Wild Bastard

5

Jerk. Fucking bastard.

"Asshole!" I curse out loud, clenching my fists.

The cab driver shoots me a look in the rearview mirror. His gaze lingers way too long on my chest.

Horny idiot.

I roll my eyes and stare out into the dark night.

My anger at Lana's brother could probably fuel a goddamn rocket launch.

That girl was right. He's nuts.

Not just sex-obsessed—but a complete scumbag for leaving me stranded in the middle of the highway.

Anything could have happened to me.

And he didn't give a shit.

I was lucky there weren't any cars passing by at the time. But I still had to wait a fucking half hour for a cab. Now, I'm paying almost everything I have left to a driver who's been undressing me with his eyes the entire ride home.

As if hearing my thoughts, the man smirks and offers,

"Young lady, if you're short on cash, there's... another way you could pay. I wouldn't say no to—"

"Don't even dream about it. I have money."

I cut him off coldly.

I don't want to hear about his dirty fantasies.

The ring on his finger flashes under the streetlights, taunting me.

Some poor woman is actually married to this creep.

When we pull up to my place, I shove the cash at him and get out, heading straight up to the second floor.

As soon as I step inside, I kick off my boots, wincing as my heels throb. The damn things rubbed my feet raw while I walked to the gas station.

Meanwhile, that bastard made it to the track in a matter of minutes.

And right now?

He's probably busy screwing some random chick—completely unbothered, like nothing happened.

If I see him again, I swear to God—I'll destroy him.

The water is ice-cold when I step into the shower.

Of course. No hot water this late.

I grit my teeth and push through, shivering as the chill sinks into my skin.

After drying off, I pull on my pajamas and head straight for the fridge, stomach growling.

Dinner?

A single glass of yogurt and some cheap-ass instant noodles.

That's all I can afford after blowing the rest of my money on that damn cab.

My paycheck doesn't come for another few days.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to calm down.

Shit. Not even a bottle of beer.

After choking down the noodles, I crawl into bed, wrapping myself tightly in my sheet.

It's a habit.

A childhood reflex.

Back in the orphanage, when the heaters barely worked in winter, we'd all burrow into our blankets, leaving only our noses exposed.

Now, even in the suffocating summer heat, I still do the same thing.

It's the only way I can sleep.

Sometimes, when the younger kids had trouble falling asleep, the caregivers would lie beside them, stroking their shoulders until their little bodies relaxed.

I lived for those moments.

Sometimes, I'd even fake a shiver—just so Mrs. Perry would lie next to me, hold me close, and drown me in the kind of warmth every child desperately needs.

Back then, I would freeze—perfectly still—to make the moment last longer.

Lying there quietly, inhaling her soft, sweet perfume.

It was the most beautiful scent in the world.

That was so long ago.

Long enough that I've forgotten what it feels like to be taken care of.

Even if it was by strangers. Even if they had their own children.

In the orphanage, we cherished those rare moments of warmth.

But as we grew older, they stopped treating us like kids.

And we learned to keep ourselves warm.

Some of us found warmth in each other.

By the time we left, some of the girls had already had babies.

They left them there.

I never wanted that for my child.

Why would I?

Why would I bring a baby into that world, into the same cold life I had?

No way.

That's why I never let anyone get too close. Not even when I was drunk.

Because drunken mistakes lead to orphans.

And I refused to create another me.

Instead, I found warmth in the one thing that never failed me.

Vodka.

Then one day, they let us go.

No proper education. No skills.

"Go wherever you want."

So we went.

I spent a year living with my friends in a shitty rented apartment, all of us trying to get jobs, trying to move forward.

We drank. We worked.

But none of us stuck anywhere.

That's when I moved out.

Decided to figure things out on my own.

So far?

Not doing great.

But I'm trying.

And people like Matthew—they make me want to get stronger.

He reminds me of my father.

One of them.

One of those rich men who leave without looking back.

My father abandoned me when I was two months old.

Left me at the doorstep of an orphanage with nothing but a birth certificate.

I tried to find him.

But he disappeared.

As if he'd never existed at all.

And me?

I was just a foundling from nowhere.