Page 20 of Factory Controller

Rick had been a record for me, lasting more than ten months. During that time, he slowly exerted more and more control over my life. It started off small, with him banning gluten and carbs from my diet ‘for my own good.’ Then there were the yoga lessons he enrolled me in for my birthday, without my ever having expressed interest in such.

Before I knew it, Rick-the-Prick dictated every aspect of my life. He even exerted his influence over my wardrobe. Most of my skirts were banned for being ‘slutty,’ even the totally chaste, ankle-length variety. I was only allowed to dress up nice when he wanted to parade me around at whatever social function he wanted to drag me to that week.

He wasn’t all bad, of course. He balanced out the character assassination and dictatorship-like control of my life with being really sweet, very extravagant with his wealth, and repeatedly telling me how much he cared about me.

It took a lot of effort to break up with Rick-the-Prick. Prior to our final parting, we’d taken several breaks during which time he always managed to worm his way back into my good graces. I realize it’s been two years since I broke up with him. No wonder I can’t keep my eyes, or my mind, off Tarzan, lord of the apes, here.

I can’t stop thinking of him as Tarzan, and, therefore, myself as Jane, and wind up laughing out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Trent casts a glance over his shoulder at me as we pick our way along the game trail.

“Nothing.” I stare up through the canopy of dense leaves. A frown crosses my face when I realize the daylight has softened, faded toward dusk. “We’re running out of daylight. How far is this village you were talking about?”

He consults his compass and stares up at the sky as well. “I’d estimate at least ten more miles.”

“That’s a little more than two hours of travel, right?” I look back the way we’ve come. “I mean, can we make it?”

Trent purses his lips and looks down the trail. “I might be able to, on my own—no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Thing is, I wouldn’t want to try. Nighttime is when the hunters come out. We’d be much better served finding shelter for the night and finishing the journey in the morning.”

A stab of panic lances through my gut. I try not to show it, but I’m on the verge of totally freaking out. I don’t want to spend the night in the rainforest. It’s nowhere on my bucket list. In fact, it’s near the top of things I wanted to avoid.

“If we must,” I say, unable to keep a waver out of my voice.

“We’ll be fine.” Trent looks about the forest, his eyes distant and thoughtful. “We need to find a place we can get up off the ground. That will keep most of the nastier bugs away, as well as caiman.”

We wind up next to another lupuna tree. Trent arranges a suspension of branches across the roots, forming a sort of bunk elevated off the forest floor. He uses vines to tie the branches into place and spreads a thin sleeping bag across it. If only I hadn’t lost my pack, I would be making my own bed.

It offers plenty of room for us to lay without touching, which is equal parts disappointment and relief. Unfortunately, the bedding is far from comfortable. Trent chose the smoothest, straightest fallen limbs he could find, and even whittled off nubs with his survival knife, but the sticks seem to find just the right way to stab into my flesh. I try resting my head on my folded hands. That tactic leads to the weight of my head crushing my hands down onto the branch skeleton all the harder.

“I can’t sleep like this.” I stare up at the darkening rainforest and sigh. “It’s impossible.”

“Would you like to use my leg as a pillow? It might help.”

“That’s a lame pick up line, Trent.”

“No, no pickup line. I’m serious. I won’t even notice.”

“You can sleep on this thing?”

“I’ve slept in worse places. You should go ahead and take the first sleeping shift. I’ll take the second.”

I furrow my brow in confusion. “You want to sleep in shifts? I thought this would keep us safe?”

“From creepy crawlies, but snakes can still get up here. One of us should stay on watch.”

I shudder and decide to give using Trent’s leg as a pillow a try. It couldn’t be worse than pointy sticks under a worn-out sleeping bag.

I lay my head on his meaty thigh, and right away his heavy musk assaults my senses. Neither of us have showered; we must be rank, but my traitorous body responds. It really has been a long time since Rick-the-Prick…

I laugh helplessly, unable to stop thinking about dirty sex—literally and figuratively. Trent stirs and gazes down at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that it’s a long way from accounting to being Jane in the Jungle.”

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