Falling for my boss ✔️

Chapter 15 - Bleeding heart

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Michael's POV

"You can't continue like this, Michael", tatie's unforgettable voice made me groan loudly.

My private pilot had flown me to the airport where my driver had picked me and the others up. Before I could even grasp what I was doing, I had stood in front of Marthe's house with my suitcase and briefcase in my hands and Marie and Gerard by my side.

The first day I had laid in my room and did nothing, until the memories suffocated me, so I went out and ran from our village to the next, without even me noticing it. I collapsed the moment I entered the house and had slept at the entrance.

The second day I didn't even spend another minute inside. I got up, brushed my teeth, went to the city and bought as much alcohol as I could.

The 63-year-old woman stood there with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot.

If you looked at my mother's aunt, you would think she was my real mother. I had her eyes and her once blonde hair had been the same shade of mine, we even had the same nose. Sadly she was as stubborn as a typical Beaumont and rarely let others take over for her.

I loved to insist I had inherited my leadership from her.

Marthe moved to the window of the living room, and before I could stop her, she lifted the blinds. I yelled as the sharp light filled the room and pressed a hand against my throbbing head. It took me several moments to calm down.

"Drinking yourself to sleep, smoking one cigarette after the other, leaving the house at impossible times – you are scaring me to death here." Her grey straight hair she always kept in a short, but stylish lob, which she regularly took care of. It had been that way ever since I had started living with her.

"I'm alright", I groaned and slowly sat up. 

"You aren't! Léon told me something about a girl you loved who has left you, every one of us plans to get you away until you are better and what do you do? Deny my food, my help, don't want to talk to me, Marie nor Gerard! For three days you have been drinking one bottle after the other, going out the house whenever I want to talk to you-"

I shot to my feet and went by her, kissed her cheek and went into my old room. Marthe didn't try to stop me, nor did she rush after me. I took three stairs at once, which let out a protesting groan, and jolted to my room. It was still the same, as if I hadn't left it 11 years ago. The awful posters, the CDs, DVDs, music player, footballs, pictures of my friends – it was all still there.

Even the desk my grandfather had passed onto me. It now held an ugly lamp tatie had found at the market, along with my briefcase, some newspapers Gerard had bought for me that I hadn't touched and my notebook.

My suitcase was in the middle of the room, unopened. I ignored it and moved to my old dresser where I kept clothes for the village. I slipped into black sweatpants and a thick, dark red Harvard pullover I had gotten from university and had brought back to Gordes to show Marthe. She had been so proud after I had finished my first year with flying colours.

I took my cigarettes along, my wallet, didn't even bother checking my emails and went downstairs. The phone was probably empty anyways.

I stopped halfway down. The staircase protested at my weight, but I ignored it. It had been that way since I had first arrived here 16 years ago.

What if Sara writes back?

I ran up the stairs again, slammed the door open and quickly took it. "Stop stomping around, you'll break the floor!", Marthe yelled. I checked everything for her name.