Page 7 of Wild Thing

“Wanna have a drink?” I offer, getting Droga’s loud snort in response.

“No. I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Look who’s playing mom.”

“Booze is not a solution.”

“I’m not looking for a solution. Just something to make life a little easier.”

“People who care for you do that.”

I laugh and right away feel my chest tighten. “You realize, I have no one left. Besides uncles, aunts, and some cousins, who don’t give a flying fuck about me but are already hiring lawyers to dip their hands in Dad’s money. And it’s only been hours since he’s been gone.”

“I’m sorry, Crone.”

I shrug.

“A lot of us don’t have anyone,” he says. “That’s what you don’t understand. You think people are angry at you? They are just angry at life. And there you are, who has it all. The Change didn’t affect you in the slightest. If anything, it made you richer.”

I never thought of it that way.

“I don’t have anyone but Callie,” he says.

“See? You have her.”

“If you weren’t such a dick, you and Katura could work things out.”

“Bullshit.”

“She saved you tonight.”

“She was in the right place at the right time. You should’ve heard what she said half an hour before that. I fucked it up with her like I do with everyone else.”

“Crone…” Droga ruffles his hair dramatically. “She’s the one who called me and asked me to come here. She knows you. Cares. And while we were fussing around you in your living room, you know what she was doing?”

Kat saved my life—ironic. “Let me guess, giving instructions to Doc?”

Droga’s silence is too long. When I turn to look at him, I recognize that gaze—judgment. “Maddy said Katura sat outside your front door, crying hysterically, her hands shaking.”

Kat, crying… I could’ve never imagined that.

Droga flicks the tip of his cigarette. “I hope soon, you figure out who on this island really cares about you.”

Does she? That’s wishful thinking.

Droga and I shoot the shit for some time. They say tragedies unite people. I’d have to go through a few to reconnect with everyone I’ve pissed off in this life.

Soon, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open.

“I’m gonna sleep, Droga. Thanks for being here.” I get up slowly, my body heavy like it’s made out of iron as we walk to the living room. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s gonna be chaos with the board members and Dad’s estate and the White House business.”

“I’ll see you when you wake up.”

I scan the floor that’s littered with empty med capsules and the lonely IV, but no syringe in the vicinity.

“You don’t have to come and check on me.” I rub my eyes. “I’m not that pathetic.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving tonight.”

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