Page 31 of Wild for You
Heaving breathlessly, I finally make it to the waterfall. I’m running full speed ahead, ready to shoot my one and only shot, when my foot sinks into a mud puddle. Only, when I try to pull it out, it’s like a Chinese finger trap, squeezing my foot harder the more I struggle.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now!?” I scream as I try to yank my foot free, but the plane is moving farther away. I know what I have to do, and although the circumstances aren’t ideal, this is my moment to save us.
I stand up as straight as I can, point the flare toward the sky and hold my breath as I pull the trigger on one, two, thr—
“Gwen, stop!” I hear Jack’s voice and turn to find him running toward me right before I pull the trigger. My foot sinks lower into an air pocket or something, causing me to fall on my ass in the mud.
In a matter of seconds, our chance at survival is completely lost, and I’m rapidly sinking into a huge pile of what smells like shit, but what my kindergarten education tells me is quicksand. I struggle to pull myself out, but it’s no use. The more I fight, the faster the mud swallows me whole.
Suddenly, my fond feelings toward Jack are pissed away, just like our chances of survival. The mud slinks up my neck, and my arms are completely buried by now. “You fucking idiot!” I scream. “You distracted me and ruined our chance of survival!”
Jack’s doubled over, clearly winded from his own sprint up the hill. I’m surprised to hear him chuckling as he clicks on the camera and places it on a tripod across from me.
“Well, Bro-Tatoes, it seems our Gwenny-Poo has found herself in a bit of pickle.” He squats down next to me as the mud rises to my chin.
“Stop filming me! I do not consent to this!” I spit a disgusting wad of sand from my mouth in his direction. “I was about to save our lives, you jerk!”
Jack laughs again. “Oh, Gwenny, that was a commercial aircraft, flying more than thirty thousand feet high. There’s no way they’d even see the tiny flare from that high, much less do anything about it. They’re on auto-pilot, baby. You can thankmefor distracting you.”
“You’re such an ass!” I say, turning my chin up to keep my mouth and nose above the rapidly rising sand. “Help me out of here. It smells like ass cheese and diarrhea!”
“Ass cheese and diarrhea? That’s a unique combo.” He’s squatting next to me now, no doubt enjoying this far too much. “If you want my help, all you have to do is say, ‘Jack, I need you’, and I’ll save you,” he singsongs.
I hurt my eyes from rolling them so hard, and for a moment, I contemplate if being eaten alive by Satan’s asshole is how I want to go out, but when the sand rises higher, getting in my mouth, I finally cave. I exhale, repeating his phrase as quietly as possible.
“Oh, babe, I didn’t hear you? Could you please repeat that for the viewers at home?” Jack teases.
“Fine!” I scream. “Jack, I need you!” just as the sand rises over my face.
He only waits a moment before I feel his strong arms on me, pulling me out of the shit hole into safety.
As he drags me out, my feelings for the golden man brimming with sunshine fade to more of a turd-stained skid mark.
“I hate you,” I heave once free from the sand-sphincter.
“You’re welcome, Gwenny-Poo.” Jack laughs as he tells the camera what to do in the event that you find yourself alone in quicksand.
I guess I really should’ve watched the show ahead of time.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Jack
Last night wasthe most fun I’ve had in a very long time, and I slept like a Goddamn baby, despite my ever-growing blue balls that seem to be my body’s new normal. So you can imagine my surprise when I was awakened by the sound of Gwen digging through my backpack.
At first, I thought she was looking for a snack or something, but when I saw her pull out the flare gun, pointing it around like she was afraid it would go off at any moment just because she was holding it, I had to follow her to see what she was up to.
And I’m happy as fuck that I did.
“I’ll take this.” I carefully remove the muddy flare gun from her grip, placing it safely in my backpack, saying a silent prayer of thanks that she didn’t completely ruin our chances of being saved. “Come on.” I offer her my hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You smell like a turd covered in burned hair.”
She rolls her eyes, ignoring my extended hand, and pushes herself up. “I don’t think I need any more help from you,” she huffs. “I hope you got the footage you needed.”
I know she’s being passive-aggressive, but I don’t bite. “Actually, yeah, this was great.” I gesture to the sinkhole behind me as I gently steer her along the trail I made on the way here. “I never thought I’d get actual raw footage of something like that. Besides, you should’ve seen your face right before you went under.” I laugh. “I can already see the memes!”
“Well, isn’t that wonderful? I’m sure Sandra will be so proud to have Éclat representation in the form of near-death by suffocation.”
“I agree. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I laugh. I know she’s mad right now and probably a little embarrassed, but the way I see it, I’ve just saved her life thrice. How many more times before she stops fighting and finally trusts me?
