Page 80 of The Naughty List

He looks at my new bedding, and my stash of new shoes all lined up neatly by my wardrobe. He scouts the room and sees the new makeup on my bedside table, and the beautiful fluffy rug I got for the floor, fuck the threadbare carpet.

“What’s been going on?” he asks. “Did you get a promotion or something?”

“None of your business.”

“If this is about money, I’ve learnt from my mistakes. I’ll get a job around my gigs. I’ll help out.”

I look at the man I gave my life to, with the token bunch of flowers hanging at his side. He’s still super attractive, with his flicked punkish hair, and his beautiful cheekbones, his lips highlighted with a lip ring. But I’ve seen so much better now. I’ve done so much better now.

“I don’t need you to help out,” I say, and toss the rucksack at him, since he isn’t going to take hold of it. “Maybe you should have done it a few years ago, before you left me in the shit with debt up to my ears.” I pause, looking him up and down, and the rage is dying off inside me now. All I feel is pity.

Poor Connor with his sad dreams, expecting them to fall in his lap rather than truly work for them. Leeching from everyone else to save putting in the graft for himself.

“I don’t want you anymore,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. “We’re over.”

He knows me well enough to know I’m not joking. There will be no changing my mind with a bunch of chrysanthemums and apologies. I’ve cried enough tears over him to last a lifetime.

My ex bites his lip, standing before me like a lost little soul.

“Have you met someone else?” he asks me, and I laugh. Really laugh.

It tickles me so much I laugh my head off. The truth so ironically brilliant that I end up clutching my sides.

“Have I met anyone?!” I ask him through the giggles. “Who cares?”

“I do!” he snaps. “I care a fucking lot!”

I stop laughing and kick his rucksack closer towards him. My eyes must be cold as ice.

“I’ve met plenty of them, actually,” I say. “Now get the fuck out of my bedroom before I call the fucking police, and take your shitty flowers with you.”

He still hovers.

“Please, Ella.” His voice is so weak, he could be on his knees begging me, but I don’t want to listen to it.

“GET OUT!” I shout, and he finally holds his hands up, grabbing his bag and backing away.

“If you change your mind–” he begins, but I’m shaking my head before he finishes.

“I won’t ever change my mind, you cheating piece of crap.”

“Ok,” he says, and the sad little puppy dog I used to worship disappears from my life with his battered old rucksack on his back and his budget flowers in his hand.

The door closes behind him and I press my back to it, heart racing. I can’t believe I just did that. I turned my back on Connor. The man I thought I’d share the rest of my life with. The one I loved with all my soul.

Surely it should hurt more than it does?

But of course it doesn’t.

I’m not just the Ella who fell in love with him and moved on…

I’m a very, very happy girl called Holly now.

Chapter Eighteen

User 3267.Male. 27.

A little birdy told me you might be a sore girl in need of some ‘aftercare’ post BDSM. I’d love to treat you like a princess as I worship you – kissing, tasting, massaging everywhere from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and I mean EVERYwhere. As many places as you’ll let me. Especially the tips of your toes, please. I adore feet.

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