I went outside. I watched his tall body walking over to the trail we'd come from. As he walked, he slowly disappeared into the darkness.
I left the exterior light on as I threw my stupid phone on the nearest counter and rifled through my bag for something to sleep in. I'd have to unpack and sort everything out tomor
row. For now, I just wanted to slip into that big comfortable bed, but the eerie feeling from earlier came back and wouldn't go away.
I still felt vulnerable. I could still hear the wind blowing through the leaves. I walked around the cabin shutting all the curtains and locking the windows and vowed to get a grasp of my stupid fears. I slipped on my headphones and listened to the music I had stored on my phone, drowning everything out, even the thoughts. It took a while because my smile kept returning when I considered the fact that I was hundreds of miles away from everyone I knew, by myse
lf. In the 21st century, this was as frontier as it gets.
3
Adam's beard tickled my thigh as he worked his way up over my stomach. He'd brought me to the brink, but not all the way
, and now his face was coming up to meet mine and I couldn't quite catch my breath. I squeezed his muscular arm to show him my frustration, but he only smiled as if he knew exactly what to do next.
A loud bang on the wall of my bedroom ended the dream abruptl
y and sent me sitting up, searching for the cause of the sudden noise. I let my legs dangle off the bed and then jumped down, my feet aching as they hit the cold wood floor. I made my way to the window, which was glowing with morning sunlight, and spread the curtains apart. A fat groundhog nibbled on grass, and a shovel was leaning on the house. It must have fallen against the cabin and caused the noise.
T
he feelings from that dream lingered in my body and I knew there was no way I'd be able to get back to sleep and continue from where I left off. It never worked that way. Dreams had their own agendas.
So why the hell was I dreaming about Adam doing that to me?
When Michael and I were together, our love life had been busy. I guess I was just going through withdrawal.
I left the bedroom and dug out the coffee I'd brought, taking it over to the coffeemaker in the kitchenette. The one conveni
ence I wasn't ready to give up during my sojourn into nature was a freshly brewed, steaming hot cup of coffee. Luckily, I drank it black, so I didn't need to worry about cream or sugar. I set to brewing coffee and tried to get used to the morning sounds of the cabin. I learned which floorboards creaked and where the wood floor felt warmest with the heat of the sun pouring through the windows. All the while, the whole cabin filled up with the aroma of coffee until the gurgling sound let me know it was finished.
I carried my mug back into the bedroo
m and set to unpacking my stuff. I set out all of my laid-back attire so I’d be able to easily find what I needed. Feeling something in the side pocket of my backpack and not recalling having put anything in there, I unzipped it and found an old matchbook with a receipt folded and tucked inside. It took me a second to place the logo on the front, but once I recognized it, nausea came over me, and I walked away from the coffee, needing to get some air. I threw open the window and took a breath of the cool morning air. The room immediately came alive with birdsong and the fluttering curtains.
I'd cried. I'd thought about what I'd lost. I'd let my girlfriends take me out, get me falling-down drunk, and have guys tell me how stupid Michael had been to let me go. So
why, now, was I feeling this loss?
I unfolded the matchbook and examined the receipt. The meal was ra
ther insignificant, burgers and beers at a seaside restaurant, but at the bottom of the receipt, Michael had written:
First day I said I love you and you said it back.
The day came back to me
all at once in a tsunami of emotion; the whole relationship came back. Just as they say you see your life flash in front of your eyes before you die, our entire time together from love at first sight to that last moment of him walking away without my forgiveness shot through my mind in super fast forward.
Even tho
ugh I was the one who ended it—not that he gave me any choice—I suppose I still harbored the tiniest hope of a miracle reconciliation.
Bu
t every part of this trip was another step away from him. Making the reservations, spending my graduation money on the rent, and showing up had made the break-up more real. Now, great big spaces on the time line of my future life were blank, and that uncertainty made me nervous.
I focused on that single night in our relationship when he said I love you and I said it back. I'd been thinking about saying it a lot before that moment wh
en he said it to me. I considered being the first one to say it, but it was so much easier to let him to say it first. It was like the difference between driving and being driven. And that night, we sneaked back to the beach late at night when no one is supposed to be there, and we made out in the sand, first sitting up, then lying right down in it.
I had let him take my shirt off, but stopped him at my pants, and he had sighed and laughed like he couldn't believe it.
"You're not a virgin, are you?"
Ugh, I thought I might be able to get through our relationship without him knowing, but apparently it showed in my hesitation. But, after that first moment of surprise, he was understanding and asked if I wanted to go
naked
dipping instead. I'd been too nervous to even do that. I was a freshma
n in college and I'd never been naked in front of a guy. Even now, years and a degree later, I was mortified for my own lack of adventurousness in that moment of being eighteen that I could never get back. I was convinced now that it was all those tiny moments when I was afraid to be wild that added up to Michael’s being bored with me.
One thing I wanted to get out of this mountain was some guts.
I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, not knowing exactly why I was doing it at first. I closed my eyes and imagined I was doing some kind of strip tease to the music in my head. From the responses I got from guys, I knew I was kind of sexy, so I tried to embrace that. Soon the shirt was falling off my shoulders and I was standing there in nothing but my boy shorts. I stretched, letting the mountain air flying through the windows hit every exposed part of my body, and then I got an idea. The idea shot chills straight through my spine, and that's how I knew I had to do it.
I walked over to the front door, unlocked it, and walked out onto the porch. The cool air hit places that weren't used to being hit with air, and my bod
y immediately reacted. I felt exhilarated. I ran inside to grab my coffee, an apple, and my journal, then I returned to the porch. I got comfortable on an Adirondack chair, smiled at the unfamiliar sensation of air on my bare breasts, and began to write.
At first, I was too nervo
us to write. Every time a group of birds lifted out of a tree together or a particularly strong wind rustled the leaves, I'd squirm and try to hide, but I told myself to stop being scared of nothing—to let it all go. No fear.
I bit into the apple and felt the spray of its juice all over the front of me in tiny, sticky drops. As I relaxed, I covered pages and pages with my thoughts.
The writing was going good until I started to hear a squeaky sound coming from the back of the house. It sounded like someone was sawing. Out of ideas to write about, I walked into the cabin and grabbed my shirt, buttoning it up. I walked around the side of the cabin stealthily, slowing as I got closer to the noise. The squeaking had shifted from fast and loud to more languid. It didn't seem like something caused by the wind. I swallowed as I made my way to the back.
I peeked around the corner of the cabin not knowing what I'd see. Dabbles of sunlight poked through the trees making a dark and light design on the grass. Something was moving
—an empty hammock was swinging slowly back and forth and the chains squeaked with every swing. I breathed deeply and realized my heart was beating faster than normal. I had to adjust to living out here on my own without freaking over every sound! The hammock was not only harmless, but it looked like the perfect spot for enjoying a book or a nap. I decided to make some time for the hammock while I was here.
But for now, I wanted to get out of my solitary cabin and explore the mountain, so I went inside to get dressed, sucked down the rest of my coffee, and set out on one of the trails that curled away from the clearing where my cabin was located.
*
After two miles, I felt a good burn in my legs from climbing. I was taking deep breaths and letting my mind dissect the last few weeks of college, the teachers who'd seemed so sure of my imminent success, the classmates who'd smiled to my face, but often bitched about me behind my back. It hurt that they were likely laughing at the fact that I had disappeared quietly after graduation, single and without any job lined up.
Hearing some banging on the trail ahead, I slowed my pace. I saw a tan arm swinging through the air, and I stopped. I gasped. Adam was standing several yards away, chopping wood, and here was the crux: he was shirtless. The muscles I'd suspected after touching his chest last night were now confirmed to be real and spectacular.
He swung the ax one
more time, splitting a log in two. His jeans rested low on his hips, and his body was amazingly solid. The way his skin shone with sweat told me he'd been working hard for a while. Sure enough, a large pile of chopped logs was stacked at his side.
He added the two pieces he'd just cut to the pile, took a fresh section of log, and walked back to the stump to retrieve his ax. He didn't notice me on the trail watching him, so I stayed still for several minutes drinking it all in. I gulped several times. I'd seen a lot of college athletes in the gym over the year
s, but I'd never seen a man who seemed so feral.
H
e swung the ax again. I studied every muscle in his torso as each contributed to the mighty strike, the intense release in the log splitting in two and shooting away from the ax. Feeling somewhat weak, I grabbed onto the branch nearest me and fell forward as the too thin branches crackled loudly under my stumbling body.
I heard the ax slice into the tree
stump and stop there. I looked over to see Adam searching through the trees, catching sight of me, and developing an annoyed look on his face as he came toward me shaking his head.
"Are you all right?" he asked
as he neared me. His hands clung to his solid hips. His breath didn't sound strained, but his chest rose and fell more quickly than usual. His chest was like a Playgirl spread. The guys in the school gym didn't usually work out shirtless, and even the ones who did didn't look like Adam.
I swallowed and nodded my head, trying to get up without scratching my arms more than they already were. Seeing me struggling with that task, he grabbed my arm, which looked tiny in his massively thick hand, and pulled me up.
"How old are you?" I asked out of the blue. I needed to figure out just how inappropriate my ogling and sexual fantasies were.
"Uh, I'm twenty-seven," he said, taken off guard. He swiped one finger across his cheekbone even though nothing was there. When I didn't do anything in return, he leaned forward, swiped the finger across my cheek and I watched a leaf fall to my chest. I waited a second, but he didn't dare try to knock it from there. I picked it off my t-shirt and flicked it to the ground.
"I was hiking." I felt the need to explain. "I wasn't spying on you."
He laughed and looked down as if he suddenly remembered he was shirtless.
"That's a lot of wood."
Shut up
, I told myself.
Stop talking
. He smirked, and I got the idea his mind knew my mind was in the gutter, yet he wasn't going to say anything to make this less humiliating. Just as I was about to storm away without saying another word, he spoke.