I shouldn’t have come out here.
Not alone. Not during mating season. Not after what he did to me.
But I needed the silence. The trees. The cold air biting through my hoodie. Something that didn’t smell like him or sound like him or feel like his hands still trying to hold me down in the middle of an apology.
I found a clearing not far off the trail with half-dead pine trees, a slope of wet moss, and nothing but wind. Sat down on a fallen log, lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, and tugged my d**k out of my jeans like I was daring the forest to stop me.
“This is your fault,” I muttered to myself as I stroked slow and mean, smoke curling out from my lips. “Your dumbass idea of closure.”
The forest didn’t answer.
It never did, except in legends.
Some locals said these woods weren’t
