20. basophobia

20

BASOPHOBIA

DAY 18

Friday afternoon in group, we're told there's going to be a special, surprise event that evening. Frank excitedly informs us it's a tradition held every year on August 18. Why the specific date? Why, it's Dr. Leo Chastain's birthday. And what are we doing, you wonder? We're going camping .

Woo-freaking-hoo!

Kinsey is horrified, Callum is stoked, Declan and Preston are indifferent. Tiffany asks for specifics like she's plotting a bank robbery. I'm… eh. I actually enjoy camping, and given the money this place generates, I doubt we'll be sleeping in tumbleweeds.

Maybe if I didn't think there'd be chaperones up our asses, I'd enjoy the idea a bit more. Roasting marshmallows around a campfire with Charlene the Shark monitoring our every word doesn't sound anything like a good time, even if Chastain is there sans suit, looking all sexy and outdoorsy.

"There's a short hike, about three miles, to the campsite," Frank continues, enthusiasm undimmed by our collective lack of it. "You'll need to pack necessities for two nights in the wilderness. Prepare for high nineties during the day and potentially mid-fifties at night."

"Hold up," snaps Kinsey. "You didn't say anything about two nights."

Frank is momentarily baffled. "I didn't? My fault, then. It's a weekend event. We'll hike back Sunday."

"Kill me," mutters Tiffany.

Frank shows the first signs of irritation. "This is a privilege, and every year the residents have a great time. Try to reserve your judgement. Oh, and pack a bathing suit because there's a small hot spring in the area."

Callum pumps a fist in the air. "Rad."

Even Declan cracks a half smile, looking around 70 percent alive.

Sensing someone's stare, I look down to find Kinsey's stormy gaze trained on me. She's clearly annoyed I'm not mirroring her disgruntlement. I shrug; she huffs and rolls her eyes. Whatever. Either she'll get used to the idea that I'm not her sidekick or she'll leave me alone. With some surprise, I realize I hope it's the former. She's almost… a friend.

"Any more questions?" asks Frank, cocking a brow at Tiffany, who nods.

"How many chaperones will there be?"

I perk up, interested in the answer.

Frank's eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Just curious."

We're all a little shocked when Frank falls for Tiffany's I'm-super-cute-and-innocent face. He relaxes, smiling. "Just me and Dr. C, which incidentally means you'll all be helping haul supplies and set up the tents."

Cue Kinsey's dramatic groan.

Frank continues, sending each of us pointed looks. "Where we're going, there are no services within twenty miles. You set out on your own, you'll get lost, dehydrated, and eaten by some coyotes. Maybe we notice you missing in time to commission a search party, maybe we don't. Maybe we can't find you and cut a shitload of red tape to get a chopper out here. But you'll probably be dead by then."

The room is quiet, even Kinsey's shocked stare locked on Frank's face. I laugh, loud and abrupt, startling everyone.

"Something funny, Mia?" Frank asks, frowning.

Still smiling, I shrug. "Just appreciating your badassery in a new light, Frank."

His turn for a shocked expression. "Oh. Well, er…" With a cough, he promptly ignores me. "Okay, that's it, guys. Go pack."

I'm out the door first, walking fast. By the time we cross the Fish Tank, I hear Kinsey bitching to Tiffany. Probably about the impending lack of hot water and blow dryers.

Immediately, I feel a spike of shame.

"What are you frowning about?" asks Callum, reaching past me to hold the door open. We step into sunlight, our hands leaping to shade our eyes from the glare off the pool.

"Ugh, I'm annoyed that you were right."

He barks a short laugh. "About what? "

I squint at him, catching Declan's interested look over his shoulder. "You told me to dump my baggage and I'd feel better, and you were right." Before he can say I told you so , I grumble, "I'm just not sure I like the better version of me."

"Why?" Declan's dark eyes scan mine as he walks up to us.

I focus on Callum's easy grin, and he answers for me. "Because feeeeeelings ," he sings loudly. "Oh so many feeeeelings !"

I roll my eyes, heaving a sigh.

"Is that why?" asks Declan.

For a badass rock star, he looks all kinds of innocent right now, his body vibrating with curiosity and his eyes beseeching mine. But like I told Leo, I'm still 10 percent crazy. Since I'm awake approximately fifteen to sixteen hours a day, that means I'm allowed a good hour and a half of bad behavior. I haven't met today's quota yet.

I stop walking, the men halting with me. Staring Declan dead in the eye, I say, "What you really want to know is whether I've forgiven myself for the heinous shit I've done, so you can have some hope for the same. Sorry, bud. My opinion of myself has only declined since I got here."

"Jesus, Mia," mutters Callum, then tells Declan, "Don't listen to her. She just had a huge breakthrough with the doc and is a little shell-shocked. Think of it like this: we spent years building these protective cocoons around ourselves with lies and denial, and here, we work to break free of the shell. What's inside, though, is?—"

Declan and I share a glance, then dissolve into laughter .

Callum glares at us. "You guys suck."

Declan claps him on the back. "Good on you, bro. You're a beautiful butterfly now."

Callum snorts. "Fuck you."

Behind us, the door to the Fish Tank opens. Kinsey, Tiffany, and Preston walk through, followed by Frank.

Shooting us a frown, Frank yells, "Did I say enjoy a social hour, or pack your damned bags?"

"On it!" shouts Callum.

I glance at Declan. "Welcome to Crazy Town."

Our excitement at being beyond the fence is short-lived. Hiking three miles across relatively flat ground should—theoretically—be a piece of cake. Callum and I could probably make it to the campsite in less than an hour, even toting backpacks and duffels with supplies. Unfortunately, we're not alone, and at the rate we're going, we'll be setting up tents in the dark.

I actually feel bad for Kinsey and Tiffany. After a mere mile, they already look ragged, their hair limp, faces bright red, and their steps faltering. Even Frank with his extra cushioning and Preston with his stick limbs are having no problem keeping pace. Declan isn't doing too bad for a detoxing alcoholic, either. And naturally, Leo looks unfairly perfect in running pants, sneakers, and a white tee.

Despite my physical fitness, I'm still feeling the additional pounds I'm hauling. Loose strands of hair stick to my neck and face, and my calves and shoulders burn. Leo, on the other hand, might as well be walking on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym. He's barely sweating, carrying just as many supplies as Callum, and looks like any other hot-as-fuck guy taking a leisurely stroll. The cherry on top of my sexual frustration is his stupid hair. Completely windblown, dark strands everywhere and no part in sight, it's a visceral reminder of what it felt like to drag my fingers through it.

I spend most of the hike wishing my attraction to him were based solely on physical allure. My libido has never been the boss of me. But sadly, when I look at him—too often, too long—all I see is the calm point in a storm. I want to tackle him, crawl inside his skin, and stay safe and warm until everything isn't so frightening anymore.

I'm so fucked.