The room was dark with a dim light enough visible to figure out silhouettes but not see the objects. She was tucked under the fluffy cotton-like blanket giving her warmth from the AC. In the dark room, lazy footsteps echoed as he walked to the tufted chair and sat down staring at her while swirling the glass of wine. Sipping the drink he rested his hands on the armchair as he leaned back crossing his leg on the other. His eyes took in her soft hair and made a curled art on the white duet while her tired face gave out the tiredness. A tinge of guilt hit him thinking she didn't eat anything for pretty good hours. But that is not the only thing he has on his plate. There is this larger thing to deal with. She was scared of him. She is scared like hell. And he guessed his behavior didn't help her. Maybe he should go easy on her and be submissive to her. After all, the mistake is his. But just by the thought, the submissive felt gross. He cannot be submissive. That isn't in his blood.