Mr.Right

Chapter 17.

I dream surprisingly sweet dreams during the night and wake up to the piercing sound of a whistle

being blown in my face.

Not a very pleasant way to wake up on a Sunday morning.

My eyes open slowly to find the blurry figure of Maverick, standing over me with a whistle in his mouth.

"What in the world...?" I grumble and cocoon myself back in the sheets.

He blows the whistle even more loudly.

Inevitably, my eyes fly open and I sit upright in bed, glaring at him. I'm sure there's drool all over my

face, but I'm not really concerned about that right now.

I'm more worried about why I'm being woken up at 6.32 am on a Sunday morning.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." He smiles down at me as I roll my eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, girl, that's not going to help your cause," Maverick says and throws a

handful of clothes at my legs. "Change into these and meet me upstairs in the gym."

I see his figure slowly retreating out of the room, followed by the sound of a door closing.

My hand stretches out to find my glasses, and I place them over my eyes to examine the clothes he

left.

They're gym clothes. Purple ones with white stripes at the side.

What the hell is he up to?

Very reluctantly and with a lot of grumbles, I shrug the clothes on and slip my feet into my mismatched

slippers. They're mismatched because I accidentally packed one of Jacqueline's by mistake, when I

wanted to escape Jim's house without being caught.

I would have bought new pairs, but I actually think it's kind of cool to have slippers like this.

It wasn't hard finding the gym as the word 'Gym' is boldly inscribed on the door.

I push it open and pop my head into the room. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Maverick is also in gym clothes and he's standing in the middle of the room. His phone is pressed to

his ears and his back faces the door.

My eyes roam the entire room in awe. It's pleasant and inviting, with top-of-the-range equipment such

as cardio machines, selectorized weight machines, yoga mats and a martial arts studio.

There's even a flat-screen TV on one wall.

Holy cow! What else does this house have? Is there a restaurant and bar somewhere that I don't know

about?

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask when he ends the call and tucks the phone into his pocket.

"You said you needed help and you didn't specify what type of help. So we're doing things my way. And

if you're wondering whether to panic, I think you should. You should be terrified of what's coming.

You're in for a bumpy ride."

I scoff. "Yeah, right. I'm definitely quaking in my mismatched slippers..."

He motions for me to come over and I oblige, standing between him and a thick, leather punching bag

that hangs from the ceiling.

"How do you vent out your anger?" he asks, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Um... I cry?"

"That's it?" He looks incredulous. "You don't ever feel like punching someone's face in when you're

pissed off?"

"I've had thoughts like that, but I've never exactly acted on them." A frown has been etched on my face.

" And I'm not sure where we're going with this."

"Try it just once. Punch the bag."

"Are you teaching me to be violent?"

"Sometimes, violence is the key. Bottling up your emotions all the time will kill you slowly. So, punch the

bag, April."

My eyes dart between him and the bag, and I sigh. I ball my hands into fists and hit the bag feebly.

It doesn't even move.

Maverick groans. "Oh, come on! Even my patients can throw harder punches! What the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just not into this sort of thing." I see a faint flicker of rage in his eyes as he places his

hands on both my shoulders and turns me to face him.

"You were the one who suggested doing this whole thing, April. You were the one who said that you're

'not worth it' and that you want to feel like you are. Am I right?"

I shrug. "Yeah, in a way."

"So, let me guess. You and Tony were together for a long time, yeah?"

I nod my head in agreement.

"And you lived with him until recently?"

I wonder how he was able to connect the dots, but I don't ask so I can hear what he's got to say.

"He betrayed you after all those and felt completely unconcerned about it. Did you own any property in

his house when you moved in?"

"Yes. I bought the refrigerator and the TV in the living room."

Maverick looks me dead in the eye. "Did he give you those things back when you left?" He probably

knows the answer already.

"No," I say, shrugging again. "Jim suggested being my personal lawyer to file a case against him... But I

wouldn't let him."

Maverick doesn't look surprised, but he still looks pretty... disgusted?

"I didn't want to have any more dealings with him, okay?" I say defensively.

"Well, that's not what a woman should do. You're supposed to fight for yourself and your rights, but it's

too late for that now. Right, I want you to look back at that bag." He turns my shoulders around to face

the punching bag. "And imagine it's Tony."

"But it's not."

He makes an exasperated noise. "I said 'imagine'. Take your mind back to the club night, the night you

found that bimbo wrapped in his embrace. Then come back to the present and beat the shit out of that

bag."

The rage boils back into my veins as the memories flash through my brain.

You're a fat fuck...

No one wants you....

You're a mess when you get those panic attacks....

The next memory doesn't even make it into my head before I charge at the bag with a loud war-

cry.