“Korren!”
Who’s that? I didn’t have anyone in the car with me, did I?
“Korren, wake up!”
At the same moment that I recognize Dex’s voice, I realize I’ve been flailing around in my sleeping bag, which has slid off the mat onto the hard ground.
I freeze. My heart is still pounding wildly in my chest, and as my terror subsides, shame floods in to replace it.
“Korren, are you all right? You were yelling—”
“Get the fuck away from me,” I snap. My limbs are starting to work again, so I get to my feet and stumble into the bedroom, where I sink down in the farthest corner between the bed frame and the wall. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I press my face into my knees, still trembling from the aftermath of the dream.
I don’t think I can do this. I’m ready to give up on this whole fucking challenge.
But then I think through where that will leave me—homeless again, unable to keep this job once winter comes, back tohitchhiking who the fuck knows where and curling up in my tent each night to sleep—and I can still feel the hollow ache in my stomach that became my constant companion toward the end. That was a fucking dark place, and I’m scared enough of going back there that I realize I can’t back out of this. No matter how much I hate this, I have to win.
I hear noises from the main room, and the light comes on, spilling through the doorway of the bedroom. A couple minutes later, Dex appears with two glasses holding a few shots of something dark and syrupy-looking.
“I know you said you don’t believe in sweet drinks,” he says, holding one out for me as he approaches, “but this is pretty fucking delicious. Blueberry liqueur. My uncle makes it from the wild blueberries around here.”
I really could do with a drink.
Reluctantly I reach out a hand and take the glass. It does smell good, and when I take a sip, it slides down my throat like syrup. I decide I’ll make an exception for blueberry liqueur, because it’s hardly a drink anyway, more like an ice cream topping.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Dex chinks his glass against mine and then sinks down onto the bed frame nearby. Fuck this. I wanted time to myself.
“D’you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“No.”
We drink in silence for several minutes, and it goes down so smoothly that I’m surprised when I reach the bottom of the glass.
“More?” Dex asks.
I nod.
He brings back the bottle this time and gives me a more generous pour, which is probably a bad idea since I’m alreadyfeeling lightheaded. But I can’t turn it down since it’s helping crowd out the mess in my head.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” I pause. “Wait, there is. You can move out of this cabin and give it to me so this whole fucking embarrassing ordeal never happens again.”
For a moment, I almost think I see a flicker of hurt in Dex’s eyes. But I must be mistaken, because it’s gone a second later.
Then his grin is back. “All right, then. Give me a dare. Something that’ll distract you.”
I must be getting drunk, because I hear myself talking before my mind has processed Dex’s words. “Give me a hand job.”
Shit. Did I really just say that?
Dex laughs. “Fine. You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to scare me away.”
My drunken mind somehow interprets that as him begging for more.
“Get on the couch,” Dex orders. “I can’t reach you down there.”
