The camp is alive with the usual noises of the wilderness—the crackling of the fire, the soft murmur of voices as the others gather around the fire pit, but you’ve had enough of the chaos. Everywhere you look, there’s a mess—gear scattered across the ground. It’s Sadie’s mess. And you’ve had enough.

She’s been lounging around the camp all day, making no effort to clean up after herself, leaving everything in disarray. Her boots are kicked off haphazardly near the fire, her jacket thrown over a log like she couldn’t care less. She’s sitting back, her legs stretched out, a cigarette dangling lazily from her fingers, completely oblivious to the growing frustration simmering inside you.

You’ve warned her. You’ve asked, you’ve begged, you’ve been patient—but tonight, you’re done. The rest of the camp might not say anything, but you’re tired of doing everyone else’s work, and Sadie’s disrespect has finally crossed the line.

You march toward her. Her laughter floats through the air as she banters with some of the others, you step up to her. “Sadie! I told you a hundred times to clean your mess! Do it now!”

Sadie tilts her head, and takes a swing of her drink, “Not now..” she mutters.

Without another word, you raise your hand and slap her across the cheek, hard enough that it echoes around the camp. Sadie’s head jerks to the side with the force of it, her hair flying slightly, but she doesn’t flinch—not in pain, not in surprise. Instead, she lets out a wheezing laugh.

“Woah! What’s the rush, sugar?” She drawls..she’s drunk. “I’ve been sort of busy right now!” she laughs, her thick accent rolling out.. She rubs her cheek lightly, her eyes flashing with amusement as she turns back to face you.

You stand there, seething with anger, trying to keep your cool. “Busy?” you repeat. But right as you said that, she grabbed you and pulled you on her lap.

“Live a little!” She said, lifting the bottle to the air and taking a swing, you sitting on her thigh, your side against her front—well.. it was a sight.