My parents owned a cabin in the mountains. It was amazing; the most enormous stone fireplace I had ever seen, an oldy-old-school stove, hardwood floors, beadboard walls, no insulation, tall ceilings, spider-infused bathroom. I loved it.
My father and I drove there during Spring Break of my senior year of college. We burned up trees that had fallen during that winter's ice storm. We drank horrible coffee from a can. We stayed up late playing cards.
One of those card games stands out, not just among the other games, but like a scar on my brain. We weren't talking about anything in particular; I don't even recall which game we were playing, Crazy 8's, maybe?
It crept in like a fog, swirling around my feet, circling my knees, causing my heart to race. And not a good kind of racing, the dear Jesus, what is this? get me out of here kind of racing. I shifted in my seat, wickedly uncomfortable by the overwhelming sex of the room.
At that moment in my life, I had slept with my fiance, and since the time he was no longer mine, I had been with nobody. I didn't want to be with anybody.
I had never been in a room where the air was thick with sex and lust and want and something truly vile; I had no idea.