Epilogue
VIOLET
I've learned four things in the past eight hours.
One, I love three men so much I was too distracted to follow safety procedures on a risky hike.
Two, never ever judge a hill by what you think the incline looks like.
Three, next time I hurt myself, I need to make sure it's not a mile and a half into a hike.
And four, not every stick can be a walking stick—I learned this one by face planting six times due to shitty sticks.
Oh and five, pain and frustration really brings out my potty mouth.
Which is probably why when my car comes into view, glowing like a knight in shining armor through the trees, I rasp, "Halle-fucking-lejuh!"
It's not my cutest moment, dragging myself out of the hiking trail with a walking stick that truly looks like something out of a horror movie. Hell, I'm sure I look like something that crawls out of a horror movie too. I sure feel like it.
I've contemplated framing my fanny pack for keeping my keys and phone safe, but I imagine I won't trust another besides this one. Miss Fanny is worse for wear, but she's not out of commission.
She's at the peak of her career, thank you very much.
Outside of my car at last, I see my water bottle winking at me in the sunlight, and I cry for it.
Another thing I've learned, when I think I've cried too much, there's always more to cry about.
My eyes feel like I've cried the whole time I've been out here.
Hands shaking, I battle my fanny pack to let my keys free. I appreciate the determination to keep them locked up tight, but I need them. Wrestling and cursing a bag also isn't my finest moment, but I'm desperate for safety.
"Just fucking open!" I screech, and my car clicks in response.
Gasping out a breath of relief, I yank the door open and fling myself inside.
Obviously, I hurt my ribs and ankle, but I don't give two shits because I'm alive.
I'm safe. Probably will get my ass spanked, but I am totally and a million percent proud of myself for getting myself out of that scary situation alone.
That was life and death, and I conquered that shit.
Blowing a raspberry to calm myself and tone the rage down now that I'm okay, I start my car. "AH!" I bellow, half in pain and half in fear, as my radio blasts to life like I was at a fucking concert.
Clearly, I went into that hike with a different vibe.
"Jesus fuck," I mumble, hitting mute. Cussing feels good. I pull my phone out.
SERVICE! I have service!
Then I see all the messages and notifications waiting for me. My chapped lips don't love the way I eat the skin in nervousness, but they're lucky because a new voicemail pings and I smile.
It's from Jamie. I'll listen to the new one quickly, then call him back. Are they worried? It will be nice to know whether they care that much. I could really use the love right now.
I hit play.
"She found out what we did. She ran again. I knew I shouldn't have felt bad for sleeping with Jamie to get back at her. How could she do this? She couldn't have. She cares about us. I know she does. We do too. We love her!"
Is my face numb? My hands are moving. Three numbers are now blocked on my phone, and I don't remember doing it. The car is in drive, and I still can't feel my face.
My ankle tingles, as do my ribs. Is that what's anchoring me to the world? Because I'm starting to wonder why I even climbed up that godforsaken hill.
The GPS is on. It wasn't an active choice. Consciously, I would maybe throw myself down that hill again. Subconsciously, I just want my mom. Subconscious won.
I just want my mom.