Her Suited Savior

Chapter 19

Calla Stewart's POV

"You matter, you know that, right?"

Mr. King looked at me with serious eyes. I couldn't bear to look back at him without completely breaking down. Looking at him meant looking at this whole situation. It meant acknowledging things that I didn't even know if I was ready to remember.

I felt the familiar pressure building in my throat from trying so hard to hold back my endless reserve of tears. I had certainly cried enough in front of the man who I was supposed to have a professional relationship with. The silent tears tracking down my ruddy cheeks marched on regardless of what I wanted. Meanwhile he was staring at me in silence, and I had no idea what to say to him. I couldn't very well answer honestly. My entire life consisted of being used, abused, or ignored by everyone around me, and I didn't have a thing to my name other than the Stewart. The only time I "mattered" was when my existence benefitted someone else.

Besides, why would I matter. At the end of the day, I was just a useless woman who couldn't do the things most people could do. I could barely do the job I was being paid to do! And I was so useless that my boss felt the need to come over and have this conversation with me. How could someone like me matter? I was insignificant at most.

I cleared my throat awkwardly and sniffled, hoping that Mr. King would let it go. Better yet, that he would give up on the rest of this "talk" alltogether and go back to his own home instead of remaining in the one he was supposedly lending to me. His eyes caught mine, seeming to see right into my brain, and finding all the answers he needed. Shaking his head, he spoke hoarsely, "...Calla," was all he uttered.

My name carried an aura of defeat.

I did too.

Mr. King glanced away from me momentarily, his hands worked with themselves, clasped in his lap as he trailed off in heartbreak. My own hands fumbled with each other while I shifted uncomfortably in my spot on the couch. I cleared my throat, "T-that one's a little tough to answer."

I barely managed to squeeze the words out past the lump in my throat; I let my sentence hang in the air. There was stillness for a few seconds before Mr. King leaned forward and let his head drop into his hands. His fingers made tracks through his dark locks. There wasn't much I could say besides that. I couldn't tell him anything without telling it all.

All of it.

And how could I even put it into words? How would I explain that just existing was terrifying? That every move I made was always preceded and followed by a string of concerns and questions and consequences. That even though I lived every moment afraid, I couldn't- wouldn't do anything because I hated every. single. thing. about me. How was I supposed to do anything? Did I even deserve to feel any different than this?

My boss stared at the ground with his head in his hands and I stared at him while he couldn't see me. I thought about all of the things I wished I could say to him.

I heard him sigh, "I wish I could kill that piece of shit," he spat.

He looked up at me now, still hunched over, and I met his eyes with my own, "If only it were that simple," I responded quietly.

Mr. King didn't reply and the room lapsed into silence once again. Our eyes remained connected for what felt like forever. I could tell he was trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I was too.

*-*-*-*

Hunter's POV

The woman across from me looked at me for what felt like the first time ever. Her eyes showcased the vulnerability I knew she felt every single day, and it was deeply unsettling. The hurt her eyes held was immeasurable, and I felt like a dick for even saying something in the first place. But, at the end of the day, the pain I was seeing in her was so much that it hurt me. I couldn't just stand by while she suffered. For once I actually cared, and I couldn't fuck it up anymore than it already had.