Chapter 4: Blizzard Bound

How did I end up here, of all places? I’m sitting in this cramped, freezing car, with nothing on but a couple of old blankets, feeling every bit the fool I am. I don’t even know how long I’ve been idling here, waiting for this damn blizzard to pass. The wind outside howls like it’s mocking me, swirling snow so thick I can barely see the outline of the trees, let alone the road. I should have turned off at the last city, but now I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere on I-90, caught between my university and home, and it’s all my fault.

What was I thinking? How could I have been so stupid? I thought I was being smart, thought I was preparing myself for what might happen if I failed that exam—preparing myself for the worst. But what kind of preparation is this? Leaving everything behind, driving off with nothing but my toiletries, and convincing myself that I could handle whatever came next. I was so paranoid, so scared of what it would mean if I didn’t pass. All those nights lying awake, imagining the humiliation, the shame. But this—this is worse. This is real.

I’m such an idiot, thinking I could just dive into this nudist lifestyle like it was no big deal. As if I could somehow make myself okay with it like it wouldn’t bother me to be exposed all the time, to lose the comfort of my clothes, the protection they offer. I’ve always taken pride in how I dress, and how I present myself to the world. And now, all of that is slipping away, and I’m sitting here, trembling under these blankets, with nothing left to hide behind.

The cold is unbearable, seeping through the windows and the blankets, biting at my skin like a thousand tiny needles. I try to pull the blankets tighter around me, but it’s no use—I’m still freezing. And the worst part? I did this to myself. I chose this. I let Sara convince me that this was the right thing to do, that I needed to leave everything behind to prove ... what, exactly? That I’m strong? That I can handle anything? But I’m not strong. I’m scared out of my mind, terrified that I’ve made a mistake I can’t undo.

I glance at the gas gauge again, my heart sinking as I see it inch closer to empty. What if the car dies? What if I’m stuck here, alone, in the cold, with no way to stay warm? The panic is rising in my chest, squeezing my throat, making it hard to breathe. I should call someone—my mom, Sara—anyone who might understand what I’m going through. But what would I even say? How can I explain this mess I’ve made of my life?

Tears sting my eyes, but I’m too cold to cry. The engine sputters again, and I can feel the dread settling deep in my bones. I thought I was being so brave, so clever, but now I just feel foolish. I can’t believe I thought I could handle this, that I could somehow get into the mindset of a living nudist. I’m not Caitlyn; I’m not anyone who can face something like this with grace. I’m just a scared, cold girl in a car, with no idea how to make things right.

Every time I think about getting out, dashing to the toilets completely naked, I feel sick to my stomach. What if someone sees me? What if I freeze out there? I can’t do it. I just can’t. And yet, I’m stuck here, with no other options. How could I have been so careless, so stupid? I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not sure of anything anymore.

The wind keeps howling outside, and the snow keeps falling, and I’m just sitting here, helpless, waiting for something—anything—to change. But nothing does. Nothing ever does. I’m alone, freezing, and terrified that this is just the beginning of the nightmare I’ve created for myself. And I don’t know how much longer I can take it.

Just as I was about to give up, resigning myself to the cold and the dwindling gas, the wind and snow began to subside. It was like a small miracle, the storm easing just enough to make me feel like maybe—just maybe—I could get out of this. I hesitated for a moment, afraid the calm was just a cruel trick, but then I realized this was my chance. I had to move.

With trembling hands, I carefully put the car into gear, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, I eased the car forward, inching my way back onto the highway, trying to ignore the way my fingers ached from the cold. As I passed a few semi-trucks parked at the other end of the rest stop, I felt a little more grounded, like I wasn’t completely alone in this nightmare. The sight of billboards up ahead was a relief, a sign that civilization wasn’t too far away.

When I finally saw the sign for the next truck stop, I felt a surge of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me going. I pulled off the highway and into the lot, steering towards the pumps. My stomach churned with dread, knowing I would have to get out of the car to pump the gas. There was no avoiding it—I had to step out into the cold, exposed to the elements and anyone who might be around.

But at least I was moving forward. At least I had a plan, however small. The truck stop wasn’t home, but it was a step in the right direction. And right now, that was all I could ask for.

I sat in the car, staring at the gas pump just a few feet away, the bitter cold seeping through every inch of my skin despite the blankets wrapped around me. My heart raced as I tried to convince myself that I could do this. I am a nudist, I repeated in my mind, trying to make the words feel real. I am a living nudist. I do not own any clothes. Nudists are not embarrassed or humiliated by being seen by others. It’s perfectly normal for me to be in my natural skin as my only attire.

It felt like I was lying to myself like I was trying to fit into a role that was never meant for me. But what other choice did I have? The gas tank was nearly empty, and I needed to refuel if I was going to make it anywhere safe. I watched as several vehicles pulled into the lot, their drivers getting out, filling up, and leaving without a second thought. They were all wrapped in coats and hats, scarves and gloves, and here I was, completely bare underneath these blankets, trying to muster the courage to step outside.

What the hell, I thought, trying to silence the fear gnawing at me. I have to do this. I grabbed my purse, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, feeling the frigid air hit me like a wall. I stepped out, my skin prickling with goosebumps, the cold biting at me immediately. The ground was freezing beneath my bare feet, but I forced myself to walk to the pump, trying to act as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

As I started pumping the gas, I glanced around, feeling the eyes of anyone who might be watching. But when I looked across from my pump, I saw something that made me stop short. There, calmly pumping her gas, was an older lady. She had many curves, her body full and soft, and not a lick of clothing on her. She wasn’t shivering or trying to hide—she just stood there, filling up her tank like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Our eyes met, and she smiled at me, a kind, understanding smile that made me feel a little less alone in my situation. There she was, standing with the same bare skin as me, yet she was so calm, so at ease with herself. I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this. I stood there, shivering, waiting for the handle to click, and for the first time since this all started, I felt a tiny flicker of confidence. Maybe this wasn’t so impossible after all.

The click of the gas pump was like a gunshot in the quiet of the night, jolting me out of my thoughts. I quickly hung up the nozzle, forgoing the receipt without a second thought. All I wanted was to be back inside, away from the cold and the prying eyes that I was sure were on me. I hurriedly closed the gas cap, my body trembling from more than just the freezing temperature.

But just as I was about to dive back into the relative safety of my car, a familiar, urgent pressure hit me. My heart sank as I realized I needed to relieve myself, and there was no ignoring it. The panic that had subsided for just a moment came rushing back with a vengeance. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing as I looked around the truck stop. There were no viable options that allowed me to slip away unnoticed. I couldn’t leave without using the toilet, and I knew I needed to eat something before I continued my journey. My options were shrinking by the second, and the cold was doing nothing to help my decision-making.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. There was only one option left, and it was the one that terrified me the most. I had to go inside the truck stop, expose myself completely to whoever was in there, and pretend like it was the most normal thing in the world for me to be naked. My mind was screaming at me to find another way, to wait it out or try to hold on, but my body was telling me otherwise. I had to go, and I had to go now.

With a lump in my throat, I started walking towards the entrance of the truck stop. Every step felt like a battle against my instincts, the urge to cover myself up, to hide, almost overwhelming. But I kept moving, forcing myself to believe that this was normal, that I could do this. I told myself over and over that I was a nudist, that this was just part of who I was now. It didn’t matter if I was terrified—this was my reality.

As I reached the doors, I hesitated for just a moment, feeling the warmth of the building seep out through the cracks. I was about to put my raw, naked body before everyone inside, and there was no turning back. I took one last deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come, and stepped through the door, letting the warmth wash over me as I entered as if this was completely normal for me.

As I walked through the truck stop doors, the warmth inside hit me like a soft blanket, momentarily easing the sting of the cold from outside. But what struck me even more was the complete lack of reaction from the people around me. No one did a double-take; no one looked at me with shock or even mild curiosity. It was as if being naked in this place was as normal as wearing clothes. For a moment, I felt an odd sense of comfort, like I had somehow blended into a world where my rawness wasn’t just accepted—it was expected.

I headed straight for the women’s restroom, trying to ignore the creeping anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me. As I pushed open the door, I was greeted by a sign that caught my eye: Place bare feet here. The instruction seemed oddly specific, and as I glanced down, I saw it was approved by something called the International Lifestyle Organization. I hadn’t known that was even a thing, but it gave me a strange sense of reassurance, like maybe I was following some unspoken rules that I didn’t fully understand yet.

Curiosity piqued, I placed my feet where the sign indicated, feeling a slight tug as a thin film adhered to my soles. The sensation was unfamiliar, but it didn’t hurt—it just felt different, like a subtle reminder that I was truly stepping into a new reality.

As I sat down in the stall, the weight of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I wondered if I should call Mom. But the thought of explaining everything I’d been avoiding all semester was paralyzing. She had no idea how badly I’d been struggling in that one course, or how close I came to failing. And how could I possibly explain my ridiculous decision to leave campus with nothing? Not a single piece of clothing? I could almost hear her voice in my head, filled with concern but laced with disappointment—the last thing I wanted to deal with right now.

But Sara ... She knew more about what I’d been going through. She’d understand, wouldn’t she? At least, she wouldn’t judge me as harshly. But what if even she couldn’t help? What if this whole mess was too much for even her to handle? The thought of being stuck here, alone in this storm, with no way out was terrifying. I just didn’t know what to do.

Finally, I dialed Sara’s number. She picked up almost immediately, her voice tinged with concern as she told me she’d just gotten home. I could hear the guilt in her tone—she knew her parents’ house was in the complete opposite direction from campus. Before I could even say anything, she started spilling out apologies, blaming herself for not stopping me from leaving without any clothes. Her voice cracked under the weight of worry as she pleaded with me to call for help.