Gone Wild (2019 Reissue)

by E Cleveland

  “I, uh.” My face is burning up and it has nothing to do with the fire. “I’m taking a picture.” I turn away from him to hide my embarrassment. To hide from his judgment. “Not that it’s your business.”

  “Oh well, excuse me. I didn’t realize I stumbled into a photo shoot. Here I thought we were trying to survive and really it turns out it’s all a backdrop for your next album,” he mocks me.

  “It’s not for an album.” I roll my eyes. “It’s for Instagram.”

  “Well, la-dee-dah.” He smirks. I want to shrink away. To disappear. I can’t stand how he’s looking at me. Like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever met. Like he’s better than me.

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt. In fact, here.” He tosses a streak of brown across the room at me and it lands with a thud beside my leg. “I’ve even got some props for you.”

  I look down and shriek, jumping to my feet. He threw a couple of dead rabbits at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Oh my God!” I yell.

  “What, you don’t like rabbit? I thought you might want to take a few more pictures before I turn them into dinner?” His eyes flash at me, disgust tattooed across his face.

  “I’m not eating that.” I jump away from them.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs, tugging off his layers of winter wear. “If you want to starve to death, that’s on you,” he answers nonchalantly.

  I grab the pants he lent me earlier and storm off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Tears streak down my cheeks as I hear him chuckle at me in the other room. This storm can’t be over soon enough. I stare out the window at the whiteout conditions. However, I know that in my heart, the storm inside is just beginning.

  11

  Sawyer

  She’s been in that room all day. I look at the closed door as I whisk the gravy I’ve whipped up with a fork. I’m pretty sure I made her cry earlier.

  Not that she didn’t deserve it. We’re stuck in the storm of the century out here and she’s trying to take selfies while I’m out scrounging for food? It’s ridiculous. She sums up everything that’s wrong with the fucking world right now. I drop the fork against the side of the pot with a clatter, splashing some boiling gravy onto my hand.

  “Fuck!” I yell angrily, pulling my hand up. I quickly stick my burned flesh into one of the many containers of snow I’ve gathered on the counters and stare out the window with my jaw clenched tight. What a careless mistake. I look down at the red patch growing over my skin despite the ice fighting to keep it contained.

  What is it about her that gets me so worked up? I don’t have to think about it very hard. I know the answer. I know why her obsession with social media burrows under my skin like a tick and bleeds me dry of my sympathy for her.

  She’s not the one you’re mad at.

  I know that. I’m not an idiot.

  She didn’t mortify you on television. She didn’t reduce you to nothing more than an Internet punch line. It isn’t her fault.

  I gaze out into the bleak, snowy night and try to push away the shadows creeping across my mind. No good comes from reliving that shit. No good comes from remembering any of it.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I spin around too quickly, still angry about my burning hand, and frown at the owner of the soft voice cutting into my thoughts.

  She looks like a vision. Now, most of her makeup that she had caked on has either worn off or been washed away. Her big, blue eyes meet mine and I can’t help but notice how supple her skin is. I want to run my hands over her. To feel her beautiful long hair tangled around in them. To squeeze her plump ass that she loves so much.

  My hand.

  I look down at my angry skin, then up at Elsie. I can tell she’s one of those girls who, for whatever reason, can’t see her own beauty. That must be why she needs all the makeup and all the pictures and all the Internet fame. I wish she could see herself right now through my eyes. How the setting sun radiates off her skin. How her locks shimmer around her face like a sunset reflecting off a Hawaiian shoreline. She’s not even trying, and she looks like a fantasy that no amount of photo manipulation could replicate.

  “Yeah, I just burned my hand,” I admit.

  “Oh, no. Is it bad?” She closes the small square footage between us and grabs my arm, lifting my hand toward her face. My palm looks abnormally large next to her delicate features. It’s rough and calloused from chopping wood and working the land. It looks like a monster’s paw next to her natural beauty.

  “It’s fine.” I pull away from her. “I don’t need a nurse,” I answer gruffly. Too gruffly. I don’t mean to hurt her feelings, but I can see from the pain that flashes over her eyes that I have. I instantly regret my words. All of them. The ones I just spouted off and the ones I angrily mocked her with before.

  I take a deep breath. Stop taking it out on her. The thought tugs at my conscience. “Thank you for trying to help, though. I appreciate it.” I force myself to sound less like a snarling bear caught in a trap and more like a normal person.

  “No problem. The food smells good.” She looks up at me, like her words are an olive branch and she’s waiting to see if I’ll take it.

  “Thanks.” I smile down at her. “I’m, well, I’m sorry I threw the meat at you earlier. That wasn’t right. I made us a nice supper, though. Braised rabbit with mashed potatoes and gravy.” I point to the massive mess of pots I’ve managed to collect on the stove. I’ve never claimed to be a clean cook. A good cook, absolutely. But with my culinary skills always comes the trade-off of a very messy kitchen.

  “The potatoes aren’t great, they’re from a box I found in one of the cupboards,” I continue, “but the gravy should more than make up for it. I couldn’t believe how many spices they have up here. Almost everything you could imagine. I mean, within reason. It’s not stocked with saffron or anything, but still…” I ramble. I forgot how much I enjoyed cooking with a wide variety of spices. At my family’s restaurant, we had every seasoning you could imagine. Even the rare and expensive ones.

  “What?” I look down at her biting her lip and peering over at the stove full of food behind me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh, so you really did cook the rabbit?” She looks up at me with her eyebrows arched up in the center.

  “Of course, I did. What else would I do with them? Make slippers out of them? Why?” My jaw juts forward and my teeth set back on edge.

  Elsie shakes her head and her hair bounces around on her shoulders as she looks at the floor.

  “What’s going on?” I push her.

  “I can’t eat a bunny. I can’t do it,” she whispers and flickers her eyes up to meet mine.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You haven’t even tried it. It’s delicious.” I squint at her. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I am, I just, I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know, I had a rabbit as a pet at one of the homes I lived at for a while and I’d feel bad to eat one.”

  “Well, it’s not like I stole some kid’s floppy-eared fucking pet. These are wild hares. It’s not the same.” I try to keep my voice even despite my temper flaring up. I spent all day either hunting for this food or cooking it and now she’s going to turn her prissy little nose up at it?

  Beep-bop-beep-beep!

  Elsie and I both look over at the radio I have resting on the counter and I cock my head and listen.

  “This is an extreme weather warning for the entire Anchorage region. The icy nor’easter continues to decimate most of Alaska. Millions are without power as lines are downed from the weight of the snow. There is no end in sight for this treacherous weather and authorities are advising to stay indoors.”

  As the radio goes back to speaking in Morse code, Elsie looks at me suspiciously. “Where did that come from?” She nods at the red, crank radio.

  “I brought it. Sometimes, when people head off on adventures in the woods, they actually prepare for it.” I talk to her slowly, like she’s incapable of understanding
the basics of life. Maybe she is.

  “See?” I pick it up and hold it in front of her face with mock enthusiasm. “When you crank this magic lever here, you can either use the radio or, prepare to be amazed”—I sneer at her—“when you push this button here”—I flick the switch—“it’s even a flashlight.”

  “You don’t have to be such a dick all the time!” She sticks out her bottom lip and storms over to the fireplace.

  “Yeah, well, what kind of dick are you? I’ve spent all day trying to get you something to eat and you won’t even try it!” I roar, my anger finally getting the best of me.

  “Oh yeah, well, what kind of guy spends all his time trying to make some woman he doesn’t even know feel bad about herself?” She trembles as she yells back, clearly not as used to the anger welling up inside her.

  The radio cuts back in before she has a chance to say anything else.

  “Due to hazardous weather conditions the search party for Elsie Young has been postponed today. Search and rescue crew aren’t happy to report that this delay is necessary for the safety of their staff. With each hour that goes by, it is less likely that the social media darling can survive these extreme conditions.”

  Elsie crosses the floor and flicks the switch, muting the man predicting her demise.

  I breathe her in. That sultry scent of summer strawberries ignites my soul and I close my eyes to imagine the two of us naked on a lazy July day, spending the entire afternoon fucking and picking berries.

  “Listen.” I reel my tone back in. You attract more flies with honey, right? “It sounds like you’re going to be stuck here for a while. Who knows how long this is going to take to blow over. You have my word that once the weather cooperates, I’ll take you back to Alyeska, okay? But in the meantime, you’ve got to eat. You look like if you miss three meals you’ll die of starvation. Please, give supper a try.” I point back at the sprawling mess of pots on the stove.

  “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” she answers, defeated and disgusted. As if I offered her cockroach stew or something.

  Elsie makes her way back to the room she’s been hiding out in all day. Her shoulders are slumped forward and her head is hanging.

  “Fine! Go to bed hungry. I don’t care. Maybe you’ll get a gourmet dinner in your dreams!” I growl angrily. “Don’t come out here in a few hours and try to eat this because I won’t be sharing it with you!

  She slams the door shut for the second time today and I’m left staring at the same empty space I’ve been occupying all afternoon.

  So much for playing nice. Or for having some company to eat with for once. Or for controlling my temper.

  All in all, I’d say it was a huge failure.

  12

  Elsie

  I’m cold, so cold. I look down and I’m barefoot, walking down the hall of my childhood home in my nightie. It’s threadbare, and I outgrew it a year ago. The arms stop midway between my elbows and my wrists, but I don’t care. It’s my favorite. It has the most beautiful picture of my favorite princess on it. Belle. Sometimes, I like to pretend I’m Belle. That I’m locked inside a huge stone castle and that my worn paperbacks and library books are like the leather-bound books she got to read. I like to imagine that my empty bedroom is that beautiful library she went to in the movie.

  Sometimes, I like to pretend that my parents are like the Beast. That they’re rough and uncaring on the outside because they’ve been cursed by an evil witch. I let myself imagine that, on the inside, they’re really aching for my love as much as I am for theirs. That their abuse, or even worse, their neglect, isn’t really them. It’s not how they really feel about me. It’s just a spell they’re under.

  In a way, it’s true. They are under a spell, I think. I mean, it feels like a curse. Caused by the crystallized mixture they make in the bathroom. It looks like shattered glass, or maybe more like ice. Ice seems right, since it froze their hearts.

  In my gut, a dull pain spreads. I never know what I’m going to see when I check in on my parents. I never know if they’ll be happy, sad, freaking out. I don’t even know if they’ll be alive. That’s what scares me most. Finding them. Their bodies. They might not need me, but I still need them.

  I can hear them fighting tonight. They’re alive. Mom is screaming again. Something about money. They always fight over money or drugs. Sometimes, Dad hits Mom. Sometimes Mom throws our plates and stuff at Dad. They crash down into jagged piles on the floor that they never clean up. I sweep up the mess. Not because it might hurt me, but because I hate how much it looks like that stuff they make. Meth.

  “Well, what the fuck are we going to do, John? We need to pay him tomorrow. To-fucking-morrow, you asshole!” Mom screams.

  Dad puffs up. Sometimes, he looks like he inflates. Like, most of the time, he’s a popped balloon. He lies flat against the couch, like he’s trying to become a part of it. Then, when they’re fighting, he blows up. His arms and legs seem to grow and his chest rounds out.

  “Fuck, Marj, why is this my problem? You’re freaking out at me, but you spent the money too. We’ll just have to pawn more shit and make up for it.” Dad looks around the room for something he could sell to the old man at the pawn shop who always rolled his eyes when he saw us. Dad always said that guy was a con artist, ripping him off for his good stuff like our dining room set and my dresser.

  Standing in the doorway of our living room, I look around for what he could sell. However, I see the same thing he does.

  Nothing.

  His eyes rest on me. It’s like looking into the eyes of a dead fish washed up on shore. Glassy and damaged by too much exposure to the sun. “Maybe we should sell her.” He nods at me.

  My eyes go wide. I know better than to talk back. I know better than to make a peep. Instead, I silently beg him to change his mind. I try not to cry.

  “Kidding,” he finally answers my prayers after looking like he gave the idea some serious thought.

  “You know, that’s not a half bad idea.” Mom stares over at me. It’s the first time I can remember her looking right at me, and seeing me since… well, I can’t remember.

  Where Dad’s eyes look like a dead fish, hers are like a shark. Dark, muted, dangerous.

  “Oh, come on, Marj. No one is going to buy your bucktooth, bruised up kid. What are you going to do? Put her on Kijiji?” Dad mocks her.

  “You fucking idiot, that’s not how you would sell her. I mean, by the hour.” She smiles at me, but with her blackened, cracked teeth and the flash in her eyes, it’s far from the happy face I once knew. She’s far from the mother I need.

  I run back down the hall, not sure what she means, but knowing I don’t want to be sold. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be thrown out like a bag of trash. I just want them to love me. Why don’t they love me?

  I slam my door and bury myself in my thin blanket. I don’t care if I’m cold anymore. Please don’t let them sell me.

  I sit up in bed. Tears streaming down my face and sweat broken across my forehead.

  I’m cold, but unlike the child who froze while her parents discussed whether or not to sell her, I’m an adult. It’s in the past. It’s all far in the past. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I might as well go try to warm up. I wipe away my tears, but fresh ones are already in their place.

  I’m an adult.

  It’s over.

  It’s okay now.

  I lie to myself. Like the little girl who pretended to be Belle, I still tell myself that I’m okay. But I know deep down, I’m not.

  13

  Elsie

  I stand by the bedroom door and listen with my head tilted. I don’t hear anything. Not a peep from the other side. Pulling it open gently, the door protests with a long creak that sounds like a car alarm against the silence.

  I cringe and look across the darkened room, still wrapped under hues of blue as the sun struggles to rise in the early morning sky. Sawyer is as
leep in front of the fireplace. Just like he was yesterday morning, except this time I’m not with him.

  Disappointment swirls inside me. It catches me off guard to realize I miss feeling the heat of his body against mine. Not to mention his thick, hard cock.

  I slap my hand over my mouth like I spilled a deep secret even though I haven’t spoken a single word. Even allowing myself the thought feels like a betrayal, though. Not to mention dirty. I don’t know Sawyer. Besides, what about Ben?

  What about him? He fucked Kate, remember? My voice of reason reminds me with the subtlety of a punch in the face. You know what they say, the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. I slowly slink my gaze over Sawyer’s sexy body. He looks so peaceful when he isn’t yelling at me. Not that I’ve been easy to deal with either.

  Ben and I are history. All I need is to delete his smug face from my account to make it official. He might be rich and famous, but I’m not here to wipe his boots on. I hope Kate can find satisfaction with his little dick.

  Sawyer is lying on my fur coat as a mattress and has his parka covering him from the waist down. The disappointment I was feeling earlier just doubled down.

  Stop being such a perv, I chide myself silently. However, I don’t look away from him. I realize my breathing has quickened and my heart is beating faster. My eyes slide over his wide chest. His muscles are clearly cut but covered under his dark hair. He looks so manly. Not like Ben’s waxed chest that would look okay for a day until his hair tried to break back through the surface and made his skin rashy.

  With Sawyer’s brown beard covering his neck, he looks like a wild man. A man who could do whatever he wanted to me… and I’d love it.

  I shake my head. Whoa, where is this all coming from? You’d think I’ve never seen a guy before from all these repressed desires bubbling up inside me. The truth is, I’ve never met anyone like Sawyer before. Not only because of how strong and big he is, but also when I look into his eyes I can see a depth that I never see in my social circle. I can see he has a past. He has his demons. Why else would someone go live in the woods by themselves? I can’t help but wonder if we don’t have more in common than he thinks.