Page 20 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded

By the time the show ended, my head was drooping and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. The wall screen shut off, and I looked over to see Dax watching me with an oddly tender expression. “Perhaps it’s time to go to bed, sir?” he suggested softly.

I glanced at the clock. 8:52. It wasn’t particularly late, but I was exhausted. Why was I so tired? Was it the new pills? Or the day of attempting to learn about the dimari and organise my house? Or the stress of having to face the future stone cold sober? Whatever the cause, I was past fighting it.

“Yeah. Bed would be great,” I agreed. I hauled myself to my feet and padded down the hallway. Behind me, Dax paused to turn off the lights and check that the front door was locked. I stopped in the middle of the hallway. When the fuck had he learned to do that? He was usually in bed by the time I passed out, and I’d woken plenty of times on the couch, the living room lights still on. Had Aiden said something to him? Or Kade? I felt an odd sort of resentment for Aiden’s dimari. He was like one of those honour-roll students at high school, naturally gifted ateverything and so nice to everyone that you couldn’t even hate him for it.

Dax saw me watching him and stopped in his tracks. “Is something wrong, sir?” he asked, glancing back towards the living room.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… I’m going to bed.” I wandered into my bedroom, flicking on the light and pulling my t-shirt over my head. I moved to undo my belt… but then realised that Dax was standing in the doorway watching me.

“Um… I… Uh… It’s good dental hygiene to brush one’s teeth before bed,” he blurted out finally, taking a step back as he said it. As if he expected to be punished for the observation.

My first reaction was to snap at him that I wasn’t some fucking toddler who needed my diaper changed. But before a single word of the retort left my lips, I remembered the fact that without Dax, I wouldn’t have any clean clothes to wear, I wouldn’t have had real food for dinner, and I still didn’t have a clue how to pay my own electricity bill. So maybe he had a point.

“Yeah, that’s… true enough,” I grumbled. I wandered into the bathroom, feeling self-conscious as Dax came and brushed his teeth beside me. It was likely just a practical move – he needed to do it, just the same as I did – but at the same time, it felt a bit like he was trying to be some sort of cheering squad for me.

Once that simple job was done, I headed for bed… but I found myself stopping in the bedroom doorway. I didn’t like going to bed. I certainly didn’t like going to bed in the dark. That, as much as the alcohol, was half the reason I spent plenty of nights falling asleep on the sofa. My bedroom without the light on was too narrow, too confining, too pod-like…

I glanced behind me, the two scant steps away where Dax’s bedroom door was. I could see him sitting on his bed, removing his socks, and he looked up as I stared at him. He sat up, his posture expectant, his head tilted slightly to the side. Ientertained the idea of asking him to come and sleep in my bedroom with me. It was a big bed. I had a queen size in my room, while Dax had just a single in his. But with someone else there, maybe the nightmares wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if I did wake up, he could talk me down, remind me where I was, tell me to take a couple of deep breaths, and turn on the lights, and…

Or maybe, ordering a slave to sleep in my bed would be a gross violation of his privacy and would imply a level of intimacy between us that would be deeply inappropriate.

“Good night, Dax,” I said to him, my eyes on the floor at his feet.

“Good night, sir,” he replied, sounding… disappointed? But that couldn’t be right.

I left my bedroom door open when I went to sleep. Just to provide an easy exit if my sleep addled brain decided it needed one.

I wasn’t completely certain, but I never heard Dax’s door close, so I thought perhaps he was sleeping with his door open as well.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dax

By the stars, shopping centres were crowded! I ducked around a young Denzogal child, then stopped in my tracks as a Solof woman cut in front of me, then I had to hurry to catch up to my master, as he charged ahead up the walkway between long rows of shops.

This morning, once my master and I were both dressed and fed, I’d suggested going for a walk. “It’s a pleasant day,” I’d said, aiming for casual nonchalance. “It might be as well to get a walk in early, before it gets too hot.” I’d woken up anxious, wondering how to get my master out of the house, and bracing myself for all manner of obstructions to the simple act of putting on shoes and walking through the front door.

And for a moment, I’d thought my fears had been realised. “I have a better idea,” my master said, and I waited for him to suggest watching the wall screen, or going back to bed. But then he surprised me. “We need to go shopping. I need to get you some more clothes.” He gave me a quick once-over, and I had to maintain a strict level of self control to not glance down at the threadbare clothing I was wearing. I’d done my best to look afterthe clothes I’d been sent here with, but a year of wear and tear was taking its toll, no matter what efforts I extended.

So the news that I was to have some new things was welcome. But at the same time, the awareness that my physical presentation was not up to my master’s standards caused a wave of shame.

But in terms of achieving my aim of getting my master out of the house, a shopping trip would serve just as well as a walk to the local park. “Yes, sir,” I said, mentally cataloguing things we would need. Shopping bags. Water bottles. “Should I make some sandwiches to take with us?”

My master seemed amused by that, and I wondered if I’d just committed some faux pas. “If we’re still there at lunch time, we can get some food from a café,” he said. Was that a comment on my sandwich making skills? He’d seemed happy enough with the food yesterday. Or was this just a nuance of human culture that I hadn’t caught up with yet?

Either way, I nodded my agreement, and half an hour later, we were right in the thick of it, bright overhead lights, music drifting out of every store entrance that we passed, and myriads of people of all shapes, colours and sizes. I was notionally aware of the other species who inhabited Rendol 4, along with the humans, but I’d only ever seen them on the wall screen before. To have them all so close was overwhelming. The Denzogals were huge! They towered above me head and shoulders, while on the opposite side of the spectrum, I kept having to be careful not to bump into a Derelian, the short creatures so easy to miss when they only came up to mid-thigh.

I was a domestic companion, I kept reminding myself, as my master made various comments about the stores that we passed. I was not just a domestic servant. My role here was to respond to his attempts to engage me in conversation, and to help himenjoy the social atmosphere. I wasn’t just here to carry his bags and memorise which store was the cheapest for which item.

He paused in front of a shop filled to the brim with art supplies. “I don’t think painting is really my thing,” he muttered, and I realised that somewhere along the way, he’d moved off the topic of clothing and onto a hobby for himself. “Drawing maybe,” he went on. “But… Nah, that’s too much like sitting still and thinking. I want to getoutof my head, not get more stuck inside it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d never had a hobby, nor known anyone who did. The dimari spent all our time training, learning, practicing our skills. There was never idle time for doing something just because we thought it might be interesting. So I had nothing to suggest about what my master might enjoy spending his time doing. Perhaps I should do some research on popular hobbies when we got home?

The next shop we stopped at was a clothing store. My master stared at the racks of clothing, then gave me that same once-over again. “So, um… What sort of clothes do you want?”

What? What sort of clothes didIwant? I didn’t understand the question. I was here to serve my master’s wishes. I would wear whatever clothes he wanted me to wear…

Oh. This was one of those companion things, I realised with a start. A domestic companion did not simply wear clothes. They discussed fashion, and fabrics, and the suitability of clothing for warmer or cooler weather.