Gone Wild (2019 Reissue)

by E Cleveland

  “I wasn’t. I didn’t take a picture! Check my phone,” I protest, holding it out to him.

  “I saw you holding your phone over the picture, Elsie! Do you think I’m stupid? I know how much you need to document this shit. How much attention did you think this will get for you? Huh? Pretty good score, right? The crazy woodsman you shacked up with was a viral fucking sensation. That’s gotta be at least fifty thousand thumbs-up, right?” He roars, his face burning crimson.

  “I know it looked like that, but I wasn’t. Check, you can see for yourself.” My hand trembles as I hold out my phone, but he turns away in disgust.

  “It’s time to get you back where you belong. Take my coat off. I’m bringing you back to the resort. I’ll get my supplies that I need to survive and you’ll get the Internet love that you need to survive.” His voice is colder than the ice-covered snow that waits for us outside this cabin.

  What happened to him? How could he turn on me so quickly? I blink back my tears and pull the zipper down on his parka, letting it fall to the floor. Quickly, I pull on the shirt I’ve been wearing and get dressed.

  As I button up my fur coat, I feel my engagement ring from Ben dig into my hand. I pull it out with disgust. Now the huge diamond looks too clunky, too gaudy, too fake. I place the ring on the counter. Maybe the owners of this cabin can hock it. It’s the best reward I can think of for us using their place like this. Across the room, Sawyer angrily shoves his feet into his boots.

  It looks as though in my pathetic need to be loved, I made another mistake. I fell into the arms of another man who I’d hoped was different. Who I wished would love me.

  How could he? He doesn’t even know you. And you don’t know him. I feel like I’m lying to myself. I thought I did know Sawyer. But how could I? If I knew him, really knew him, this wouldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t be ready to drop me on the side of the highway like a sack of garbage ready for collection.

  My parents, my followers, my ex-fiancé, my foster family… none of them loved me.

  Why would he?

  31

  Elsie

  My boots crunch in the crisp snow as I follow Sawyer toward civilization. I know I should feel happy or at least relieved to be going back to the life I built for myself. To my career. To my friends. To the fake smiles. To the lies.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m marching to my execution chamber, that at the edge of the forest I’ll have to leave the stronger, happier person I’ve just started to become, in a shallow grave under the snow. I’ll have to shed any revelations I’ve had, any knowledge I’ve gained, and return to a life where my greatest achievement is how I can accentuate the curve of my ass and choose the perfect filter.

  Maybe I can do something with this fire that Sawyer has lit in my soul. I could go to school or choose a different path. One thing is certain—I don’t give a fuck what Ben has been saying on social media. I’ve grown too strong and learned too much about myself to ever go back to that piece of shit.

  I deserve better.

  The thought is only a shadow of a whisper, but I heard it. And, what’s more, I believe it. Who knows, maybe I can turn this experience into something meaningful. I have a decent following. I have some influence, right? I could slowly move away from the shallow roots of my Instagram account and talk about books sometimes or being independent. Maybe it can be like the social media equivalent of watching a caterpillar transform into a butterfly.

  Except no one cares.

  Even the one guy who you thought could really love you for your true self is leading you on a Siberian death march back to a life that left you hollow.

  Sawyer’s silence weighs me down, making each step a struggle. It’s heavier on my shoulders than the ice anchoring the tree branches down like peasants bowing before royalty.

  Kneeling before the queen of social media. That’s a title that would’ve made me swell with pride only a few days ago. It still feels like a massage for my ego, if I had the luxury of being massaged with hot sauce and shards of glass.

  Tears line my eyes and I sniff louder than I want to. Not that he cares if I’m crying.

  That’s it. I’m not doing this. I’ve legitimately been a victim in this life more times than I’d like to admit. I won’t let some hot-headed, mood swing of a man turn me into one again.

  Not today.

  I stop dead in my tracks and wait for Sawyer to realize I’m not moving. He turns around and levels me with his stormy eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he demands.

  “I’m not going.” I align my teeth, gritting them together in a determined line, like soldiers on an old battlefield.

  “Elsie.” He sighs as exhaustion begins to creep in over his features.

  “No, I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me what’s going on. Last night, you told me you loved me, Sawyer.” My voice cracks and betrays my brave face. “How can you go from loving me to sending me away without an explanation? I deserve better,” I repeat my quiet thought loudly.

  Sawyer rubs his hand over his dark beard and looks at me like he’s debating whether or not to call my bluff. “You’re right,” he finally speaks, and a jolt runs through me.

  I wasn’t expecting him to cave so easily. I try not to look surprised.

  “Of course, I’m right.” I nod stiffly. “Now, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on.” I try to sound stern, but I feel like a little girl dressing up in her mom’s shoes. They’re too big and I’m too wobbly to wear them right.

  Sawyer reaches into his pocket and pulls the tattered news article that started this whole thing out.

  “Fine,” he agrees, “you’re right.”

  32

  Sawyer

  I stare at the picture that will haunt the Internet forever. It’s faded and crinkled from years of exposure to the elements. However, I remember it all so vividly. This photo hasn’t left my side for over two years. Not because I want to remember any of it, but because I can’t let myself forget.

  I look at Elsie. Her red-rimmed eyes betray her posturing. Even though I can tell she’s unsure of herself, she’s not wrong. I’ve been acting like an asshole. Something I told her not to put up with from anyone, not even me. I’m proud of her for standing her ground.

  The flash of waking up to her hovering her cell phone over the clipping in my mind and anger swells back up inside me like a tsunami. “Why were you trying to take a picture of this?” I hold up the moment that broke me, forever frozen in time.

  “I wasn’t.” Her full lips twist down and her eyebrows clash together. “I picked up my phone because I saw there were a bunch of messages coming in and I happened to notice there was something in your pocket. That’s it. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know you were…” She doesn’t say it. She won’t call me the names found in the YouTube comments, but her words rub salt in a wound that’s still never healed.

  “That loser? That guy that everyone laughed at?” My breath hangs in the air. Like evidence of my anger. My pain. “Don’t try to act all innocent, like you don’t spend your time trying to record your life for your fans. You know, instead of living it,” I fire back at her. I can see from the twisting emotions on her face that my shot has landed.

  “Why are you yelling at me? What is this about? I didn’t take a picture of it, Sawyer. Please, stop pushing me away.” She keeps her voice soft and level. I can’t help but let the anger I’m carrying deflate from my lungs.

  This isn’t about her.

  “I’m sorry.” I finally force the words to fall from my tongue. “I’ve been angry so long, about the Internet and social media and the lies and the phonies.” I wave my hand at her. “I’ve been taking it out on you, but it’s not your fault. You had nothing to do with it,” I explain as much to myself as to her.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Elsie presses into me and I hold her close.

  “I’m sorry I took it out on you,” I admit. “When we first started talking,
all that stuff about your Instagram followers and your job, it brought it all back. Not that it’s ever that far from my thoughts. And, when I saw you with your phone today.” I pull her tight. “I assumed the worst.”

  “I know. I understand why you’d do that. I would never betray you, Sawyer. Never.”

  I tuck my finger under her chin and pull her face up to mine, hovering over her lips as I look into her shimmering eyes. “I know. I was wrong. I hope you can forgive me.” I kiss her. Our lips softly part as our tongues frantically search for each other. Intertwined, they explain what our simple words can’t. They tell the story of our love.

  “I love you.” I give her a quick kiss, then another, and another.

  “I love you too,” she breathes.

  33

  Elsie

  “I think I see something! Up there!” I can hear a distant stranger intrude on our moment. Sawyer pulls away from me, scanning the snow drifts and trees for the owner of the voice.

  I step back and twist around like an owl, my eyes wide and my senses on high alert that, for the first time in days, I’m going to see other people again.

  Why does it feel like an invasion? Like these peaceful woods are a fortress for only Sawyer and me. The excited cries grow louder and more unsettling as I spot a flash of bright orange a couple hundred feet away.

  Sawyer grabs my arm. “Come with me. Let’s get out of here!” he hisses.

  “I can’t. It’s the search and rescue. I can’t just give them the slip. Come with me and we’ll figure this out together,” I plead, but I can see it’s falling on deaf ears. His big brown eyes are locked on the search team and he takes another step back from me.

  “Elsie, there’s nothing to figure out. We can go now. Fuck these guys. You don’t need to be rescued. Come with me.” I can hear the irritation grating across his vocal cords.

  “I can’t.” I stand my ground. How ridiculous would it be if I hightailed it off into the forest with him right now? They would worry about my sanity and send more people. Or assume he was keeping me against my will. This isn’t a Tiffany song from the eighties. We’re not going to stumble to the ground in each other’s arms and whisper that we’re alone now.

  This is real life. No matter how disappointing and empty it feels.

  “It’s her!” One of the crew members announces and begins to run toward me. I can see his partner radio in the information as others come up from behind carrying a first aid kit and supplies.

  Everything is a blur of orange and white. I twist around and see Sawyer slowly walking backward. The feet he’s putting between us feel like miles as the crowd of search and rescue members surrounds me.

  “Elsie Young? You’re Elsie, right?” a fit, middle-aged man with a wide, black mustache yells.

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  “That’s a confirmation on finding the person of interest. Elsie Young has been located, alive, at 61.1510° North, 149.2386° West, copy?”

  I can hear the radio crackle and buzz like the one Sawyer and I would wind up in the cabin. “Ten-four copy that.”

  Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh! I tilt my head back and squint my eyes at the bright sky. Above a black, sleek helicopter is hovering over us like a metallic eagle ready to swoop in on her prey.

  “They said we need to get her to a clearing,” a woman with chestnut hair and permanent worry lines etched in her face interrupts.

  “Gotcha,” the man acknowledges her. “Elsie, are you able to come with us? We’ve got a lot of people who are worried about you. Are you injured? Can you walk?” He talks to me like I may have lost my hearing along with my sense of direction the night I took off in the snow.

  “I’m not hurt,” I answer and almost fall over as I look for Sawyer past the neon orange. Where did he go?

  “Okay, that’s great. We’re going to get you home. There’s going to be a lot of happy people to see you! It’s a miracle you’re alive.” He smiles and tugs my arm, leading me with the team toward whatever clearing they’ve been instructed to take me to.

  “Wait. I can’t go yet.” My voice is shrill as I frantically look for Sawyer’s distinctive plaid among the trees.

  “Here, drink some of this, it has electrolytes in it,” the man insists, holding what looks like a Capri Sun bag under my nose.

  “No, wait,” I insist. “Sawyer, come with me. Don’t leave me.” I twist like a flag in the wind, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  “She’s in shock.” The man with the mustache announces to the other crew members as I follow their lead to the clearing.

  “I’m not in shock. I’m fine. I need Sawyer.” I look back over my shoulder, but all I see is a mess of footprints in the snow.

  “Sawyer!” I call out. But I know it’s no use.

  He’s gone.

  34

  Elsie

  My hotel suite is quiet. Except, not like the shroud of serenity that the forest would wrap Sawyer and me in. This is the silence of people trying to walk softly across carpeted halls. The silence of hushed whispers while the media prepares for the story event of the year. It’s the silence of being alone in a crowd. And it’s crushing.

  I’ve spent the day being poked and prodded by curious doctors only to be released and brought back to the Alyeska Resort. I’ve been upgraded to their penthouse suite while they’ve graciously allowed the media to gather in their conference room so I can tell them that this amazing resort is in no way responsible for my drunken decision to run off into the woods.

  Instead of being associated with my frozen, wolf ravaged carcass, like they were expecting, they now get to bask in the glow of my safe return. Who doesn’t love a happy ending, right? Especially one that turns a profit.

  The room is beautiful, every inch thoughtfully decorated with the highest quality materials. My television might as well be a movie screen, my hot tub a pool, and my sheets could be pure silk for how soft they are.

  All of it is so… awful.

  After only a few days away from all this, it feels foreign. I’ve been walking around my room like a cat with paper bags on its feet, jumpy and self-aware. The monstrous television is too loud and too bright to comfortably watch. The hot tub feels overwhelming to my skin after my melted snow bath. Even the linens feel too slippery to be practical.

  I miss the cabin.

  I miss him.

  Just a simple touch from his rough hands brought me more comfort than any of these luxuries. I try to imagine him in this room, enjoying these amenities. I can’t. It’s more natural to picture a walrus doing ballet than to envision him trying to fuck me on these satin sheets.

  My body craves his touch as my mind flashes to him making me his by the fire, and in the snow shelter, and on the bed and…

  “Mmmm.” The moan is involuntary. I can’t help how my back arches and my breasts heave at the thought of him. Just the memory makes me wet.

  How am I going to get through this life without him? Why did he leave me?

  The betrayal stings like the snap of a leather belt. The burn is deep and enduring, seeming to spread through me, radiating from my heart.

  I pick up my phone as more tears fill my eyes. I can’t spend any more time crying. I can’t. I’ve already given myself a headache for my trouble. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s gone. He left, and that was his choice. There’s nothing I can do about it now.

  I swipe my thumb across my cell like a reflex and the screen comes to life with a ding. I don’t mean to open my photo gallery at the pictures of the run-down cabin that began to feel like home.

  I snort when I see the pose in my bikini bottoms and his shirt. Me trying to get another perfect butt selfie, while he threw our dinner at me. Was that only a few days ago? How is that possible? I feel like I’m catching glimpses of another lifetime.

  I let my thumb hover over the belfie. My Instagram followers would love my butt selfie from the wild. I bet it would get more likes than anything I’ve ever posted.

  The thought
shrivels up and dies inside me, blowing away in the wind of my apathy. I couldn’t care less what anyone likes or doesn’t like about me, let alone these ridiculous poses. That’s not real. The sex pout over my shoulder while I push my ass out with my heels for maximum curvage is the furthest thing from reality. Not like the moments that were never recorded. The laughter and tears Sawyer and I shared. The moments with his arms around me as the world became our own personal snow globe. The meals he pieced together. The sex.

  That was real.

  This, it’s just phony.

  I push the button on the side of my phone, forcing my screen to fade to black. I’m not posting these. I don’t give a shit how many likes it would get. All I care about is him.

  A sudden knock at my door makes me jolt upright in bed and breathe little, shallow puffs of air like I need to ration the oxygen around me.

  Is it him?

  I jump from the plush mattress and cross the floor with the beat of my pulse vibrating through my whole body.

  Did he come back for me?

  I wipe my fingers under my eyes and fix myself up as I reach for the handle. He didn’t run away. He didn’t abandon me. He…

  I open the door.

  “Hey, babe! Say hi to over fifteen thousand of your closest friends. You’re live streaming on Facebook!” Ben doesn’t wait for me to react before pushing past me into the room with his phone inches from my surprised face.

  “What are you doing?” My voice is as dead as my love for him. Flatlined with no hope of revival.

  “Mmm, babe, you’re looking fine. Did you lose a bit of weight out there in the snow? Damn, girl, it looks good on ya! Just make sure you don’t lose that ass, though, am I right?” He turns the cell around to his obnoxious face and licks his lips theatrically. “How about you throw some hearts across my screen if you agree out there, okay? Show my girl some loving, people!” Ben demands to the faceless crowd infringing on my privacy.