Alone, in the morning

Waking up slowly, your eyes opened to the tent wall. The sun was already shining through the yellow material. What time was it?

There were memories of last night in your head, just there, running through your brain. There was no flood of realization of what happened last night, you knew it did. Squinting as hard as you could did nothing to remove them, nor the tingling between your legs.

"Dad?" you called out, not turning over, not ready to face him.

The only answer was silence.

"Dad?" you called out again, this time turning to see an empty tent, just as it had been when you fell asleep.

Where was he? Did he return last night? Had something happened to him? There were no sounds of anyone moving about outside the tent. Your heart was beating faster. Was it the worry speaking, or the ever inconvenient and mounting arousal?

No time to clean up. No time to properly dress. You fumble with the zipper on the tent door until you manage to rip it open.

"Dad!?"

The sun had long broken the horizon and was nearly noon by the looks of it. The camp was empty and untouched. No cooking food, no fire even, the furniture was where you left it, everything was as it had been.

You stepped out off of the tarp, forgetting your sandals completely. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your chest was heaving, and you felt sick to your stomach; the worry was definitely speaking now.

Your dad was nowhere to be seen. Had he gotten lost? Injured himself? Had he...gone?

Surely he wouldn't, even after last night. Would you have heard?

You spin around and the car is...