Page 9 of Lost in the Wild

“But the wolves,” she says. “You can’t go back out there. Not now that it’s dark.”

Out on the mountain, ghostly howls ring out in agreement.

“I live here. It’ll be fine.”

Evie flaps a hand. “Just swivel the tub around so the back is to the fire. It’s not a big deal, is it?”

Not a big deal? Having this girl nearby, naked? Knowing her wet, soapy skin is bared in my cave? Hearing the slosh and splash as she washes herself, and-and picturing things?

“No.” My head rings as I march to the tub and yank it around. “It’s not a big deal.”

* * *

“You have to admit, it’s a strange life choice.”

Once this girl starts chatting, she never stops—not even as she washes herself in the turned bathtub, her voice bouncing off the cave wall.

“I knew this guy once, this finance bro in my building who had, like, a mental breakdown and sold all his belongings to go trekking through Nepal. Shaved his head and everything, and spent a whole year at a monastery sweeping floors and counting grains of rice. Is that what happened to you?”

My breath gusts out of me as I turn under the icy spray of the waterfall, scrubbing at my chest with a second bar of soap. It’s so cold that my skin has pebbled all over, and a headache squeezes my skull as I wash myself clean. Dirty water sluices down my arms, my stomach, my thighs.

She’s seen me covered in grime all day. I scowl at the dancing fire.

“No, I did not become a monk.”

Though as my cock bobs in the cool air, aching from Evie’s distant torture, it sure feels like I did.

The bathtub is turned away. She can’t see me; I can’t see her. But my body is still keenly aware that Evie is naked, my shaft saluting the candle-lit cave without shame.

“If I had a meltdown,” Evie says, dropping the soap with a plop, “I think I’d go the other way. You know, join a commune or a cult or something like that, and surround myself with people twenty-four-seven. Guess I’m too needy for the wild man thing.”

“It wasn’t a…”

My words trail off, icy water drumming against my shoulders. It wasn’t a meltdown? Am I sure?

Because what else would you call this—running away from everything and everyone I know, and setting up a bachelor pad in a mountain cave? Growing out my beard and hair until I look like a hobo? Making a list of top fifty folktales and urban legends? Fuck. This girl is shining a light on my choices, and I don’t like it.

“That waterfall must be freezing. You can use the bath after me if you like. It’s still hot.”

I dunk my face under the spray, praying I might drown.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to society?” Evie asks.

“No.”

My answer is blunt, final. Bordering on rude. For the first time since I scooped her up in the forest, Evie falls quiet, the water sloshing as she bathes.

Silence stretches. And I’ve always liked the quiet, always liked being left with my own thoughts, but something about this particular silence makes me want to howl like the wolves on the neighboring mountain. Scrubbing harder with the soap, I leave reddened patches on my skin, then toss the bar to the ground and start on my hair.

The waterfall pounds into the plunge pool outside the cave.

The fire pops; the logs sigh. The breeze rustles the tree line.

Nothing. Not another word from Evie.

My stomach is tense.

But… is this so bad? I’ve been privately wishing she’d stop talking for a while, and now my wish has come true. Swallowing hard, I work my fingers through the worst of the knots in my hair, tugging until my scalp stings.

---