Page 773 of Love Bites

But it wasn’t until spring that she’d discovered the lodge tucked away in the mountains near the lake. The no hunting made sense now. With the business nearby, it would be dangerous for hunters to be roaming these woods.

Still. It didn’t keep the guns away entirely. There was the occasional poacher from time to time. That was how she’d come into possession of one of the most disgusting things she’d ever had to utilize in her years in the woods. And that was saying something, considering she’d run out of toilet paper several times.

Doe urine. Hunters used it to attract bucks. She’d used it to mask her scent when she needed to go near the lodge.

Clara approached the steaming springs, scanning her surroundings to make sure there wasn’t anyone around. She closed her eyes and listened closely, tuning her ears to the sounds of the forest. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She breathed in the moist mountain air, holding it a few seconds before pushing it back out.

She was alone. Just as she wanted to be.

She opened her eyes, slipping the backpack from her shoulder, and her skink from the other one. She set them both on a nearby rock. Skink scurried into a golden sunray and his eyes closed.

Digging through her supplies, she found the soap and began stripping off her clothes. She’d wash the deer scent off her body first, then from her clothes. She brought the items to her nose, testing.

The pungent odor hit her like a punch. She jerked her head back and coughed, gagging.

Or maybe she’d just throw them away.

But no, she needed the jeans. Pants that fit her short legs were hard to find, and she’d need them desperately come winter.

She took the clothes and soap with her to the water and slowly waded in. The heat felt good on her sore muscles. She needed more vitamin B. More greens. She ate the edible ones in the forest, but she’d look at the lodge next time. They probably had fresh spinach.

After setting the smelly clothes on the ground next to the springs, Clara dunked her head beneath the surface of the gurgling water, wetting her thick hair. The harsh, unscented soap was bad for her coarse Latina strands, but she was desperate to get the deer attractant off of her. She smelled like hundred-year-old piss. She’d take the frizzy hair over that any day of the week.

She worked up a lather and spread it through her hair, massaging it all the way down to her scalp. Then she made sure to cover every inch of her body with it.

“Take that, old piss,” she muttered, rinsing with the warm water.

She leaned back against the rock, lifting one leg in the air to examine it. Damn. She’d forgotten to look for a razor at the lodge. Finding one that hadn’t been used already was going to be tricky, but her old one couldn’t cut a peach’s fuzz. And besides, she was up for the challenge. The hardest to find items gave her the most satisfaction. It was like a weird game of scavenger hunt. More points for the impossible finds.

She’d give it a few days though, because the thought of donning doe urine again so soon made her want to hurl.

Using the soap and a rock, she scrubbed her clothes clean, giving up on the tank top. Then she wrung them out and set them in the sun to dry. Resting on the rock next to her skink, she let the remaining rays of sun lap up the water from her body.

Closing her eyes, she felt herself relax in the woods that had become a home for her. The woods that had taken her in and comforted her after she’d been tossed into an unavoidable tragedy.

No. Don’t think about it.

The screech of a bird in the sky above had her jerking her eyes open. It was too close to the sound of a baby crying. A flock of them followed, reminding her of her own crying, and the crying of others. There had been so many tears. So many aching wails. So much pain.

The sun reflecting off the surface of the water did nothing to warm her. It sent a chill down her spine. It looked like twisted metal. The drip, drip, drip of the water falling from her hair onto the rock below reminded her of—

No. There was no remembering the past in her woods. There was only moving forward. Surviving. And finding peace in her situation. There was only the basics. Never again would she allow material things to distract her from the important parts of life.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her two ratted notebooks. They were identical on the outside, but inside, they contained very different writings. She opened the one that had a pen sticking out of the spiral, and flipped to a blank page.

Today was a good day. Cool nights have arrived, but I don’t dread the coming winter as much as I usually might. I’ll miss Skink and the animals of course, but still, after living in the woods for all this time, I’ve never been more sure that this is what my life should be. I have no desire to reinsert myself back into humanity. I’m a woman in love. With the solitude. With the loneliness. I’m as happy as I deserve to be. It was a good day.

Clara closed the notebook. Record keeping was also important for hermitting. With no one around to witness her life but herself, it was crucial to write everything down. Not because anyone would come along and read it, but for herself. Countless times, she’d read back through her journals and found memories she’d already forgotten. In some strange way, it kept her feeling… real. It reminded her she existed even though she’d done her best to appear like she didn’t.

Being a ghost was hard.

Clara laid back on the rock, sighing. She’d rest for just a while. Then she’d head back to her camp and cook up those potatoes. She needed to carb load. Feed that layer of fat that would keep her alive through the cold months. And with the discovery of the lodge, this was going to be her easiest winter yet.

Clara smiled. Life was good.

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