Page 2 of Swept for Forever
“And you didn’t even bother telling me until now?” I said.
He sighed, as ifhewere the one let down. “I knew you’d be upset. That’s why I didn’t want to do this now.”
“Oh? So, when would have been a better time, Jimmy? After we’d pitched the tent? After we were halfway up the fucking mountain?”
“Autumn, come on. Don’t make it worse.”
I laughed. “Right. Of course.I’mthe problem now.”
“I’m just saying. You’ll be fine. You’re not like any girl. You’ve got a tough heart.”
There it was. The line. The excuse.
I was tough, so it was okay to ditch me. Tough, so he didn’t have to feel guilty. I could take it, right? That was the unspoken deal. He got to walk away clean.
I inhaled. “Jimmy, I still love you.”
He made a strangled sound. “Autumn, I care about you, even if this isn’t working. I’ll always look back on the good stuff.”
I stuck my tongue out and made a panting sound.
“What was that?” he yelped.
“That was the sound of a lapdog,” I said flatly. And before he could gather enough brain cells to argue, I added, “And that was me bullshitting you. Because I’m not your lapdog!”
I straightened as I let it carry into my voice. But inside, I was shaking my head.Thinking about letting him pop my cherry?Might as well have handed it over to a vending machine and hoped for the best. At least a Snickers wouldn’t have ghosted me on my birthday.
“And you know what? Do me a favor, Jimmy.”
“Autumn—”
“Lose my number.”
I ended the call, dropped my phone in my crossbody bag, and stared at the dirt path ahead.
My mother would be halfway home to Idaho Falls by now. She’d woken up early just for me, and she had work this afternoon. I wasn’t calling her back.
Besides, for all his crap about me having a “tough heart,” that bastard Jimmy never really thought I could handle this trail. A multi-day hike? Please. He’d dropped hints more than once.It’s brutal out there, Autumn. I won’t let you go alone. People get hurt all the time.Yeah, no kidding.
I scoffed, taking my first steps. “Watch me!”
Who needed a double-crossing, trail-dodging human toenail?
I had supplies and equipment. And I was the one in charge of bringing the backup lightweight tent. A whole tent, all to myself. No waking up to a faceful of his morning stink. I’d have enough space to starfish without sharing sweat space.
I tightened the straps of my backpack, rolling my shoulders as I trekked along.
For the first few hours, the hike felt more like a victory lap. The trail climbed in steady switchbacks, and even with the extra weight strapped to me, my steps felt strong. The rhythm of hiking—foot forward, push, breathe—settled into my stride.
The trees swayed in the breeze, birds flitted through the canopy, and for a while, I forgot about everything.
Just me and the wild.
Soon, the ascent started. My thighs burned on the inclines, and my breath came quicker. The path narrowed, overgrown in places, forcing me to maneuver around loose rocks.
I slackened my steps, glancing up. The sky had dimmed slightly, and the afternoon had shifted into something cooler.
Still fine. Time to channel Mr. Keating, my motor controllecturer and part-time philosopher, and finally make his course useful.
