𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

5.

━━━

The scent of vanilla air freshener and the muffled chatter, mixed with the music by the guest's party outside fills the back of my mind as I sit in the elevator area with the CEO of Slava Corporations. Stanislav Dostoevsky. 

The same man who I've been working under for five years.

Here, questioning and inquiring about my work experience under him.

━━━

"S-Sir,... wouldn't it be a bit more appropriate if I-I were the one interviewing you...?" 

I question with hesitation, his gaze flickering lightly towards me with stoic bluntness, and I watch as his back shifts against the armrest of the beige couch, turning his body to face mine in the slightest. As if to face me in a shifted, casual form. Yet no matter the form his figure portrays, he is always formal, professional.

"I suppose, but there is no harm in me learning about my worker's experiences under my company," His hands shift and wave as he speaks, yet his facial expression remains deadpan and flat, not blessing me the luxury of equal expression.

I take his words into consideration, knowing this is under professional circumstances, before I very shortly nod, letting my body gently shift to face him in the slightest just as he did. 

"Before I begin I would just like to ask... do you have some sort of... speech issue? you seem to stutter quite frequently," His gaze narrows as he questions, with uncertainty, my lips pursing and flattening tightly as I feel my cheeks and face burn up in the slightest, my ear's reddening before my eyes avert. 

I watch as his eyes shut and his head very slowly nods, taking my body language as a 'yes'. 

"I-I... i've had... speech issues since I was v-very young,"

"How young?"

He does not hesitate to question me, yet he's not asking in such a way which makes it feel intrusive, rather, he is generally gathering information about me. Even so, to speak about such issues with such an important, successful man is an experiance quite different then I had ever imagined. 

"For as long as I can remember," I mumble, the struggle to lock complete eye contact with him dawns upon me with pulsing anxiety, the quiet solitude of the elevator area's muffled envelopement wraps me tightly. 

I can feel the eye's of the guest's outside boring into my body, mixed expressions of intrigue, confusion, and even a touch of envy. Yet as Mr Dostoevsky pays them no mind, neither do I.

"May I ask, what issues do you have? just a stutter? I've noticed that you are very... quiet,"

His voice is nothing less then general, generally formal, generally informative, not a touch of emotion lining nor lacing his voice. I am nothing but a worker, I am not someone to bless with emotions, interest or mindless inquries. This is only to benefit him, and his mental database.

"Um, a s-stutter, yes, I... can't speak loudly, I have had very w-weak... speech muscles ever since I was young," I manage to spit out, the longer the sentance, the higher instability it roughens. Words break and stutter, words pause and struggle to pick up, it's a painful, embarrassing struggle. But he can see that I am genuinely trying, and as he faces me, his eye's refuse to avert. 

He's listening to me, and he's patient. 

Yet I don't understand why. 

Most people quite usually give up and attempt to force my words out faster, even when they are completely aware of how unmanagable this is for me.