Wild Bastard by Ella Savitskaya (best feel good books txt) 📖

Marina

Jerk. Fucking bastard. 

"Goddamn you, asshole!" I curse out loud, clenching my fists.

The cab driver glares at me in the rearview mirror one more time, not failing to hover over my chest. The horny idiot. I roll my eyes and stare into the darkness of the night.

The anger at Lana's brother is on such a scale that it could have been used as fuel to launch a rocket into space. That girl was right, though, he is really nuts. He is not only obsessed with sex, but he is a total scumbag to leave a girl alone in the middle of the highway. I don't know what could have happened to me out there. But he didn't seem to care.

I was lucky that there were no cars passing by at the time. But I needed to wait for a cab for half an hour, and now I have to pay almost all my money to the driver, who did not take his eyes off me all the way home.

And as if he had heard my thoughts, the man offers:

"Young lady, if you suddenly do not have cash with you, you can pay another way. I won't refuse..."

"Don't even dream about that. I have enough money."

I don't even want to hear about his dirty fantasies. The ring on his ring finger stings my eyes nastily, gleaming from the streetlights. Somebody's lucky to have a husband like that.

When I get to my front door, I pay and go up to the second floor. At home, I pull off my boots, which have rubbed my feet while I was walking to the gas station. That bastard made it to the track in a few minutes, and he's probably having fun fucking some whore right now. If I meet him again, I'll destroy him.

I take a cold shower, because there is no hot water at this time, put on my pajamas and open the fridge with the intention of having a snack. My stomach demands dinner, but the poor guy only gets a glass of yogurt and some cheap noodles tonight. Wages were promised in a few days, and the money for groceries had to be paid for a cab. I clench my teeth, trying to calm down. Shit, there' s not even a bottle of beer.

After suppressing my hunger with boiled noodles, I lay down to sleep and wrap myself tightly in a sheet. It's a habit from my childhood. When there wasn't enough heating in the baby's house in the winter, we all wrapped up in blankets, leaving only our noses, huddled together, and fell asleep. Now, even in the summer, despite the stifling heat, I wrap myself tightly in a sheet and that's the only way I can sleep.

Sometimes the caregivers would lie down next to those kids who had been awake for a long time and stroke their shoulders. I especially loved those moments. From time to time I even pretended to tremble, just to have Mrs. Perry lie down next to me, hold me against her and drown me in such essential care for every child.

I would freeze then, to prolong that moment, and lay there quietly, sniffing her sweet perfume, which seemed to be the most beautiful thing in the world.

It had been so long ago that I'd forgotten what it was like to be taken care of. Even if it was strangers who had their own children, but we in the Orphanage appreciated it. But when we grew up, we stopped being pampered with that kind of warmth, and we learned to warm ourselves.

Some of them warmed up to each other, and by the time they left the orphanage, they gave birth to babies, which they then ended up leaving there as well. I didn't want that for my baby. Why? Expose him to the same life I had? No way. That's why I didn't let anyone near me, even when I was drunk. It was alcohol that became my number one source of warmth. Since I couldn't keep warm any other way, I drank vodka, which never failed.

Then they let us go by ourselves. No proper education, no skills. "Go wherever you want", so we went. After living with the guys for a year in a rented apartment, I realized that I wasn't moving anywhere.

We drank, tried to work, but no one was settling in anywhere, which is why I moved out of their place and decided to try to find myself on my own. So far I'm not doing very well, but I'm trying very hard.

And thanks to people like Matthew, I want to get stronger. This rich businessman's son reminds me that my father was one of them, and once upon a time he left me, two months old, on the doorstep of an orphanage with a birth certificate. I tried to find him, but I couldn't. All data about him disappeared, as if he didn't exist at all. And I was a foundling from nowhere.