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I lured Droga to Zion, saving his life. I brought Callie Mays, his favorite pussy, to this island. He got what he wanted all along, and now they are off to their happily ever after, however fucked it will be on the mainland.
And just like four years ago, I lost him again.
Yeah, move on.
But regret doesn’t let go. I should be happy for him. Instead, he is just another person who left me.
Mom. Little Adam. Droga. My dad, who gives zero shits and is there but not really.
The memories of what we had and what we lost weigh down on me so heavily that I have an urge to down a drink and pop another pill to get my mood up. A shitty combo, from a chemistry perspective. That’s what’s ruining me lately.
I am a scientist. But this island drives me crazy. I promised Dad I would do this for another couple of years. Then I’ll peace off to Australia. For the rest of my life. Or Chile. Sounds nice, though their economy is God-awful after North America got crippled.
People don’t understand world logistics and how complex it is. One developed country crumbles, and the rest of the world sees the consequences. Everyone gloated that Russia’s economy hit rock bottom before the Change. But guess what? They are used to poverty. They are tough. And guess who has major deposits of metals, grains, and food supplies that before and after the Change provided the rest of the world? You guessed it. Russia, the West’s enemy, the mother that pulled its tit away, and now, after the Change, the West found out for themselves that rock bottom has a basement.
Not Zion.
Everyone should thank me. It’s the land of plenty. Granted, it also has more investments and capital due to its residents’ hefty bank accounts.
But it’s like a fancy cake with an elaborate fake topping that stays good for a long time while the inside rots.
Zion is an island of pain decorated with fancy palm trees and picture-perfect villas. It saved many but also became the epicenter of all the grief and trauma from losing loved ones on the mainland. We thought it would go away with time, but it’s only replaced with depression and hopelessness that no amount of money or partying can cover up.
Lately, my pain only gets dulled by booze and drugs and always gets worse when the high wears off.
So I put the fucked up combo on repeat, hoping to fall asleep and not wake up. This vicious cycle makes me crazy.
I take a sip of cognac.
There we go again.
I must be immune to alcohol. Constant drinking keeps me in an almost permanent state of being awake.
Fuck everyone.
There is no getting away from the feeling that since Droga and Callie left on a boat this morning, the island got emptier. The only thing that’s keeping me afloat is my curiosity about Katura. She is refreshing, despite rubbing me the wrong way. She is the only human on this island who is not carrying a dark shadow of the Change. The only one who looks into the future.
Australia.
I smirk.
I want to spend more time with her and pull her strings. She is a mystery. She does everything that a person shouldnotbe doing under someone else’s authority—mine. She is like a kill switch in everything I do. A distraction. Sabotage.
But there was a glimpse of hope earlier.
Yes, boss.
That’s right, kitten.
Soon, she’ll be saying this as she gets down on her knees in front of me and unzips my jeans. God knows I need a distraction.
My phone rings.
Slate.
No one leaves me alone. Ever. Even for an hour. But if the head of my personal security calls, it must be important.
“Boss.” His tone is confusing when I pick up. “We have your…” There is a momentary silence.
