Page 2 of The Cabin

Great, okay, let’s try again. One.A pause. I smack my arm as a mosquito injects its itchy poison into me.Two.The crickets are so effing loud. What happened to nature being calm and peaceful? Three. Bubbly water issooverrated. And expensive. Actually, my summer pay should be hitting my bank account by Thursday. I should plan a beach trip for when I get back. I could go with my mom, but I don’t really feel like fielding any questions on dating again. Uh, four… Why can’t people just leave me alone? Women can be single. Women are strong, beautiful, vivacious creatures who do not need a partner in their life to be complete! I do miss intimacy, though. Knowing someone and feeling connected. Did Brian and I really ever have that? Or did I just pretend we did?

Oh, for fucks sake.

“This is stupid.” I huff, shoving the papers away from me. My shoulders slump and I lay my head on the table. How am I supposed to survive two fucking weeks of this? Did I think I was going to meditate and color my way through a divorce? A divorce that started two years ago, that I still am not over? Judging by the contents of the pink gym bag closest to me (that had never been used as a gym bag, by the way), yes, I did think seven different adult coloring books were going to miraculously change the state of my mental health. My therapist Joanna will have a lot to say about this whenever I get back to civilization.

Well, I guess I’ll have to attempt to check ‘become Picasso and solve all my problems’ off my list tomorrow. Sleep is my newest goal, which seems pretty achievable. Maybe accomplishing something will kickstart my motivation to piece my life back together. That logic seems sound.

I rummage through even more overnight bags and find something to sleep in. My socked feet make almost no sound as I cross the makeshift living room and cozy into my bunk. All I need is a good night’s rest, and I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow, ready to become one with the earth and engage in color therapy until my fingers fall off! I can do this. I can be the kind of woman who isn’t nauseated at the thought of having to spend time in her own company. I can read books, and journal, and go on hikes. I can take aesthetic photos sipping coffee on my porch in the middle of the woods. I can have beautiful, flowing hair, and a smile that is so carefree it makes you sick! I can do that.

Right?

Chapter 2

Bright sunshine filters through the window by my bunk and my eyes flutter open. I’m stiff and smothered under four or five afghans that smell like whatever crawled into the fire and died, first rolled around in them for several hours. Sleep never really came. I was cold, and every sound made me think I was about to be murdered. I even thought I heard a car pull into the property on the other side of the creek, but that place has been abandoned for years. I’d been holding in my pee all night because I was too scared to adventure towards the outhouse in the dark, and to top it all off, my flashlight died right after I crawled into bed. My only options were to stare at the dark ceiling and spiral, or stare at the dark walls and spiral. And spiral, I did. Definitely not the healing peace and tranquility I was hoping for.

With a grunt and a huge amount of effort, I stumble out of my afghan cave and beeline for the front door. It’s a fresh, brisk morning with birds chirping in the trees nearby. The filtered sunshine feels nice on my skin as I make my short trek through the dew-soaked grass to the outhouse, grateful to finally empty my bladder. I am going to have to figure out the fire situation, that’s for sure. And I definitely need to head into town for some supplies, specifically some new blankets. I’m trying not to get too discouraged. Night one did not go as planned, but I still have fourteen days ahead of me, surrounded by nothing but trees, water, and sunshine. I can spend hours reading, doing puzzles, hiking, meditating, coloring, and connecting with the woman I’ve gotten so lost from.

I am just about to go back inside to change when I notice smoke billowing from the chimney of the cabin across the way. I immediately feel a little spooked. No one has used or rented that building in all the years I spent coming here. I’m pretty sure the McKenzie’s own it, but they’d long since let it waste away in favor of their big fancy lake house a little further down the mountain. We used to dare each other to look inside the windows. Cruz would always scare me with a story about a woman with no eyes, rocking back and forth in her chair, waiting for little children to come and play with her.

I can’t remember if Dad mentioned any new neighbors when I spoke to him on the phone on my way up here or not.

Deciding to go in and change into something a little less ‘cavewoman who smells like dead carcass chic’ before checking things out, I head back into the cabin where I’m painfully reminded yet again of the issue with the coal stove.

“God, that’s awful.” I mutter under my breath, sifting through my bags, hoping to find some fresh clothing to throw on. I catch a rare sight of myself in the old, cracked mirror hanging above where I left my bags last night. I can’t believe how long my hair has gotten, currently hanging in a limp, messy ponytail resulting from the tossing and turning I did throughout the night. The random strands of gray are subtle, and a not-so-gentle reminder of my life wasting away before my eyes. I don’t mind getting older. I do mind having nothing to show for it.

Digging through my bag produces zero fun, influencer-esque hiking ensembles. I’ve just packed mountains upon mountains of leggings and t-shirts. I can’t remember the last time I rocked anything other than ‘cavewoman chic’, but I’m becoming more and more aware of how much of the dead animal smell had transferred onto me during my not-so-peaceful slumber.

Swapping out my sleep t-shirt and leggings for my day time t-shirt and leggings, I make a mental note to also take a shower at the YMCA whenever I head into town.

Dead leaves and branches crunch under my feet on my way towards the creek. From the bank, the smoke billowing from the chimney of the cabin across the way is even more visible. I tread carefully, stepping on large slippery rocks and holding my arms out for balance. The creek is shallow, dried up from weeks without rain.

Hundreds of moments flicker through my mind. Cruz and I racing boats down the water. Our dad showing us how to build a make-shift dam with items from the woods around us. Mom calling us for dinner, grumbling about having to mop up the puddles we tracked inside. Those memories feel warm. They feel happy. I can’t remember the last time I made a happy memory. My wedding day? My shoulders sag. That seems kind of sad, considering how that turned out.

The old, abandoned cabin is even more dilapidated than I realized. The roof has a sizable chunk taken out of it, and most of the windows are shattered. It’s way darker here, more trees covering overhead, and I’m starting to get a bit creeped out again.My God, Sol. There’s no wickedbrujawaiting for you inside, relax.

Mud squishes under my boots as I circle around to the front door. The porch is still standing, with just a few holes creating something of a minefield leading to the entrance. As nimbly as possible, I maneuver my way across and take a deep breath. As soon as I get cell service again, I’m calling Cruz. What an asshat. Twenty-eight years old and my brother still has me nervous as fuck to be up here.

Knock, knock, knock,I rap three times on the old door. Its paint is chipping off pretty badly, but you can still see remnants of the rich blue color it once was. I wait a few minutes but nobody answers the door. Why wouldn’t they answer? Maybe they’re hurt?Or maybe it’s because she doesn’t have any eyes and can’t make it to the door.A little shiver runs down my sides. I am so going to murder Cruz.

Around the side of the house, I find a window still holding on to its glass. I wipe away some of the dust, take another attempt at settling my breath, and peer inside. The inside is pretty dirty, but there is a large roaring fire. Seems a little strange that they have a roaring fire going midday in June, but who am I to judge? At least they know how to use their fireplace, unlike me.

Could be burning a dead body…

We’re gonna lock that thought right up.

There’s a backpack sitting on an old plastic folding table with a variety of sneakers and boots piled underneath. Someone is staying here. Here, though, of all places? Why not rent Mackenzie’s nicer place down the way? They take great care of that one and Hugh hasn’t been able to come up since his hip surgery. The place is probably begging for people to rent it.

Maybe the backpack owner is a squatter.

Gonna lock that one up too.

I haven’t thought about the Mackenzie’s in years, especially Hugh. He was a great man, taught my dad a lot about being up in these woods. He also had the biggest smile and the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard. We would roast marshmallows with the Mackenzie’s most weekend nights during the summers. And they had jet skis for the lake, so we spent a lot of time together. I wouldn’t have even known about Hugh’s surgery if my dad hadn’t mentioned it on our phone call yesterday. I’d become so self-consumed in my own wallowing that I hardly know anything about the important people in my life. I shake my head, starting to feel overwhelmed by the mess I’ve made of things.

“Disappointed?” I hear a deep, rich voice, followed by a small chuckle. My whole body jumps and an embarrassingly high-pitched squawk escapes my lips. Comically fast, I whip around, hand over my heart, hoping to God it’s not an old, eyeless witch waiting for me.

My eyes widen.Damn.Big wow. Big, big wow.The man standing in front of me is easily the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in real life. He’s holding a large stack of firewood I’m assuming he just chopped, and I cannot help but stare. He’s tall, his dark hair tousled in a way that feels unrealistically perfect. Especially for having just chopped a bunch of wood. He has thick brows and the beginnings of a strong beard growing over his cut jawline. The muscles in his arms bulge under the weight of the wood he’s carrying, his large hands gripping it tightly. He’sshirtless, sweat glistening on his chest.

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