ROWAN
"Here's your dinner, Master." The Omega informs as she walks into my room with a tray filled with…I don't know. I don't care. I'm not hungry.
I give her a brief stare and swallow up my drink. Idly, I run a finger around the rim of my glass.
"Master?"
"Take it away." I order icily.
"But Master, miss Bri…"
"I said, take it away!" Snapping and almost throwing the glass at her, she flinches and runs out with her tray. Of course, she shuts the door too.
With a thud, I place the glass on the small table, stretching out on the couch.
I feel so f****d up and drinking isn't helping. But I can't seem to let the bottle be. It's the only solace I can get.
On a night when the sky is gloomy and my childhood pain is surfacing, it's insane that whiskey is my only solace. There's no one
