Chapter 78: Am I a punching bag?
As she suddenly grabbed the hoodie of Charles, pulling him backwards.
With a swift motion, she pulled him over to her front and landed a heavy slap on his cheeks.
Charles’s head snapped to the side, his skin stinging from the force of the slap.
A sharp ringing echoed in his ears, as Charles let out a low, humorless chuckle. "That’s all you’ve got?" He whispered, his voice so low that only Mrs. Wales was able to grab his statement.
"Such insolence!" Mrs. Wales spat, her voice laced with fury. "Never in your filthy life dare to threaten me again!" She declared in rage.
Charles took a step back, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his bag strap. "I’ll leave the company," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "but I’m walking out with my head held high."
And with that, he turned on his heels and strode toward the exit, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Charles pulled his hands towards his cheeks as he gently caressed them. "Well... have a nice day." He declared and continued to walk away.
Charles was halfway down the hallway when Mr. Wales who was so surprised by the turn of events rushed over to Charles. "She... she didn’t mean any of those things she said." He stated, trying to defend his wife.
Charles scoffed, pulling his hand away from his cheek as he shook his head sideways in complete disbelief. "Your darling wife might not mean her statement, but she meant to slap me." Charles spat, without sparing any glance at Mr. Wales.
Charles was already seething at how things had unfolded, and he knew that if he dared to look at Mr. Wales, it would only fuel the anger simmering within him, pushing him closer to the edge.
"Charles! My wife is still trying to adjust with you and get to know..."
Charles immediately halted as he raised his right hand upwards, signalling Mr. Wales to stop talking.
He turned to face Mr. Wales, noting the warmth in the older man’s gaze. "Sir, if I’m being honest, the only reason I haven’t lashed out is because I’ve respected you from the very first day I met you," Charles stated, his voice steady but edged with restraint.
"What your wife did was wrong on every level, and I hate that you’re all bullshitting me with the excuse that she’s just ’trying to adjust to me,’" Charles spat, his voice thick with emotion.
Tears welled in Charles eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
Digging his hands deep into the pockets of his joggers, he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady his breath.
"I... I am extremely sick right now, yet I still managed to show up for work," Charles stated, his voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "Your wife kidnapped me, and I didn’t even report it to the cops—not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Augustine."
Charles paused for a while, staring at the ceiling as he pushed back the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes and after some seconds, he averted his gaze back to Mr. Wales.
"Aubrey slapped me a few days ago in front of the entire designer’s department, with everyone watching... and now your wife has done the same," Charles stuttered, his voice breaking. "Do you think I enjoy being slapped? Do you think it’s fair that I’m always treated like trash?"
His words trailed off as tears threatened to escape from his cheeks, his vision blurring with the weight of his frustration and pain.
Charles bit his upper lips as he sniffed his nose, taking some steps away from Mr Wales. "I... I have a lot going on in my life, Mr. Wales, and honestly, I don’t care what you or your wife think of me," Charles spat coldly.
As he paused for a while to gather his thoughts, he suddenly began to feel something sliding down from his nose.
Charles lifted his right hand to his face, pressing his index finger against his nose.
As he pulled it away, his breath hitched—his fingertip was smeared with fresh blood.
Mr. Wales tilt his brows, sensing that something was wrong with Charles.
Just as Mr. Wales was about to close the distance between them, Charles discreetly slid his index finger beneath his white hoodie, using the black long sleeve underneath to wipe away the blood.
His movements were subtle, but Mr. Wales didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed, as if trying to mask his discomfort.
"Mr. Wales, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my leave now." Charles whispered with a steady voice. "And I appreciate that you try to look out for me, but it’s just so wrong that you stood by and watched your wife treat me like shit—only to turn around and play the role of the nice man."
Without waiting for a response, Charles lifted his right palm to cover his nose, trying to stop the slow trickle of blood.
His breath hitched as he swallowed back the saliva in his throat. "I hate it when people pretend to care about me," he muttered, his voice laced with quiet frustration. "I’m not some helpless charity case... I don’t need pity. And most importantly..."
His voice trailed off for a bit as he smiled despite covering his mouth with his hand. "I have so much going on inside me—so much that none of you could ever begin to understand."
Charles exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling as the tears he had fought so hard to suppress finally spilled down his cheeks. "I... I am sick and tired of everything around me, and I... I’m barely holding on," he stated as his phrase trailed from one word to another.
Charles fluttered his eyelashes some few times as he sniffled, determined not to let any snot escape his nose, but before Charles could steady himself, his knees began to buckle, his body betraying the strength he was desperately clinging to.