Chapter 3- Scraping the Bottom
2027 Words
The next morning, Eli stood in front of a dusty job board taped to the community center window. His eyes scanned the listings for the tenth time.
“Restaurant server needed.”
He sighed. “They want three years experience.”
“Warehouse lifting.”
He muttered, “I will break my back in two days.”
“Street sanitation.”
He stared at the paper for a long moment. His shoulders sagged. “Seriously?”
Mia walked up behind him. “You know you do not have to take the first thing you see.”
“Do I have a choice? I have three days,” Eli said. “Three. I need the money today, not someday.”
She winced. “There are other places you could try.”
“None that pay everyday.” He ripped the sanitation flyer off the board. “I do not have time for pride.”
“But that job pays almost nothing!!??”
“It pays something,” he said. “That is all I need right now.”
Mia bit her lip. “I wish I could help.”
“You have your own life to worry about,” Eli said softly. “I will be fine.”
“You do not look fine.”
“Yeah, well.” He stuffed the flyer in his pocket. “No one pays me to look fine. See ya”
He forced a smile and walked away before she could argue.
The sanitation office smelled like bleach and wet rubber. A tall man behind the desk looked Eli over slowly.
“You want the street cleaner position?” he asked.
“Yes,” Eli said.
“You sure? Pay is low, hours are long, and people are rude.”
Eli nodded. “I …honestly don't mind.”
“Uniform is in the back,” the man replied. “Change and meet me outside.”
When Eli saw the uniform, he hesitated. It was bright orange, baggy, and had stains that looked older than he was. He held it up and sighed.
He whispered, “Aunt Lila needs medicine. Rent is due. I do not have a choice.”
He changed and stepped outside. The supervisor handed him a stiff broom and a bucket of supplies.
“Your first area is the Main Street sidewalk. Scrub everything. Do not leave until it shines.”
Eli adjusted the gloves. “Got it.”
“And kid,” the man added, “some people look down on this job. Ignore them.”
“I already planned to,” Eli said.
He walked toward Main Street, each step feeling heavier than the last. When he reached the sidewalk, people were already staring.
A teenage boy whispered loudly, “Look, mom. The trash guy is here.”
Eli kept his head down.
…………..
The sun beat down on Eli’s neck as if the sky itself wanted to punish him. Sweat slid from his hairline to his chin while he gripped the long street broom, forcing it across the sidewalk with slow, heavy strokes.
“Keep moving,” the supervisor barked behind him. “And scrub the oil stains properly. I don’t want to see any half work.”
Eli did not look up. “I hear you, boss.”
“You better. This city has no space for lazy boys.”
“Yes, boss.”
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He swallowed the anger because he needed the day’s pay. He needed every coin he could scrape.
A woman walking past wrinkled her nose. “Poor thing. Must have done something stupid to end up here.”
A teenager snickered to his friend. “I think he used to work at that fancy restaurant. I bet he messed up big time.”
Their words hit Eli like tiny stones. He kept scrubbing.
He told himself it was fine. It was just a job. Just temporary. But each time a stranger stared or whispered, something inside him twisted.
His aunt’s coughing from the night before replayed in his mind. She had tried to smile and apologize for being a burden. He hated hearing her say that.
He pushed the broom harder.
“Come on, Eli,” he whispered. “Hold it together. One day at a time.”
A fellow worker approached him with a broom slung over his shoulder. “You new here?”
“Yeah.”
“Tough luck, man. The first days are always the worst.”
Eli forced a smile. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
“You look like the type who used to have a better job.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“I met a man who thinks the world should bow whenever he breathes.”
The worker laughed dryly. “Sounds like half the rich people in this city.”
Eli nodded once, but inside he felt the sting again. Damian Blackwell. Even the name annoyed him. That cold face. That arrogant tone. That cruel order to fire him like he was trash.
He tried to scrub faster, tried harder to shut the memory out.
The worker nudged him. “Break is in twenty minutes. Try not to faint before then.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The man walked off, leaving Eli to continue the humiliating rhythm. Scrub, rinse, scrub again. The supervisor circled like a hawk, complaining, shouting, muttering about lazy workers.
Two kids pointed at Eli as they passed.
“Look, he is cleaning the road. His face looks so tired.”
Eli gave a tired smile. “Stay in school.”
The kids laughed and ran ahead.
His throat tightened. He looked up at the sky and blinked hard. He refused to cry in the middle of a street like this. He refused to give Damian that victory.
He moved to the next section of sidewalk and knelt to scrub a stubborn oil stain. His knees hurt. His back hurt more.
A street vendor nearby called out, “Hey, boy, don’t kill yourself. That stain has been there since last year.”
Eli huffed a laugh. “Feels like it.”
The vendor smiled softly. “Life is tough, huh?”
“Not tough. Just… kicking me right now.”
“You look like you need a cold drink. I can give you a small discount.”
“Maybe during break. Thank you.”
He went back to scrubbing.
Cars zoomed past. A bus honked. People kept walking. The city felt loud and indifferent.
Then a different sound rose. A low, purring engine. One that did not fit into the noise of everyday traffic.
Eli wiped his forehead and looked up slightly. A sleek black Bentley slowed as it approached him. He blinked, confused.
“That has to be a politician or something,” a worker muttered nearby.
The Bentley rolled to a soft stop by the curb. Its tinted back window reflected the sunlight.
Eli frowned. “Why is it stopping here?”
The supervisor straightened instantly. “None of your business. Keep scrubbing.”
Eli lowered his gaze, gripped the brush, and reached for another bucket of water.
The passenger door opened.
Eli froze.
He knew that sound. He had heard it once at the restaurant. Sharp, clean, calm. Too calm.
Footsteps stepped out, heavy and confident, each one landing with the certainty of someone who owned the world.
The supervisor muttered, “What in the world…”
The footsteps came closer.
Eli’s heart thumped once. Twice. Harder.
He slowly turned.
His breath caught.
Damian Blackwell stood a few feet away.
The billionaire looked out of place against the dirty sidewalk, dressed in a charcoal suit that hugged his tall frame. His tie was perfect. His hair was smooth and dark. His expression , unreadable.
But his eyes.
His eyes widened the moment they met Eli’s.
Shock. Real shock. Barely hidden, but impossible to miss.
Damian’s assistant stepped out behind him, already sweating. “Sir, I do not think this is a good idea. People are watching and we really need to head to the meeting.”
Damian ignored him.
Eli rose slowly, his knees protesting. He stared at Damian with a mixture of disbelief, anger and humiliation.
“What,” Eli said, voice low, “are you doing here?”
Damian did not answer.
He just stared.
His assistant tried again. “Sir, the board will be furious if we are late. I….I think we should continue this later.”
Damian lifted one hand slightly, silencing him without a word.
Eli scoffed. “So you followed me to watch your handiwork? Want to see how far down you pushed me?”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “You’re doing street cleaning.”
“Nope…. I am dancing ballet. See…what does it look like I am doing?”
The assistant winced. “Eli… please lower your voice.”
“Why?” Eli snapped. “Afraid he might fire me again ?”
Damian took a step closer. His face remained cool, but his eyes were not. Something flickered in them. Something Eli had never thought he'd see on a man like him.
Unease.
Maybe even guilt.
“Why are you working here?” Damian asked quietly.
Eli let out a bitter laugh. “Because someone decided my job was worthless. Someone with more power than sense.”
Damian looked away for a moment. He seemed uncomfortable, as if seeing Eli kneeling on the sidewalk twisted something inside him.
Eli lifted the broom and pressed it back to the ground. “I do not have time for your curiosity. Some of us need to work.”
Damian’s lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out.
Eli shook his head. “Of course. The great Damian Blackwell is speechless. What a miracle.”
Damian finally found his voice. “You should not be doing this.”
Eli raised a brow. “But firing me was fine?”
Damian stared at him, silent, stiff, trapped between pride and something he refused to name.
Eli moved past him and dipped the broom in the bucket again. “Leave, Damian. The last thing I need is you standing here like you care.”
Damian’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, as if the words struck him.
Before he could answer, the supervisor rushed forward. “Sir, is he causing you any trouble? I can replace him. Please do not be upset.”
Eli clenched his teeth. “I am not causing trouble. I am doing my damn job.”
The supervisor stepped back, startled.
Damian’s eyes never left Eli.
“Please Sir, let's get back in the car,” the assistant whispered urgently. “People are filming.”
Damian still did not move.
Eli gripped the broom so hard his knuckles hurt. “Mr….. Just go. Please.”
For a full moment, Damian simply stared, silent, cold on the outside but visibly shaken.
He finally turned and walked back to the car, each step rigid.
The door opened.
Damian paused once more, looked over his shoulder at Eli, and said nothing.
Nothing at all.
Then he got into the car.
The door closed.
The Bentley pulled away and disappeared down the road.
Eli stood still, heart pounding.
The supervisor came up behind him. “You know him?”
Eli forced himself to breathe. “Unfortunately.”
“Are you in trouble?”
Eli picked up the broom again. “I have been in trouble since the day I met that man.”
He bent down to scrub again, but his hands trembled.
And the sun suddenly felt twice as hot.
He tried to focus on the concrete, but the image of Damian’s shocked eyes kept replaying in his mind.
Something had cracked there.
He did not know what it meant.
But he knew one thing:
Damian Blackwell had seen him fall.
And he hated that more than anything.
Eli whispered under his breath, “Please God, do not let him come back.”
But behind him, the same Bentley slowed again at the next intersection.
Damian had not left after all.
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