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“Little pet.” Jaxon chuckles. “I like that name, don’t you? It has a nice ring to it.”
“You’re drunk,” I observe.
He retrieves a glass of whiskey from the table, throwing it back in one sip.
“Drunk? Me, intoxicated?” He scowls, motioning to himself with his thumb, before smirking. “Okay, okay. Fuck. You caught me.”
“What was that sound?” Glancing around the room, I’m unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. “It was really loud.”
“That sound was rage,” he bleakly replies. “I got angry.”
“About what?”
He frowns, shooting an irritated stare my way. “You care?” he dramatically gasps, stumbling on his feet for a moment. “I am shocked. Truly, I am.”
“Did you break something?” I ask, stepping closer.
“What happened to addressing me as Master?” he asks, his voice booming, eyebrows knitted together. “Master this, Master that. Can I brush my teeth, Master, or brush my hair? Can I go to sleep now, Master?” He huffs, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, and spilling some onto the table in the process.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I anxiously blurt out.
He holds the glass in his hand, waving it around in the air. “You actually asked me for permission to fucking sleep. Ha! Unbelievable.”
“There’s no need to be mean.”
Placing the glass down, he stumbles to the side, before catching my nervous gaze. I have never seen him this way before. It almost strikes me as odd. Suddenly, he walks toward me.
He stops mere inches away, his eyes staring vulnerably into mine. “I’m acting like an asshole, aren’t I?” He mumbles, slurring his words.
“I think it’s time for bed,” I suggest.
“Time for bed,” he mocks me, rolling his eyes. “You’re bossy tonight. I don’t like it.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“There’s no need for that, baby.”
I sigh, completely aggravated with his dull humor. “What did you break, Master?”
“Ah, fuck,” he snarls, running his hand through his hair. “There it is again.”
Walking around him, it doesn’t take me long before I spot the bookshelf lying flat behind the couch, books spattered everywhere. My breathing hitches, and I wonder if I should begin cleaning this mess now, or if it can wait until the morning.
“Leave it,” he commands, as I turn to look at him from across the room. “I’ll do it.”
“It’s my job.”
“And I’m telling you, that I will do it,” he loudly slurs. “It’s my mess, Sasha. Allow me to fix it.”
Gazing at one another silently, I wonder if he’s really talking about the bookshelf, or something else entirely.
What has gotten into him?
Jaxon frowns. “Why did you come down here?”
“I was sleeping, and the sound of the bookshelf falling was so loud it woke me. I came down here to see what it was because I was worried about—” I hesitate, taking in a deep breath.
“About what?” he urges.
