Page 3 of Cabin Fever

My breathing picked up. It felt like I was losing oxygen despite my rapid breath.

I was an idiot. Who runs from their wedding during the middle of winter in the mountains of Maine in a wedding dress?

"Why didn't I take Bea up on her offer last night? I could be warm on a beach in St. Croix right now. But I hadn't found out the truth about Derrick yet. Now I'll never see my loving and slightly crazy sister again!"

Because I thought marriage to a man I believed loved me would make me happy. I learned my lesson. Love doesn't equal happiness. In fact, it made life terrible.

I spit on the floor and instantly regretted it. This wasn't my home. How barbaric to invade a residence and spit? What came over me? Just last week I gave the stink eye to my cousin Kiki for adding milk to her teacupbeforepouring in her tea. In my defense, Kiki was a bit of a black sheep. The best way to describe her life was sloppy.

I was ashamed of my actions then, but now I was horrified about how I was treating this stranger's home.

It was to be the happiest day of my life. Instead, the day had fevered my brain and turned me into an uncouth beast—much like the ones trying to gain access to my wooden tomb. I fell to my knees and didn't even care about the stabbing pain in my leg. Monsters were supposed to live in agony. I might as well get used to it.

Hungry, cold, and so very alone, I cried. "This is officially the worst day of my life."

Totally beating out the day, five years ago, when I was twenty-three and Sarah, the chef, was not in the kitchen. I was hungry, so I found a round piece of food on the counter. I figured it was fruit despite the funny smell and after peeling it, I took a bite. That was the day I learned what an onion looked like.

Wiping the tears from my face, I was surprised there were any. I figured I was too dehydrated to produce them.

"I could melt the snow outside to drink if I could only get outside without being attacked."

I leaned my head against the edge of the open cabinet and saw a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I reached inside and felt something hard. Using the minuscule amount of energy I had left from my starved body, I pulled it out.

A can of red beans.

"I've seen movies of old-timey people eating beans from a can."

Hope burst from my chest as I gripped the metal in my fingers. This didn't have splinters, so I kissed it as if it was my high school crush, Jerad, now a New York runway model.

Once my lips were thoroughly bruised and cold, I wondered, "How do I open it?"

I looked for a button or a tab, but there was nothing but a hard lip that didn't peel back. This was a problem. I had food in my hand, but I couldn't get it inside my mouth because there was hard metal in the way.

Maybe if I found a knife, I could stab it open. I got up and searched. Thankfully, I found some weird tool that had gears and a knob. Having no idea how to use the thing, I did notice a sharp curved tip.

I commenced stabbing. But no matter how hard or at what angle I hit the lid, nothing happened to the can—which was obviously forged in hell.

I screamed and gave into my new barbaric ways by throwing in some curse words. That's when I lost it. You'd think everything leading up to this moment would cause me to go insane, but you'd be wrong. I was raised not to succumb to a meltdown unless there was good bourbon to drink, quality crystal to throw, and to make sure the bed was covered in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets for when I needed to roll myself into a cocoon and cry myself to sleep.

There wouldn't be any soft as a butterfly's wing cocoon for me tonight. I'd make do with huddling in a ball, covering myself in a pink parka.

I beat on that can with the metal stabbing tool until I was sweating. When it was thoroughly dented, I moved to the taunting metal lip. After hitting it, I moved my hand back and noticed the can came with me.

Dangling the can in front of me, I gasped. The curved tip punctured a hole on the top edge. All I had to do was puncture several dozen holes and then I could eat!

I worked that tool better than Derrick worked his dick to a Porsche commercial. The guy loved cars.

After a minute, I was able to pull the top off.

"Yes! I won't die tonight."

Not even bothering to look for cutlery, I drove my fingers into the squishy beans and began shoveling them into my mouth. I didn't know if it was the dehydration and lack of food talking, but these tasted like they came from a four-star restaurant. Not five-stars, I wasn't that delusional yet.

I engulfed half the beans when the door flung open. A huge man stood in the doorway with a rifle in one hand and a snarling dog at his feet.

Normally, I wouldn't judge someone on their appearance as my mother taught me that was bad manners, but he looked fierce and scary and like every villain in every cartoon movie I ever saw growing up.

I threw the can at him to defend myself as he stepped forward. He didn't need to duck because I had poor aim and it hit the ground about a foot in front of him. Beans splattered and the dog rushed forward, lapping it up.

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