Page 22 of Lost in the Wild

And… these are fantasies. I know that. Fantasies and no more.

But each word still tastes like truth in my mouth, like I’m not weaving stories in this alley. Like I’m swearing a vow.

My forehead drops down to rest against hers, and I rock my head back and forth. Evie’s eyelids flutter closed, and she’s clinging to my shirt front again.

“Does that have to stay hypothetical?” she asks. “Are you sure?” Her laugh sounds miserable. Strained. “Because I’m down if you are, Wild Man.”

The icy despair is well and truly sunk in my marrow now. So cold. I kiss her gently on the tip of her nose, then both closed eyelids, then her forehead before stepping back.

Evie clings on to my shirt until the last second. Until the fabric threatens to tear. Then she opens her eyes and glares at me, accusing.

“That’s a no, isn’t it?”

Cool air washes over my front where her body just was. I’m used to freezing winds, used to living on the mountain and wandering around without a shirt, bared to the elements, but for the first time in a long time… I shiver.

“You know why I can’t do this.” It hurts to say those words, to watch anger and disappointment flare in her eyes.

Evie raises her chin. “I know no such thing.”

“You deserve better—”

“That’s my choice.”

“I can’t live here, Evie. Not even in this small town. And I can’t sentence you to a life in a cave.”

She folds her arms, pressing them tight to her front. Like she needs a hug, but refuses to show it.

So brave. Braver than me, clearly. Can’t believe I ever underestimated this girl. Her mouth is down-turned, her shoulders tensed with hurt, and still she meets my gaze, unflinching.

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

My head throbs at her words, and all the noise and panic and wasted adrenaline of the day rises up like a tide and threatens to sweep me under. It doesn’t feel like giving up to me—giving up is a choice. I’ve just… reached the end of myself.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape my throat on their way out.

Evie turns on her heel and leaves the alley without another word.

Nine

Evie

Of all the miserable nights in my life, last night definitely made the top five.

There was that time when I broke my wrist playing volleyball as a kid and no one believed me, all so sure I was exaggerating, so I spent the whole night whimpering with pain before the swelling in the morning finally convinced them of the truth.

There was the time that my shitty apartment right out of college sprung a leak right over my bed, and I woke to grimy, gray water dripping on my cheek and soaking my pillow.

There was the time I got up in the night for a glass of water and found a rat the size of a small dog in my kitchen. Same apartment, actually. Nice place. That night I shrieked so loud the neighbors banged on the walls, then I had to chase the rat out with a broom.

Plus there were all those good old-fashioned nights of insomnia, lying awake staring at the ceiling and recounting all the things I’ve ever done in my life that make me cringe with embarrassment and shame. The usual drill.

But you know what? No. Last night takes the cake. It was a top tier suck fest. Lying on that lumpy twin mattress in that echoey hotel room, listening to the pipes gurgle and floorboards settle, replaying every detail of what happened with Rowan over and over until my chest seared with pain… that was the worst night of my life. Bar none.

The anger.

The bitter disappointment.

And the longing.

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