The Chubby Luna The Alpha Mock Rescued Him From Death

Chapter 2: The Weight Of Their Words

"You. Come to my office. Now!."

Alpha Ethan's voice sounded across the open floor before I'd even taken off my coat. Every head turned. I felt them turn, I felt the weight of a dozen eyes landing on me before I'd taken three steps into the building.

"Yes, sir." My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.

I walked toward his glass-walled office at the end of the floor, and I could already hear the whispers coming behind me so quick, like sparks burning dry grass. By the time I reached the door of his office, I saw two of the junior staff, Delia and a man from accounting, drift toward the wall beside it, suddenly very interested in a folder they weren't actually reading.

I stepped inside the office. He didn't ask me to sit.

"Mercy do you know what time it is?" He didn't look up from his laptop. That was always the worst part, being scolded by the top of someone's head, like I wasn't even worth his eyes.

"I know I'm late, sir. I'm sorry. I—"

"Forty-six minutes." He finally lifted his gaze, and it moved over me the way it always did, down to my waist, my arms, and back up, slow and deliberate, like he was confirming something he'd already want to say. "Forty-six minutes, Mercy. Explain to me why you are late?."

"My mother needed help this morning. My father's shop had a delivery come early, and there was no one else to unload it, so I—"

"Stop." He held up a hand. Behind me, through the door I hadn't heard fully click shut, I caught the scrape of a chair, footsteps drawing closer. Someone out there wanted a good seat for this. "We both know that's not the real reason."

"Sir, it is, I promise, I would never lie to you about—"

"The real reason," he said, cutting through me like I hadn't spoken at all, "is that it takes you longer to get anywhere. Longer to walk. Longer to climb stairs. Longer to catch a bus before it leaves without you." His eyes dropped to my middle again, and this time he didn't bother hiding it. "Your size slows you down, Mercy. It's not complicated. It's simple math."

Laughter, muffled behind a hand but not muffled enough, coming from just outside the door.

My face burned. I kept my eyes on the carpet because I couldn't stand to look at him while he said it, couldn't stand for him to see exactly how deep those words had landed.

"I'm sorry, sir," I whispered. "It won't happen again."

"You said that last week." He turned back to his laptop, already bored of me, already moving on to something that mattered more. "I'm deducting half a day's wage from your salary. Maybe next time you'll find a way to be faster."

The floor tilted. I felt my knees give out beneath me before I'd even decided to kneel, and then I was on the ground in front of his desk with my palms pressed together like I was praying to him.

"Please, sir. Please don't take it from my pay." The words tumbled out of me too fast, too desperate, but I couldn't stop them. "I already send almost everything home. My father's shop isn't making enough this month, my mother needs medicine, if you take even half a day's wage I don't know how we'll—"

"Get up." Something shifted in his voice. It wasn't gentler. tighter, like he was holding something back by force. "Get up, Mercy."

"I'm begging you, sir, please—"

"I said get up and GET OUT!." He was on his feet now, both hands flat on the desk, and for one strange second I thought I saw something crack behind his eyes, something that didn't match the fury on his face. But it was gone before I could be sure it had ever been there. "Get out of my office. Now. And shut the door behind you."

I don't remember standing up. I only remember my hand closing around the door handle, my vision already blurring, my chest so tight I could barely breathe past it. I pulled the door shut behind me exactly like he'd told me to, quiet and obedient, even as everything inside me was screaming.

They hadn't even bothered to move away in time.

Delia stood closest, her hand pressed over her mouth, but her shoulders were shaking with laughter she wasn't trying very hard to hide. Two others stood behind her, and the man from accounting was still holding his folder upside down.

"Oh my God, she's coming out," someone whispered, not quietly enough.

"Chubby late-comer strikes again," Delia said, and the group broke into open laughter now, no longer bothering to pretend.

"It's not really her fault," one of the women said, pressing a hand to her chest like she was some kind of saint stepping in to defend me. Her mouth curved with false pity. "I mean, when you carry that much weight, of course it slows you down. It's not like she's trying to be late."

"Sorry, chubby," Delia added, wiping a fake tear from under her eye. "Next time try to come in earlier, yeah? Maybe drink some slimming tea in the morning — my cousin lost ten pounds in a month on that stuff. It might help you move a little quicker."

"Yeah," the man from accounting said, smirking. "Wouldn't want you rolling in here at lunchtime tomorrow."

More laughter. It rang down the hallway, bounced off the glass walls, and every drop of it landed somewhere inside my chest and stayed there.

I stood in the middle of that hallway with my bag still clutched against me, and I looked at them. All of them. Their smiling mouths. Their bright, delighted eyes. The easy way they leaned into each other like my humiliation was something worth sharing between friends.

I didn't say anything.

There was a lump lodged so deep in my throat that if I opened my mouth, no explanation would come out, no defense, nothing but the sound of pain.

So I said nothing at all.

I only stood there while the tears I'd been holding back since I walked through the front door finally spilled over, sliding hot and silent down my cheeks in front of every single one of them, and let them see exactly what their laughter had done to me.