MR Day 11 - Wake up

You wake up sweaty and panting… and sore.

“Fuck,” you mutter in the dim, morning light as you sit up in the awful little cot in the shack by the lake. You look around groggily, trying to figure out what’s going on. You remember last night, but you’re alone now. She bailed, huh?

“Oh, God.” You’re naked, and you have some bruises on your body. You remember that dream where you fell into a creek, and you remember the sex last night. Was it that rough? You shake your head and get up, feeling terrible. Last night was not restful, and that dream? That was fucked up.

You’re really feeling weird and uneasy. You get dressed and go out to find it already getting warm outside. Some girls are up and about, dealing with the fact that they’re stuck at this camp.

You stand there, sore, depressed, and still a little scared, watching them. This is miserable. But how stuck are you, really? There are only those four counselors watching, and they aren’t the most professional. Like, you did sleep with one of them last night.

You could go take a shower, put on clean clothes, and then eat a depressing breakfast in the ramshackle dining hall. Or you could get out of here. It looks like it’s going to rain, and that helps you make up your mind. You hate to bail on your team when you should be thinking about the coming week, but after last night you are a mess. Fuck this place.

You take a deep breath, then jog into the woods, heading for the road and putting your body to the test. You’re a little hung over, bruised, hungry and thirsty, but you are a good athlete. You make good time running back to camp, where you expect to have to sneak, but the rain has started. Very few people are moving around.

You head to Michelle’s cabin and knock on the door, dripping on the doormat.

She opens up after a minute, and it’s obvious that you’ve woken her up. It’s Saturday, after all. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and maybe nothing else, and her hair’s a mess. But she could be covered in mud and you wouldn’t care. You throw your arms around her soft body and squeeze.

“Oh my God!” she says, shocked. But she recovers and awkwardly gets you inside, closing the door. “Riley? What’s wrong?”

You just hug her. You lost the game. Got drunk. Fucked some camp counselor. Had nightmares. Woke up with bruises.

“I need a shower,” you mumble into her neck.

“OK,” she says.

You go to her bathroom and strip, then climb in and turn the water on hot. The room fills with steam, and you feel a little better as you get clean. You come out in a towel to find the cabin empty. Where’d she go? She’s not going to report you or something for running away from Crystal Lake? Come on, you just needed a break. You’ll go back before anyone notices you’re gone.

Michelle returns a minute later, and she’s brought breakfast.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say to her, feeling close to tears.

“You bet your ass you don’t,” she says. “You’re dripping on my carpet.”

You sit with her at the cabin’s tiny table and eat. You tell her about last night. She just sighs.

“You have always done this, Riley. You’ve always been too hard on yourself. It’s not all about you. It’s not your fault that FUTA plays these games and that they made you a captain on their own and only gave you a week to get your shit together. You won’t win them all,” she says. “You can’t.”

She’s right.