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Tossing a book at the wall, I hug my knees to my chest.
Breathe, Sasha.
My once bland life has now turned into a series of unthinkable events. As much as I resent him for what he has done to me, a part of me still can’t help but care for him.
That’s the worst part of all.
Leaving the tipped over bookshelf and opened novels on the floor, I quickly make my way to my room. Crawling back into bed, I tightly shut my eyes, praying for the darkness to swallow me whole.
* * *
The sunny dayhas rays of light pouring into the kitchen, brightening the beautiful space around me as I turn on a pot of coffee. After searching through the cabinets, I eventually find a bottle of Advil. It’s a little after ten o’clock, and I’m exhausted after hardly getting any sleep all night.
Yawning, I retrieve a glass of water for Jaxon.
Slowly opening his door, darkness welcomes me. His curtains are thick, removing any source of daylight from the outside. Making out his figure in the center of the king-size bed, it’s evident that he’s still fast asleep. Lying flat on his stomach, he’s sprawled out over the sheets, and his muscular back is exposed.
“Morning.”
There’s silence.
“Master,” I hesitate, correcting myself. “Jaxon?”
“Mmm,” he groans, replying so abruptly that I flinch. “What?”
“Good morning.”
“Is it?”
“You wanted me to wake you. It’s after ten—”
“I’m not moving,” he blatantly objects.
A minute must pass by, as I continue to become more aggravated, waiting patiently for him to make another movement. Although, there’s nothing. Placing the pills and glass onto his nightstand, I pull open his curtains, and the sun’s bright rays invade the room.
The moment the light reaches his face, he cringes. “Fuck.”
“I have Advil for your headache.”
“What headache?” He sharply exhales, sitting upright as the light beams straight into his eyes. Immediately, he holds up his hand, attempting to block it out as he sits on the edge of the bed. He pushes his face into his palms. “Ah, this headache.”
“Here,” I offer, holding out the glass and pills between us.
Dropping his hands, he looks up at me, eyes squinted. Jaxon accepts the pills and pops them into his mouth, and chugs down every sip of water. Lowering his gaze to the floor, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“What the hell happened?”
“What happened?” I ask.
He doesn’t remember.
“Yes, Sasha,” he breathes, sighing as his eyes meet mine. “What happened?”
“A lot.”
“Tell me,” he demands, placing the glass back onto the nightstand. “Everything.”
“You woke me up in the middle of the night by knocking over the bookshelf in the living room. You were really drunk. You mocked me and tossed a glass into the fireplace. You could barely walk to your room on your own without falling over, so I helped you. I put you to bed and—” I pause, unsure about whether I should mention the most important part.
