Page 45 of Fate Fiction

My eyes were growing heavy, the bed was painfully tempting. I stifled a yawn, and Evan did the same.

I could relax, at least for a bit.

I leaned back on the bed, “I’m gonna lay down for a few minutes, I promise you I’m not falling asleep.”

I drifted off the second my head hit the pillow.

nine

. . .

Tuesday, June 3

A breeze sent brush skittering across the cabin floor, rousing me from sleep. I opened an eye, the other half of my face still smushed into my pillow. Violet daylight cast over the lake and surrounding mountains, my view was unobstructed thanks to the open door. The door was still wide open and aside from the aforementioned debris that had blown in from outside the cabin was otherwise untouched. No family of skunks had settled in for the night, thank god.

I laid unmoving on the bed, allowing my body to slowly stretch itself into waking. Soft, rhythmic breathing came from beside me. It wasn’t the squirrel, or a bear, or a moose.

It was something far more terrifying.

There was a solid, warm arm pressing against mine. A familiar scent perfuming the air with pine soap. A leg brushing against me.

I wouldn’t look. I didn’t want to verify my suspicions. The body stirred, settling in closer to me. Both of us were laying on top of the blankets and the morning air was brisk. The body was curled up into a tight ball. I shuddered and pulled my hood up over my head. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself asleep again. My heart rate slowed from its brisk sprint as the wind rustling the trees lulled me back into unconsciousness.

My eyes fluttered open again. Time had passed, I’m not sure how long.

The now empty space beside me smelled like Evan. On instinct, my hand went to touch the divot where he had laid.

It was still warm.

Fuck.

Something happened last night once the chaos had died down.

Neither of us touched, I was certain of that. But we’d crossed a line so quiet, so intimate, that I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I’d chase a few more hours of sleep to put this horrifying reality aside for a bit.

Because there was zero chance I’d just lived through the one bed trope with Evan McLeod.

The sun climbed higher in the sky and I woke up again.

Evan’s smell had fully faded from the sheets, as did much of my initial panic about what had occurred the previous night.

It was much easier to pretend it was all a bizarre dream. The convergence of too little sleep, stress, and something I ate.

In what universe would Evan sleep next to me after…after what? Chasing a squirrel out of the cabin? That didn’t happen, things like that didn’t happen in real life, to real people.

I was a walking mess of every trope in the book, an empty camp shared between the two of us and now we managed to wind up in one bed?

If I read that fanfic I’d roll my eyes at how many tropes the author tried stuffing into it.

Not that it mattered now, it’s not like we woke up face to face, it’s not like we even did anything. At this point I couldn’t even be sure he was there next to me. As far as I was concerned, my subconscious crafted an elaborate fantasy, expertly designed to unpack these complex feelings I had.

It was a new day now, one with no agenda. It would be easy to lay low on a day like this. I could lazily spend hours reading on the dock and swimming or escaping to my beach, but first I needed to shake the thoughts out. The only way to do so would be by running away from the problem in the cabin next door.

Sure, Evan knew that I craved this form of escapism, and he might have mocked it. But I had few other options to clear my head otherwise.

I stood up out of bed, a dull pinpoint of pain in my ankle. The injury had blossomed into an abstract purple bruise, but no swelling. I jumped up and down a few times, the pain was minimal. I could still run, thank god. I desperately needed to.