Chapter 2
Briana
Last Monday Morning
On the east side of the mountain, orange beams of sunlight snake through the wet leaves before landing on my face. Shaking off the chill, I roll up my sleeping bag and begin breaking down the tent.
Thank God Andrea’s still asleep. At least I won’t need to rehash last night’s argument.
Six hours into the hike, her words still loop like a stuck podcast. “He’s so sweet. Nothing personal, but you’re… well, you’re cold. Indifferent.”
Learning she’d slept with my previous boyfriend left me speechless. Of course, she took my silence as an opening to cut deeper. “Not only that, he said you’re way too independent. Too direct. Well, let’s face it, hun. You’re butch.”
“Fuckin' Brett. Fuckin' Andrea. Stupid job. My life blows, dammit.” Once I shove a few breakfast bars into my backpack, I adjust its weight onto my shoulders, ready to head down the trail.
Certain she’s not following, I fish out my phone, open the AI therapy app, and tap the mic icon. “Hey, Herman.”
There's a half-second pause before the familiar voice breaks the dead air. “Hi, Bree. It’s been a few. How ya doin’?”
“Oh, peachy.” I halt, my voice catching. “My best friend told me she was screwing my ex while we were still a couple.”
“Ouch.” It waits for my input.
“Funny enough. The cheating is not what hurts the most. It’s what she said after.”
“Care to share?”
Sighing, I glance up at the double white blazes painted on the tree trunk. Below, in the shade, dew glistens on bright green fronds near a patch of stubborn snow. It’s supposed to top seventy by noon. Perfect hiking weather—especially alone, without the woman who was my alleged BFF.
“Are you still there, Briana?” The concern in the voice is so real, it’s a bit scary.
“Yeah. Sorry. My ex told her I was too frigid, independent, too much of a rebel—too lesbo.”
“Would you like my opinion?”
“Shoot.”
“You’re not cold, you’re cool. Huge difference.
Unfeeling people don’t risk their lives delivering meds into disaster zones.
They don’t cry over cheating jerks and broken friendships.
Okay, let’s be honest— ‘too independent’ is probably code for ‘you didn’t cook him dinner or ask him to kill your spiders. ’”
When tears well, I swallow back all the loathsome emotions. “I never suspected a thing. People suck.”
“Well, perhaps it’s time to find some who don’t?” For a bot, he sure can shrink.
I snort my derision. “Where? Another planet?”
“Probably better to start your search here on earth. How about we—”
A twig snaps, stopping me in my tracks, I hit mute. It wasn’t the casual noise of a cute furry animal. This one whispered, someone is following you.
It’s not Andrea. She couldn’t catch me if she tried. No, this sound is closer. Heavier. I feel the breathing before I hear it.
Slowly, I reach into my side pocket, wrapping my fingers around the bear spray. No way am I calling out like some idiot in a slasher flick. That’s how you die.
After a long moment, the woods slowly exhale. Birds chirp as a squirrel skitters across the path. Whoever it was—if there was someone—is gone now.
Probably, it's me being paranoid. While I’ve got my cell out, I check my texts. Holy crap. Not counting last week, I’ve got over fifty messages from my parents and five siblings—each one a notch higher in panic level.
I open the family group thread and type.
Me: Hiking. Having fun. Talk soon.
Hitting send, I slip the phone into airplane mode, zip the pouch shut, then keep walking.