“Hey, buddy!”
Rolling my eyes, I glance to the left, where the sound of the chipper fucking voice came from. My gaze collides with familiar mossy green ones that seem to make my insides churn and flutter at the same fucking time.
When it becomes clear I’m not going to respond, he continues—because why the hell wouldn’t he? Chatty fucking Cathy. “I already got our camping gear.” He holds up the bag as if to prove it. “You ready?”
“I fucking guess,” I grumble.
“Oh, cheer up, you grump. It’ll be fun.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Why don’t you mind your business and not fucking tell me what to do, princess.”
I rip the bag from his grip, slinging it over my left shoulder before heading toward the door that leads outside. No amount of bitching about this is going to make it go away, so may as well get it over with.
What feels like a blanket of hot, moist air welcomes me. Lovely. Because I totally want to trek through the damn jungle in high humidity and heat. This is such bullshit.
The terrain is wide and deep. I’m not even sure how big the area is, but it’s large enough that we’re all able to go separate ways once we begin. Mine and Rowan’s color for this activity is orange, so we have to follow all the markers of that color as we make our way through the space. It’s mid-afternoon, so we should have plenty of time before dusk. The plan is to hike until we find our designated campsite—they never told us how far that would be, but my guess is quite a few miles—and from there, we’re to set up our tent, build a fire, and apparently twiddle our thumbs after that.
Like I said… pointless.
We’ve only been walking for about five minutes when Rowan speaks up. “So, what have you been up to for the last few days?”
“Absolutely fucking nothing,” I mutter. “What the fuck is there to do here? I went to the gym, I ate, and I sat in my room.”
“You’re so hot and cold,” he mumbles, the words spoken so quietly, I’m not even sure if he meant for me to hear them. “Moody. Some days, you’re nice, and others, you’re insufferable. Why is that?”
I don’t bother answering. Surely, that’s a rhetorical question. But that doesn’t deter Rowan.
“Did you know that over half the world’s plant and animal species live in jungles?”
My face screws up at the utter randomness that is that fact. “Uh, no? Why do you?”
“Learned it in school. Also, did you know that camping can reduce stress and depression?”
I glance over at him; his eyes are wide and full of glee. It’s nauseating. “Says who?” I ask, not sure why I’m engaging.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Scientists, I’m sure. Snails are capable of hibernating in their shells for up to three years… isn’t that wild?”
If my eyes roll any harder, they’re going to get stuck. “Sure.”
“Yeah, and men account for nearly seventy-five percent of camping deaths at US National Parks.”
“Oh, my God. Will you shut the fuck up? We’ve been walking for less than ten minutes, and if you keep this up, I’m going to add you to that fucking statistic.”
“Well, technically, we’re not in the United—”
“Shut the fuck up, Rowan!”
A little whimper escapes him, and I fight the urge to look over. He’s so fucking annoying sometimes. The way my body and mind react to him is even more aggravating. Like I can’t stand him half the time… until I can’t stand to not be around him. It makes zero fucking sense. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
Thankfully, he heeds my threat and stays quiet while we make our way deeper into the jungle. At least the farther we seem to go, the cooler it becomes. The massive, thick trees block out most of the sunlight.
I don’t know how much time has passed or how long we’ve been walking, but we still haven’t found our campsite. Had it not been for the orange markers every thirty or so feet, I’d think we were lost. Nope, apparently, it’s just really fucking deep.
“So, do you think that old lady told the dean what she saw when she caught us?”
“I don’t think he’s a dean, Rowan. This isn’t college. It’s rehab.”
“Well, I don’t know what his title is otherwise. Warden?”
