Reunion with My Billionaire Ex

Where It Hurts

Where It Hurts

Maurice's POV,

“Maurice darling, can you get it done?” her head was down in the brilliantly bright room, looking on the black her feet were fitted in, when Mr. Buckley in his scrunchy, the old voice asked. It was just her first week at this tirelessly tiring job. Her dress was already crinkled and stained, but the shoes were shiny. The first job she has ever had to do, which wasn’t the hardest when she was told to scrub the toilet in the lounge room of this ridiculously enormous mansion. She looked around at the friend of hers she made this morning, Jess, seventeen like her, who was especially encouraging for the recent addition. But now she wasn’t at all.

“Yes, I'll do it.” Huffing a tall sigh off her dried lips, she added. “I’ll clean it.” The girl who hadn’t picked up her dirty laundry all her life was bent to clean up something worse, some disgusting s**t. She still has to agree. Money is all she needs right now. Or college will be a forever dream.

Despite the agonizing pain in her entire body, she collected the sponge and cleaning soap from the pantry, prepped up some waterproof hand gloves, and marched to the mission.

The owner sent home all the kitchen staff before the party had begun. It wasn’t in her pay grade, but no one else will do it.

What is the worst part of your dad’s company to go bankrupt and you from being ‘that girl’ to get to just be that girl? She knew half of the people in the freaking party. Yet she didn’t want to be recognized. Confiding in the bathroom didn’t sound so bad after all.

Walking into the bathroom was the most horrid she has ever been. Living in poverty wasn’t such dread, and it was hell, hell. Like a tsunami of the grossest, sickest things has just hit the place, the smell of puke, piss, and putrid juices attacked all the sense she had read about in her fancy school. The terrifying music and gossips even blocked her hearing from going around the hallway. There were toilet papers and beer bottles on the tiled floor, smoke ashes clouded the square, they sprayed puke like some expensive fragrance, and she can’t even recognize with matters were taking a swim in the water.

She, she had a strong gag reflex, stronger than a pregnant woman, or a drunk man trying to take it all in, and was just about to add to the liquid content on the floor, but something stopped her.

What?

A click on the doorknob. She turned, as the door hastily opens and he was standing right there. He. Stan Cantrell.

Her boyfriend? No, they broke up a month ago. Then maybe the term ‘her love’ would be more suitable. Because he was her first love.

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Maurice's POV

“So, what is something that makes you happy, more than anything?” It fell from his mouth at the most random of the time. I was cleaning up the living room and about to kick him out to go to sleep when he suddenly had this weird thought.

But I know the answer. I like rain. When it glides through my face and falls to my neck, I love it when it tickles me. I love when snow crystals get stuck in my hair. I enjoy touching them cottony. I like a big scoop of rainbow ice cream with choco chips on top on the coldest days, and I like to bake big cakes for all the people I love and I never get to do that. “And why are you so curious about that?” I wonder. He is trying too hard. “Why so?”

“Just… no reason. You can ask me anything too. It will be like your birthday game.” He said in the most serious yet exciting tone I've ever heard.

“No one has asked me this… um… I, I think, I think I prefer walking,” my mind suddenly went into a trance, I feel the darkness in front of them. “Under a blanket of stars, with my puppy,” and the things begin to appear slowly, “get a cup of hot coffee or cocoa, I like it too, you know, with marshmallows. And then there is rain, suddenly, then I have to hide under a big, old tree. I like the smell of rain. Oh! I’m sorry, I must be boring you.” I can feel it all, too vivid, like a dream.

“I like how detailed your likes are. It’s almost like a scene from a movie.”

“I’m a big movie girl, you know.”

“Really? You look like someone who has just fiery news broadcasts in their tv.”

“Well, no, and it’s time for you to answer. What are your intentions when you came to the apartment to drop these things off? Why did you kiss me?”

“My intentions, you want to know.”

“I sure do, yes.”

“You won't be too happy; they are not to the greatest, I should confess.”

“Well, then you go home.”

“No, wait.” He pulled me back down and hold me still. Looking me in the eye, he began, “you are attractive, smart, sexy rather. You know what you are doing. And a hell of a bossy lady.” He laughed. “I'll be a fool not to do anything tonight.”

“Or maybe I'm just a talented actress, planning it all for some ulterior motive.”

“It’s not true. The passion and patience you had when you teach me that’s not acting, that’s a skill. It’s not your acting skills that dad finds so worthy.”

It’s the kindest word for me. Mom never says that to me. No one does, actually. No one stayed to tell me that. But now when he is saying that so deep in my eyes, I don’t want to blink and make it all go away like an image of the time.

I stared into his eyes. I see how it turned dark when he again smashed in on mine. I didn’t resist. He was on top of me and let go of all the control. He fell over me as we touched the cushion. He kissed and kissed, and his lips were soft, like ice cream, I imagine.