Page 13 of The Cabin

I spin around and stomp back towards Grayson on the porch, finger pointed in his direction. “Actually, no. It was reallynotsuper lovely. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think married people should be looking at other people while they’re naked and then inviting them to candlelit fucking dinners,” I seethe, stabbing my finger into his chest. He barely shows any emotion on his face.

“It’s not like that.”

I lose it. “Yeah, that’s exactly what my ex-husband said two years ago when I found him in my bed with his secretary, so,” I spit, pretty aware that I’m oversharing, but my blood alcohol level is working against me. I make a disgusted noise and turn back towards the creek, heading down the hill as fast as I can without falling face-first into the dirt.

When I reach the cabin, I’m fuming, and I drop my keys like four times before I actually manage to shove them into the hole. Fuck men. Fuck men and their stupid steaks and their ugly ass cabins and their shitty ass fucking morals. Are they seriously all the same? I mean how freaking cliché.

I drop unceremoniously into my bunk, face first, fully clothed, fuming. How dare he put me in that situation? ‘It’s not like that.’ So, what? I made the whole thing up? It’s not super weird to watch someone shower and then cook them special steaks because you saw them eyeing them up in the grocery store? Is that a totally platonic thing to do to someone? Am I being ridiculous?

No! He’s not going to gaslight me into thinking this is somehow my doing. I don’t care what he says, if I came to my husband’s and I’s cabin and found him laughing and drinking wine on the couch with some other woman I’d definitely be uncomfortable? Especially if I didn’t know the woman?

I should just drive home tomorrow and admit defeat. I am unhealable. I am a walking train wreck who drags her baggage with her everywhere she goes.

I push back off the bunk and turn on the lantern on the big table, surveying the mess I’ve made in the past four days. With a huge sigh, I bend down and start shoving things into bags. This will all just be a weird detour I watch disappear in my rearview mirror by tomorrow.

Chapter 6

The sun is just beginning to peek through the leaves of the endless trees when I slam the door shut of my car, effectively squishing in all my bags, and hop into the front seat behind the steering wheel. I all but peel out of the makeshift, gravel driveway and head down the mountain, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake.

Okay, so I only lasted four days out of my self-prescribed two weeks. Big deal? So what? I can get over Brian and my divorce from anywhere.She says two years later, still crying most nights. Very much ‘pendeja’vibes.

It’s not even Brian that I need to get over anyway. I could give two craps about him. He is literally the equivalent of buying off brand, plain graham crackers. No sugar or cinnamon, just a cardboard-ass personality. Plus, he’s mean. And condescending. I can still picture the way he would roll his eyes every time I talked about something cute my kids did in the classroom. ‘Jesus Christ, Sol, they’re thirteen. Who cares?’

God! There I go again. Spiraling about my cheating ex-husband. So original.

I make a sharp turn about a quarter of the way down the mountain, looking up from the radio dial just in time for my tire to slam into a huge chunk of the road that’s missing. My shoulder collides with the driver’s side door and I hear a loudbang. My breath hitches and a stream of curses leave my lips. I slam on the brakes and try to keep from hyperventilating. After a few moments of practicing those stupid breathing exercises from the meditation printouts, I feel calm enough to survey my surroundings. Shoving the gear shift into reverse, I maneuver the wheel every possible direction, trying to get my front tire out of the pothole. Nothing happens. I can just hear my tires spinning, and whatever parts that sit underneath my car, groaning as I grind them against the dirt.

Turning the car off, my head flops back against the headrest. Mother fucker. If I can’t get out of this ditch I am so effed. It’s another fifteen-minute drive down the mountain towards civilization, plus another ten just to get cell service. It would take hours to get to help on foot. My only other option would be to hike back up towards my cabin and find…

A sweeping of headlights makes its way through the cluster of trees ahead, breaking up the early morning dawn. Before I can even begin to feel relieved, a scowl takes up residence on my face. Of freaking course. The truck comes fully into view, slowing down so that its driver’s side window is in line with mine. I keep my eyes straight ahead, refusing to engage or put down my window. Before I know it, I’m dangling by my seatbelt, hanging out my now wide-open car door.

I cry, “What the hell?” at the same time that I hear, “Oh my god, Sol, are you alright?”

My seatbelt is unhooked and I’m drug out of my car, two huge biceps encircling my head. “What are you doing?” I grumble, kicking and flailing to get myself free. Pushing my stray hairs out of my face, I let out a huff.

“Are you okay?” There is worry etched all over Grayson’s face, which, if possible, only serves to enrage me more.

“I’m fine.” I brush past him, now resolved to hiking down the mountain for help.

“Where are you going?” he calls, but I stay silent. I only make it a few more feet before I hear him jogging to catch up.

“Did someone hit you? What happened?” More questions that I don’t answer.

My foot hits a rock, causing me to stumble a bit. Grayson grabs my elbow to steady me and I let out a muffled, closed mouth scream before ripping my arm away from him.

“Can you please just leave me alone?”

“Where are you going?”

“To town.”

“You’re going to walk all the way down the mountain and into town? That’ll take hours!”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Let me just drive you.”

“No thanks.”

---