My agency spent three years and millions of dollars packaging me as a high-society siren. When this year’s hottest wilderness dating reality show, Love in the Wild, started filming, they wasted no time throwing me into the mix. Before the cameras rolled, my manager, Monica, grabbed me by the shoulders and hissed: “Remember: sultry, delicate, expensive. Take tiny bites. Never do any manual labor. Do not break character!” I made my entrance in five-inch stilettos, and for the first three days, I actually pulled it off. I drank through a straw, smiled without showing teeth, and gave coy, sidelong glances that made the male contestants too intimidated to look me in the eye. Then came day four. The producers decided to introduce a “survival challenge.” After three consecutive days of nothing but watery rice porridge, my eyes were practically glowing green with hunger. Across from me, this reality-starlet, Tiffany, was holding a single macadamia nut, whimpering about how she couldn’t open it. A couple of the male contestants took turns trying, their faces turning beet red as they squeezed, but the shell wouldn’t budge. I stared at that basket of nuts, and the raw, mountain-bred Appalachian blood in my veins surged straight to my head. “Move it! How long does it take to crack a damn nut? You all look like wet cardboard!” I snatched the nut and shoved it into my mouth. Crunch. The shell shattered. The entire set went dead silent for a half-second. But I couldn’t stop myself. I kept chewing, roaring through the entire basket in three minutes flat. Then, I grabbed a nearby coconut, split it open with the heel of my bare hand, tilted my head back, and chugged the water. A massive, echoing belch ripped out of me. Only then did I notice the red recording light on the camera directly opposite me was still glowing. Oh, shit. I was done for. … That burp seemed to reverberate across the beach for an eternity. Behind the camera crew, Monica’s face had turned the color of raw liver. She was tearing her hair out, frantically mouthing: “Your brand! Your brand!” To hell with my brand. Three days of watery porridge so thin you could see your reflection in it—I felt like I was about to ascend to the astral plane. When a mountain girl gets that hungry, she’ll chew through granite, let alone macadamia nuts. I tossed the empty coconut shell aside. It hit the wet sand with a heavy thud, leaving a deep crater. The male contestants took a collective step back. Especially that boyband idol who’d just failed to open the nut; he was looking at me like I was a cryptid. Only Tiffany didn’t retreat. She was the one who’d been whimpering over the nut earlier. Now she stared at me, her eyes darting quickly before they welled up with tears. “Roxy… how could you do that?” she squeaked, her voice trembling with calculated vulnerability. “The way you eat is so terrifying. My heart is literally pounding.” She clutched her chest and did a delicate lean toward the billionaire CEO contestant next to her. The CEO caught her, his brow furrowing as he glared at me. “Roxy, watch your behavior. You’ve terrified Tiffany. Do you have a single brain cell left?” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. I ate a nut. Is she going to have a cardiac arrest over a macadamia? Do we need to call 911 and get her carted off to the ICU? Stop talking out of your ass!” The live-stream chat exploded. “The country-girl slang is hitting like a freight train!” “A cardiac arrest over a macadamia nut? Roxy’s tongue is pure venom and I love it!” “I was already sick of Tiffany’s damsel act. If you can’t crack a nut, starve. Stop acting like a Victorian orphan.” Seeing she had backup, Tiffany cried harder. “Roxy, I know you love hogging the spotlight, but this is a survival show. We’re all exhausted, and you’re intentionally making these aggressive scenes. Isn’t that incredibly selfish?” I almost laughed out loud. I opened a nut with my own teeth. How the hell is that selfish? I really wanted to tap her skull to see if it was filled with sawdust, but the girl could act. And she wasn’t done. While everyone’s eyes were on me, Tiffany “tripped,” letting out a sharp gasp as she fell toward the folding table where our team’s supplies were kept. On that table were our group’s last five bottles of drinking water. Crash. The table flipped. The five bottles rolled straight into a muddy pit. The caps hadn’t been screwed on tight. Clean water mixed with black muck, bubbling away. The male guests gasped in horror. Tiffany lay sprawled at the edge of the mud pit, covering her face as she wept. “I’m so sorry! It was an accident! I was just so shaken up by Roxy… my legs gave out…” Through the cracks of her fingers, she peeked at me, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Off-camera, Monica was practically leaping in the air, frantic gestures telling me to apologize. Apologize? That word wasn’t in my vocabulary. I marched over to the edge of the pit. Thinking I was going to scream at her, Tiffany wailed even louder. “Roxy, I already apologized! Are you going to hit me now?” I ignored her, bent down, and grabbed her by the scruff of her collar. I’ve pinned two-hundred-pound guys with one hand during my training days; lifting her was like picking up a wet napkin. I hoisted her up and shoved her face right down toward the muddy puddle. “Legs gave out, huh? Can’t stand up?” I growled. “Since you spilled the water, you’re going to clean it up. Slurp. It. Up.” “If you don’t drink a quart of this mud water today, I’m snapping your head off and using it as a bowl!” Tiffany’s shriek almost ruptured my eardrums. She clawed at the muddy edge, her acrylic nails digging ten deep grooves into the dirt. “Help! She’s killing me! Oh my god, somebody help!” Her face, which had taken three hours of “no-makeup makeup” to paint, was barely an inch from the black sludge. The male guests finally snapped out of their daze and rushed over to play the heroes. The billionaire CEO led the charge, shouting, “Roxy, are you insane? Let Tiffany go!” I glared at him, pushing her head down another fraction of an inch. “You care so much? Fine. You drink it for her.” The billionaire stared at the swirling black muck. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his feet glued to the spot. The chat went wild. “Holy hell! This is beautiful! The only way to handle a snake is with raw physical force!” “Why did the billionaire freeze? He was talking so much game a second ago!” The production crew finally couldn’t ignore it. The assistant director and a couple of stagehands scrambled into the frame, pulling me back. Tiffany collapsed onto the sand, shivering, hyperventilating as she sobbed. The assistant director, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, tried to smooth things over. “It’s all a misunderstanding, let’s keep our tempers in check. The water is gone, but we can find a way. Right now, let’s pitch the tents. It’s getting dark.” Tiffany, having suffered a loss, glared at me with pure venom. But with the cameras rolling, she had to swallow her rage. Next up was pitching tents. The crew gave everyone a basic tent kit, requiring us to assemble them individually. The wind on this beach got vicious at night. If you didn’t secure it properly, you’d be miserable by midnight. I grabbed my kit and walked behind a large, wind-blocking boulder. Of course, Tiffany had to set up right next to me, choosing a spot barely ten feet away. I couldn’t be bothered to care. I headed into the woods to find sturdy branches to use as extra stakes. When I returned, carrying a bundle of wood, I noticed my tent kit had been tampered with. I opened it. The four main guy-lines had been sliced halfway through with a blade, the clean cuts leaving only a few thin threads holding them together. One gust of wind tonight, and they’d snap. I turned to look at Tiffany. She was sitting in front of her pink tent, calmly applying sunscreen. Feeling my gaze, she tilted her chin up. “Roxy, why haven’t you started pitching yours yet?” she cooed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how? I can ask one of the guys to help you if you’re too shy.” She was banking on the fact that I had no proof. I looked at the frayed ropes and smiled. Honey, I was running wild in the mountain forests while you were still wearing diapers. Though, I have to admit, that sunscreen brand is pretty good. Playing dirty? Fine. I tossed the ruined tent aside and walked back into the woods. Less than twenty minutes later, I emerged carrying two logs as thick as my thighs. One on my left shoulder, one on my right. With every step I took, the ground felt like it vibrated. The entire camp went dead silent. Tiffany’s hand froze mid-air, her mouth hanging open. I slammed the logs down onto the campsite. Sand exploded outward, spraying all over her face. “Pfft! Cough! Roxy, what the hell are you doing?!” I pulled out my survival hatchet and began hacking at the logs. Woodchips flew in every direction as I quickly carved out four massive, sturdy stakes. I grabbed a heavy rock, hammered them deep into the sand, and used thick branches, vines, and a heavy-duty tarp to construct a fortress-like shelter that could withstand a category-three hurricane. Dusting off my hands, I walked over to Tiffany’s tent. “Your tent doesn’t meet safety standards,” I said. I grabbed one of her guy-lines. “Winds get heavy at night. These flimsy little strings aren’t going to hold.” Riiiiip. I yanked all four of her tension lines out of the ground by their roots and threw them straight into the ocean. Tiffany lost her mind. “Roxy! What right do you have to tear down my tent? You psycho!” I grinned at her. “Just eliminating safety hazards. Don’t mention it.” That night, the ocean winds howled. I slept like a baby in my fortress of a shelter. Next door, Tiffany’s tent flapped violently before collapsing. She spent the night shivering, clinging to a tree trunk, her weeping louder than the crashing waves. Morning came, and Tiffany’s eyes were swollen shut. Sneezing constantly, she glared at me with absolute malice. Today’s task was foraging. Free-roaming teams. Whatever food a team found belonged to them. Tiffany immediately went to work, crying to the male guests one by one. “Guys, I froze all night. I don’t have any strength today. Can I please join your team? I don’t eat much, I promise.” The guys, who had found me a bit too intimidating the day before, felt their protective instincts flare up seeing her look so pitiful. The billionaire, the boyband idol, and a younger actor all joined her team. Before setting off, Tiffany walked up to me. “Roxy, you’re so strong, I’m sure you’ll be fine foraging alone, right? We won’t hold you back. After all, we’re just normal people—we can’t compare to a powerhouse like you.” The billionaire chimed in, “Roxy, you can’t always do whatever you want. You went too far yesterday. Take today to reflect on your actions.” With that, the four of them marched off toward the rocky tidal pools, planning to forage along the shore. I watched their retreating backs and sneered. On the outside, I looked completely indifferent. On the inside, I was already deciding how much salt to put on my roasted fish. Reflect? My ass. Without those deadweights, I was in my element. I turned and plunged into the dense jungle. The live-stream chat split into two factions. One blasted Tiffany for forming a clique to isolate me, while the other waited to watch me fail, convinced a woman alone in the woods would return empty-handed. I ignored the cameras. Drawing on my childhood experience of running wild in the Appalachian woods, I began searching. Within half an hour, I spotted a trail of wild turkey tracks. Following them, I reached under a thick berry bush and pulled out five plump, speckled wild eggs. Then, I sharpened a long branch with my hatchet and went down to a mountain stream. With two swift, practiced jabs, I speared two fat trout clean through. At noon, I strolled back to camp with my haul. I built a stone hearth, lit a fire, and began roasting the fish. The wild eggs were nestled safely in the hot ash at the edge of the coals. Before long, the fat from the fish began dripping onto the hot embers, sizzling and filling the beach with a mouthwatering aroma. That’s when Tiffany’s team returned. The four of them were a disaster. The tide had come in, leaving them with absolutely nothing to show for their efforts, and they were soaked to the bone from the waves. Tiffany’s hair was plastered to her face, and her legs were covered in scrapes from the sharp barnacles. Starving after a long morning, their stomachs began rumbling loudly the moment they caught the scent of roasted fish. The guys swallowed hard, but pride kept them from walking over. Tiffany, however, couldn’t resist. She stared at the fish in my hand and squeezed out a pathetic smile. “Roxy… you’re such a good cook. That smells amazing.” I flipped the fish over, ignoring her. She bit her lip. “Roxy, we’re all on the same show, which basically makes us one big team. We didn’t have any luck this morning. Since you can’t eat all of that yourself, why don’t you share some with us? Please?” She reached out, trying to grab one of the wild eggs. My eyes went cold. I flicked the branch in my hand. Smack! It struck the back of her hand sharply. Tiffany shrieked, clutching her hand as she stumbled back, tears instantly welling up. “Roxy! What is wrong with you? Why did you hit me? You bitch!” I tore off a piece of flaky white fish and popped it into my mouth. “What’s wrong with me? Keep your sticky fingers off my food, or you’ll get hit again.” “You want to eat?” I pointed to the production crew’s point board nearby. “Trade me your points. Or pay cash. Ten thousand dollars a fish. No credit.” “What, do I look like your mother? Like I’m supposed to feed you for free?” Tiffany’s face flushed red, then pale. “Roxy, are you out of your mind? Ten thousand dollars for a piece of fish? Why don’t you just rob a bank!” The billionaire rushed over to defend his damsel. “Roxy, don’t be ridiculous! Tiffany is just hungry. Is it really necessary to be this petty?” I didn’t even look at them. I finished the fish in three bites and stuffed the wild eggs into my pockets. “If it’s too expensive, then starve. If you’re too useless to find your own food, that’s your problem. Stop whining.” I got up, brushed off my pants, and walked away, leaving the four of them standing in the wind, swallowing their spit. In the afternoon, the production crew suddenly announced an emergency task. They had dropped an air supply blind box somewhere on the island. Supposedly, it didn’t contain hotpot or sleeping bags, but a rare hidden item that could fast-track a contestant straight to the finale. The only clue was a fragmented map. Once they got the map, everyone headed into the woods. Tiffany’s eyes lit up. Clinging to the billionaire and the younger actor, she used their numbers to shove past me, intentionally leaving me at the back of the pack. I followed at a leisurely pace, treating it like a post-lunch stroll. These boots were rubbing my heels a bit, but the scenery wasn’t half bad. After about two hours of walking, a sharp shriek echoed from up ahead. “I found it! I found it!” I pushed aside the thick brush and stepped into the clearing. Tiffany was hugging a bright red chest, her face flushed with excitement. The billionaire and the actor stood close by, rubbing their hands in anticipation. “Open it quick! Let’s see what’s inside!” Tiffany eagerly threw open the lid. Everyone froze. The box was filled to the brim with ordinary rocks. The clearing went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Tiffany slowly turned her tear-streaked face toward me. “Roxy… how could you do this?” she sobbed, pointing at the rocks. “I know you’re mad at me, but you can’t just steal the supplies ahead of time and replace them with rocks to humiliate us!” The billionaire took the bait instantly. “Roxy! I knew it! You were wandering around the woods alone yesterday—you must have found the box then!” The younger actor chimed in, “This is incredibly trashy. Eating all the food is one thing, but intentionally pulling a stunt like this is just malicious.” Tiffany collapsed to the ground, crying even harder. “I saw you walking down this trail earlier… Why would you lie to us…” The live-stream chat went into overdrive. “Roxy needs to be kicked off the air immediately!” “Stealing the gear and replacing it with rocks? Her character is absolute garbage.” “Cancel her! My heart breaks for Tiffany!” I stood there, watching Tiffany’s mascara run. On the outside, I was a statue. On the inside, I was absolutely thrilled. This idiot had walked right into my trap. “You’re saying I stole the gear and put rocks in the box?” “Who else!” Tiffany snapped, standing up to glare at me with righteous indignation. “Who else has the freakish strength to haul all these heavy rocks out here?” I nodded slowly. “Fine. Since you’re so eager to dig your own grave, I’ll help you.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and tapped into the app connected to my trail cameras. “Sorry to burst your bubble, folks,” I said, holding the screen up to the camera lens. “I have a habit when I’m in the wild. Back home, we worry about raccoons stealing our chickens, so I set up a couple of compact, motion-activated trail cams in the trees. Purely coincidental, but this branch happens to be right in the line of sight.” Tiffany’s face drained of color. I hit play. On the screen, from a video recorded thirty minutes prior, Tiffany was seen slipping away under the pretense of using the restroom. She opened the blind box, stuffed the premium hotpot meal kit and the high-end sleeping bag into her own pack, and then proceeded to gather rocks from the ground to fill the chest. The clearest part of the footage showed her stuffing a chocolate bar into her mouth while packing the rocks, smears of chocolate coating her lips. The clearing went dead silent. I looked down at Tiffany, who was now paralyzed on the dirt, and let out a cold laugh. “Raccoon, was it tasty? You absolute dumbass.”
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