Hot Springs Horror #NaNoWriMo2020

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I didn't expect to wake to the birds' cute chirping or to a delicious campfire bacon scent; but I certainly didn't anticipate the raging migraine that would welcome me as I opened my eyes.

"Ugh." I massaged my temples and glared at the ceiling of my tent, pissed that I'd had so much to drink the night before. Because instead of soothing me into a restful slumber, the alcohol had worsened my troubled mind and given me nightmares.

I'd been woken multiple times by the damn burros, and once more by Millie's moans—sheesh, those two never fucking stopped—but otherwise, I'd managed to fall asleep. Yet I didn't stay asleep for long. Vivid images of death, of cut-up body parts, and of decapitated heads floating in water kept me on edge and afraid to wake, in case they were real.

I recalled how, at one point, after a particularly gruesome dream of Jay slicing into my belly, my about-to-blast bladder woke me up. So I snuck out and found a spot to take a piss. The sun had started to rise, and the sky was a lavender-peach shade. The stars were going to sleep, sneaking under their blankets, and the cooler air began to warm up. I noted Jay's tent—it was pink, why?—and one that I assumed was Aaron's; but no sounds came from them. It appeared they, unlike Jenny, didn't snore, and luckily neither had escaped to plot my demise.

Now, as I reached for a bottle of Ibuprofen in my bag, I sensed the heat from the morning sun swarming through the linings of my tent. I checked my phone—seven AM—and wondered if anyone else had woken up yet. If not, I'd creep over to the springs and dip my feet in while I sipped on my iced coffee—some of which I'd drank the night before, since Millie had brought it to me by accident.

But after I swallowed three pills and swigged down some big gulps of water, I heard another zipper; another tent opening. Someone else was awake, and I hoped whoever it was wouldn't talk too much. I wasn't a morning person, and less so after so much drinking.

As I burst from my tent—grimacing at all the dirt that had gathered over my flip-flops and tennis shoes overnight—I peered around to see who else was awake. Straightening up, I sighted Jenny in a baggy crop-top and sweats, and Millie—still wrapped in the towel I'd let her borrow last night.

"Did you forget to pack clothes?" I said, as I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows.

Jenny snorted—the sound confirming that she had indeed been the one snoring. "Seriously, dude, you should get dressed. The whole nudism thing was so last night."

"I have bigger concerns, yo," said Millie, her cheeks sheet white as she shrugged the towel higher up her chest. Her mane was a mess and I feared for when she'd have to brush it. Last night she hadn't cared who saw her naked, but now, in the morning light, she was less confident, I could tell. "You guys seen Rob? He was... when we fell asleep..."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Jenny padded over—barefoot, because why would she wear shoes?—and set her hands on Millie's shoulders. "Rob was in your tent? You mean to tell me he spent all fucking night wanting to lick whipped cream off my boobs but he fucked you?"

For an instant, Millie's features illuminated as she perked up with pride. "Uh, yeah! After you went to bed we kept drinking and... one thing led to another." She sneered. "And he liked my boobs better."

Jenny guffawed, and I finally finished fastening my Converse and appeared beside them. "You both have lovely boobs; now what is the problem with Rob?"

"He's not in there." Millie motioned at her tent—more like a stick holding up a few torn pieces of fabric—and winced. "I fell asleep in his arms, and he's... gone. I didn't feel him leave."