She stares at me for a moment with her lips pursed. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want me here. There’s really no need to continue hammering once the nail is all the way in the board.”
With that, she continues on and I hurry to get in front of her. We hike in silence for a long time, both of us furious. She has no business out here and rather than admitting it, she’s pretending like she has every right to be risking both our lives. And that’s exactly why I’m going to get us the hell out of here as fast as humanly possible. She doesn’t know it, but we’re heading to the river to camp for the night. Then, first thing tomorrow morning, I’m building a raft that will get us out of here in under five days flat. It’ll also allow me to keep her from getting herself killed. She can just sit in the middle of it and wait while I get us to Mbambole.
The sun starts to go down, so I decide to make the most of the fading light. Holding the selfie stick up, I say, “If you ever find yourself in a jungle such as this one, and if you've got the choice, always cover as much of your body as possible so as to avoid cuts and scratches. Anything that can lead to potential infection is deadly out here.” Turning the camera and aiming it in front of me, I say, “When you’re lost in the woods, you’ll want to look through the jungle instead of at it. Find a spot about five metres ahead so you can see any movement before it’s too late. The tricky part is you also need to remain keenly aware of what’s happening on the ground directly in front of you and to your sides in case something is either slithering or creeping up to you, looking for it’s lunch.”
Flipping the camera back toward me, I see Arabella’s face behind me in the screen. She looks unmistakably horrified which, I hate to admit, brings out a pathetic sense of satisfaction. “If you ever find yourself lost in any type of forest setting, one of the first things you have to do is make sure you aren’t walking in circles. That’s why most people end up dead. The best choice is to stay put until you’re rescued, but if you know that’s not an option, here’s how you get out alive. Pick an object in the distance and follow that. Once you reach it, pick another one ahead of you and keep going. Turn back a few times to make sure the last object is still behind you. That'll keep you going in a nice straight line. If you find a stream or other flowing body of water, follow it. You’ll not only have a source of water, but rivers don’t run in circles, so eventually, you’ll find your way out.”
I turn behind me and see that she's quite far back so I stop, sit on a log. While I wait, I take out my canteen and have a few swigs of water.
When she reaches me, she starts to sit down, leaving as much space between us as possible. “Thank God, I need to catch my breath.”
I stand quickly, screwing the top on my canteen and start walking. “No time. You can rest when we get to camp.”
Once we’re walking again, I say, “What would you guess the leading cause of death would be in an environment like this?”
“Probably mosquito bite.”
“Good guess. That's number two. The leading cause is infection.” I stop and point at a tree to my right. “This skinny tree is called an Acacia Senegal. It's one of the most important species for our purposes,” I say. “It’s got one of Mother Nature’s best remedies for cuts and scrapes.”
I take a small Ziploc bag out of my backpack, then scrape a large dollop of transparent orange goo off the tree and deposit it carefully into the bag. “We'll save that for later.”
“How much further before we find a suitable place to stop?” she asks. “Not that I'm tired or anything. Just curious.”
“I'd say another couple of hours.”
“Brilliant.”
Looking down, I spot some rhino beetle larvae. I aim my camera at them and zoom in. “Are you hungry, Your Highness? Because these little guys are an amazing source of protein. We just have to empty out their digestive tracts first.”
I pick one up, twist off its head, then squeeze it, letting a sizable amount of brown goop ooze out onto my palm. Holding it up to her, I say, “Tea break?”
Arabella makes a gagging sound. “Thank you. I had a rather large breakfast.”
I shrug and pop it into my mouth, maintaining eye contact while I chew it. It’s disgusting and squishy, but I force a satisfied smile on my face anyway. “Mmm. That’s good and it’ll keep me going for a good long while, unlike my companion who may start to feel fatigued soon.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
We continue on and I pick up the pace now. “Let’s move. It gets dark early out here.”
As we walk, I continue to narrate. “Now, Princess Arabella and I are lucky because we have a machete. With this handy device, not only can I cut a path through the dense vegetation, I can also turn stocks of bamboo into a torch, a fishing spear, a fresh water source, as well as an effective weapon.”
“I had no idea I was out in the wild with MacGyver. By any chance, can you teach me how to make a bomb out of some seeds and a chewing gum wrapper?” she asks, lathering on a sweetness so fake, I should start calling her Splenda.
“If the seeds contain palm oil, sure.” I turn back to the camera. “Now that it’s starting to get dark, we both need to keep our wits about us and watch for anything that could be a threat. This jungle is home to a variety of snakes, the brown recluse spider, not to mention some large wildcats that might be feeling hungry right about now. Most of the animals out here feed at dusk and dawn, which makes this the most dangerous time of day.”
Arabella makes a tiny squeaking noise and I turn to her. “What was that?”
“I didn’t say anything,” she mutters, raising her eyebrows as if I’m hearing things. “For someone who says he’s in such a hurry, you certainly stop a lot to make videos.”
“It’s part of the job,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Oh, right. Sorry. A job is something people do to make money. You see, they have to perform certain tasks as laid out by their employer. If they complete the tasks, they get paid so they can afford things like food and rent.”
She ignores my dig and whispers, “Are you still standing there talking?” She wrinkles up her nose and gives me a ‘you’re not all that bright, are you?’ look before she starts walking again.
I catch up with her after a few steps, then zigzag around her so I’m in front again. “I know it’s not royal protocol but out here, you walk a few steps behind me.” Now I’m just being a prick.
“Right. I’m happy to let you go first,” she says. Dropping her voice, she adds, “If that’s what it takes to make you feel like a big man …”
I shake my head, regretting ever getting on that helicopter with her as I slash through the brush with more vigor than needed. After a minute, I turn to her and feign being apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, earlier I forgot to explain what rent was. You probably don’t know.”
“I suddenly understand why you love it so much in the wilderness,” Arabella says in a facetious tone. “It’s the only place big enough for your giant ego.”
“I do not have a giant ego.”
“You most certainly do.” She lifts her chin at me. “You’re by far the most arrogant, smug man I’ve ever met. And I know Kanye West.”
“Really? Of the two of us, you think I’m the one with an attitude?” I let out a frustrated chuckle. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s probably never even seen a washing machine.”
“You know what?” she asks, her eyes growing wild with rage. “Shut up!”
“Shut up?!”
“Yes. Shut up.” She nods once. “I can’t bear another word of your self-satisfied, know-it-all commentary about the jungle and survival and … and … me! You don’t know the first thing about my life, so just shut up already.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. This is my show.” I stab my chest with my thumb. “Mine. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you need me, and not the other way around, so don’t tell me to shut up or to do anything else for that matter. Because if you do, I’ll happily leave you here to get eat
en by leopards.”
Her head snaps back. “Oh really?!”
“Really!”
“You think that’s going to scare me?” She scoffs. “I’d actually rather be torn apart by a pack of hungry leopards than have to suffer through another minute of listening to you drone on and on with that smug smile on your stupid face.”
Stupid? Wow. Just wow. “For your information, leopards rarely travel in groups, and if they do, it’s either called a leap or a prowl,” I yell. “Not a pack!”
With that, I turn on my heel and storm through the brush, whacking at anything in my path with a rage-filled vengeance. I’m getting the hell out of here now—with or without her royal hagness.
13
If a princess poops in the woods, is she still a princess?
Arabella
I stomp along behind him, imitating his voice quietly but furiously, “I’m sorry. You probably don’t know what rent is. Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who’s never seen a washing machine.” Holding up both middle fingers, I scowl at his back like the world’s most immature woman. “I’ve seen washing machines, thank you very much. I own a television.”
Oh, stop it, Arabella. You’re the one who wanted to go on a big, shiny adventure.
We walk along for a long time in silence, and after a while, my anger gives way to exhaustion. Yes, he’s an arse, but I’m not exactly Princess Peach at the moment. It’s so bloody hot here that every article of clothing I’m wearing is sticking to me. As is my hair. Errant pieces of it keep landing on my face and adhering themselves to my skin like those sticky hand toys kids love so much. You know the ones—they’re like tiny neon hands with long stringy handles that you slap against the window, then get yelled at by the maid because it’ll leave a mark and she just cleaned that!
I'm sure I must be absolutely disgusting. At this point I'm literally dripping with sweat, my antiperspirant doesn’t seem to be up to ‘jungle standard,’ and my mouth is so dry it feels like cotton balls have been stuffed into it, even though the rest of my body is completely moist. And even the fact that I just used the word moist shows you exactly what kind of shape I’m in at the moment because, moist. Eww.
I hear the faint sound of running water, maybe a creek or a river or some such, but I'm so close to delirium I assume my mind is playing tricks on me. It seems like we've been walking for years now, even though I know it's all just one horrid, sweat-filled, starving, terrifying, humiliating afternoon. The sound of the water reminds me I haven’t gone to the loo in a very long time, which reminds me of something I’m trying very hard to ignore. I need to pee … and do the other thing you do in the loo. But since I refuse to ask Mr. Condescending how, I’ve resigned myself to holding it until we reach the sweet relief of a hotel toilet.
I can hold it for several days, can’t I? I’m sure I’ve heard of people doing it before. I doubt it’s advisable, but then again, nothing I’ve done since my first flute of champagne at that bloody wedding has been in any way a good idea.
It's not just the overwhelming ocean of regret I'm swimming in. I’m drowning in hatred for this man. I can’t believe I’ve chosen to spend the next several days (or the last few days of my life, depending on how this works out) with someone like him. All day, he’s been providing his ultra-condescending survival commentary. I know he has to do it as part of the show, but there is a definite undercurrent of passive-aggressiveness to it, like everything he's saying is with the express intent of scaring the living shit out of me.
I glare at his back and imagine myself kicking him into a deep ravine, then wiping my hands while my lips curve up into a satisfied smile. But, since he’s my only way out of this hell, I suppose I shouldn’t try to off him. Bollocks. My feet have never been this sore in my entire life, and I once wore Manolo Blahniks that were two sizes too small to a gala because I loved them so much, but the store didn't have my size. The blisters took weeks to go away. But that was nothing compared to the pain I’m in now. I’m scared to take off my boots in case I have already contracted trench foot. Can you even get trench foot in the heat of the jungle or is that only in cold climates? I should really Google that because I've heard it's a terrible way to go. Except I can’t Google anything because I don’t have my mobile, and even if I did, I imagine this stupid jungle doesn’t have Wi-Fi. Is it still called trench foot if it’s in both feet, or is that trench feet?
I’m delirious, aren’t I?
Will stops suddenly. “All right, normally I’d be farther along by now, but we’ll have to stop here for the night.”
Oh, would you? You’d normally be farther along because you’re a superhuman godly specimen of manliness, stuck with a princess-sized albatross around your neck. Fuck you, you fucking fuckwit. “Brilliant. That actually didn’t seem that far now that we’re here.” I unclip my backpack and it falls to the ground with a thud.
Will shakes his head. “Oh, no. Not here. We need to get down there first.”
He points and I peek over the ledge we’re standing on, only to see it’s a good thirty-foot drop to the riverbank below.
“Of course we do,” I murmur, picking up my bag and strapping it back on to my aching torso.
He smiles at the camera. “Lucky for us, these vines should provide a safe and easy way to get down there.”
“More rappelling,” I say. “Fantastic.” Fan-fucking-tastic.
He grabs a thick vine growing out of the ground and tugs on it a few times, seeming to decide it's safe. “I'll go first so I can help you if you run into any trouble. Unless you want to go first? I don't want to be sexist about it.”
“Just go.”
“Gladly. If you could just lean over the edge and film me while I make my descent, that would be very helpful.”
I do as he asks and watch as he rappels a little more than halfway down, then jumps to the ground while looking up with a big grin on his face and two thumbs up.
“Show off,” I mutter.
“Okay, your turn. I’ll film you and you go,” he calls.
“Perfect,” I murmur. “Make sure you get lots of footage of my sweaty arse in these baggy pants while I slam into the side of the cliff repeatedly. Or better yet, when my arms give out and I fall, killing us both. At this point, I’d welcome death so long as I take you out with me.” I crouch and pick up the vine, pulling on it as I turn away from the ravine. “You don’t want to be sexist. Sure you do, arsehole,” I say, then start imitating his voice as I get my footing. “Everything out here can kill you. Don't touch anything and don't drink anything and don't eat anything except these putrid larvae. Oh, and don't be here because I don't want you here.”
I start down the cliff, gripping the slippery vine while I continue muttering to myself. I shut up as I near the ground, not wanting Mr. Thinks His Shit Doesn’t Stink to hear my spot-on imitation of him.
When I finally get to the bottom, he says, “Hey, that was pretty good. You didn't shout any curse words that time.”
“That's because I've lost my will to live. At this point, between being faced with the prospect of spending another few days out here with you or just ending it all quickly, the second option sounds far more appealing to me.”
He stares at me long enough for me to wonder if he’s considering drowning me in the river. Then he nods. “The first day is always the worst.”
“Oh, is it?” I quip.
I clomp over to the stream and crouch down, plunging my hands into the cool water to refresh my skin. Aahhh, that’s better.
Except that it’s reminding me I really must use the ladies’ room. I cup my palms together and am just about to have a sip when he says, “Oh, don't do that. We need to boil that first.”
“Obviously I wasn’t about to drink it,” I lie. “I only meant to splash some on my face.”
“Don’t do that either. You could get a parasite in your nose or mouth, and it’ll be game over.”
I stand and shake my hands off without offering a response.
&n
bsp; “I can have our camp set up in about fifteen minutes, but it’ll be a good two to three hours until we can eat.”
“No. That can’t be right.” I’m too hungry for that to be right. I take my backpack off and drop it, then crouch, unzip it, and start taking everything out even though I already know we don’t have anything to eat “We must have some protein bars or something. They wouldn’t have sent us out here to starve.”
“We’re not going to starve. We’re going to survive. Did you not understand the premise of the show?”
“Yeah, I got it, thank you,” I snap, scowling at him. “I'm just a bit hangry right now is all.”
Unlike me, he’s still in nature documentary host mode. “Well, the good news is we’re surrounded by vegetation and protein sources. Since the rhino beetles weren’t your thing, I'll catch us some fish and dig up some wild yam tubulars. In about three hours, we’ll be nice and full.”
Three hours? I can’t. I just can’t. I slump down onto a fallen log and let my body go limp. Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head with what’s left of my energy. “Okay, forget it. I’m not meant for this. I give up. Just call the helicopter and have them come get me. I don't want to do this anymore. I thought I wanted a great adventure, but this is not what I had in mind. You win. My brother wins. My father wins.”
I let one arm flail out to the side. “The entire staff at the palace—they all win. I am just a sheltered, spoiled, soft princess who has no business being out here whatsoever. I'm sorry I wasted your time and the time of the network, and I sincerely apologize to the People for Animals Society for losing the funding, but please, I must leave now.”
He holds his hand out to me and for the briefest second, I think he’s going to say something kind, but he doesn’t. Instead he barks, “Get off that log. You’re about to be attacked by a colony of fire ants.”
Something pinches my wrist. “Ouch! Shit!”
When I look down, I see an army of enormous red ants, who are marching three by three toward me.
Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1 Page 10
