I've Got Summer

O N E

C H R I S

River Hills. I couldn't have gotten further away from civilization if I tried—and that was a good thing. A very fucking good thing. I was done with drama and stupidity, and I didn't want to know people. I just wanted to exist in peace and quiet, where I didn't have to worry about anything at all, besides myself.

So I bought a hut. An almost ruined hut in the middle of the forest, away from even the tiny town it belonged to.

It was a wonder they could even sell it to me, let alone for that price, but I would've paid more if it granted me this amount of privacy and distance to other people.

The only downside, though, was that I had to go into the town—River Hills—to buy supplies and tools for the renovation. As it was, I was better off in a tent. So I had one in the overgrown front yard, next to the graveled parking spot where I kept my truck. All of it—even the land I owned in the forest—had a lot of potential, and as a guy who liked to do most of my work myself, I was in for a treat.

As I turned the key and opened the door for the first time, the hinges made a sound that hurt my ears. I made a mental note to get new ones as soon as possible—or most likely a whole new door—and stepped inside. The floorboard under my foot gave in as soon as I put my weight on it and I fell through, leaving me with scrapes up my leg and a tear in my pants.

Great.

First impression: Bad decision.

I lifted myself up from the hole and peered down, clicking my flashlight on. There was nothing but old wooden planks on the floor, and then half a meter down to the ground, inside the outer foundation. It smelled dusty and moldy, like it'd been neglected since before I was born. Already I was regretting my move. I bought it through a phone call, with only a picture for reference. The realtor was eager to sell it, understandably, so I just jumped on it. It would cost a fortune to fill in the foundation and lay new floors, but it could become a safety hazard not to.

With my hands behind my head, I went to check out the rest of the house. The kitchen had cupboards that had fallen off the walls, the sink was hanging off one bolt, and there were no appliances. The living room was empty and surprisingly spacious, but I noticed there wasn't any electricity in there when I tried to flick the light switch. It might've been a problem with bills from the previous owner, but I knew I had to check out the wiring before doing much else.

The rest of the house was in the same condition; the bathroom only had half a tub. Where the other half had gone, I had no idea. And the sink sat on the floor, revealing pretty old plumbing that I'd also need to fix somehow. The bedroom had holes in the floor, like the one I'd just made by the front door, and the window was busted. A part of me already thought I was in over my head—but, well, I was alone in the forest at last, so I couldn't complain. Wouldn't complain. Just a few more people to help with the small things I couldn't do myself, and then I'd be free.

How I'd ever manage to make this place livable on my own, I had no idea. I tried to be optimistic, but there was no way in hell I'd be able to do this as quick as I thought. I even started holding a grudge against that damn realtor for saying it would be an "easy fixer upper". Easy my ass.

As I looked into the stone fireplace in the living room and saw the trees outside through it, I took back my earlier thought. Not almost. This piece of shit hut was already ruined. And I was stuck with it. There was no way in hell I'd be able to sell it again without fixing it up, and when I'd fixed it up I didn't need to sell. Either way, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to go back into my tent and sleep the rest of the day away and get started tomorrow—or take a trip into town to start ordering some supplies. A toilet, for example. I'd need a fucking toilet.