50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

Chapter Fifty-Three

    After Destiny was finished with her dinner, she continued to sit at the table, as instructed. She clasped her hands on top of the table. She had time to think about her actions, really think about them. In the time that she sat at the table, she must have replayed her conversation with Aubrey ten or twelve times. She tried to put herself in his shoes so she could try to understand why he'd gotten so angry with her. If returning to music and performing was that sensitive of a button for him, why couldn't see how important it was for him to return back to music? He'd been subtle in expressing his anger, but she'd seen the flash in his eyes.

    And now he's withdrawing from me, she thought. Or at least, that's what it feels like. He isn't even willing to sit down to dinner with me. All because I tried to help him see just how important music is to him.

    She heard subtle sounds upstairs, the clinking of silverware. Then she heard his footsteps on the staircase. He appeared a moment later, holding a dinner plate that he'd cleared. He walked over to the table, gathered her dishes, and carried them with him to the kitchen.

    She watched him walking away and wanted to say something. She wanted to apologize for talking out of turn, or for whatever it was that she'd done. But she had a feeling that even doing that would only serve to intensify his anger. She no longer had permission to speak freely. She kept her apologies to herself and stared straight ahead.

    He passed by her again, but didn't stop by the table. Instead, he sauntered into the living room and sat on the couch. He picked up the remote control from the coffee table and turned the television on.

    For the first hour or so after, listening to the television served as entertainment for her, something to keep her from being bored beyond belief. But after that point, even the sounds of television couldn't save her from boredom. She leaned her head on her hand, and soon she was blinking slowly. Tiredly.

    It was at this point, when she was teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness, that he spoke. "Do you understand why you're being punished?"

    She straightened her posture and rubbed her eyes. "No, I do not, Sir," she said.

    He sat on the couch with one foot resting on the knee of his other leg, arms spread across the back of the couch. He stared across the room at her. "Why do you think you're being punished?"

    "Because I hurt your feelings or your ego by telling you the truth," she said flatly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Sir."

    "You are incorrect."

    She stared down at the table.

    "You are being punished because you failed to obey me," he explained. "I specifically told you to stop speaking. You showed a blatant disregard for that instruction. Even in the early stages of training, that is not something that I can tolerate. You knew better than to do that."

    His words stung.

    "Do you now understand why I punished you?" he asked her.

    "Yes, Sir," she said.

    "I want you to come to me," he said.

    With her head bowed, she stood from the table and took a step towards him.

    "I don't want you to walk to me," he told her.

    She halted her steps, frowning in confusion.

    He lifted his hand and pointed an index finger down at the floor. "I want you to crawl to me."

    She almost laughed out loud. Is he serious?