James And Tell Me The Truth For The Angst Thingy? If You're Not Overwhelmed With Requests Ofc

James and Tell me the truth for the angst thingy? If you're not overwhelmed with requests ofc <3

warnings: blood, jealousy, violence, implied murder, short little drabble.

Ordinarily, James wouldn't resort to such violence outside of the bedroom, but that evening, you were being particularly aloof and avoidant. Something he loathed - something he detested. When he'd asked you where you'd been for the day, and the nervous flitting of your eyes was the only answer you provided, he determined that drastic measures were needed. He grit his teeth, bowing his head slightly to look at you.

You hadn't done anything to betray his trust - your actions were completely platonic in nature, but he may not have seen them that way. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you searched for the words, your eyes sweeping back and forth over the ornate patterns in the carpeting. You never wanted to lie to him, but perhaps... for the safety of yourself and others...

"My mother. I was visiting my mother."

With a growl, James wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you tight to his hip, the bone pressing into your plushness. With his free hand, James produced a knife from behind his back; an array of them sat on a table behind him. He'd picked a smaller one, easier to maneuver should he need to.

"Tell me the truth," he crooned, holding the knife to your neck, the sharpened edge kissing the flesh threateningly. You strained away from it, but the action drew the edge through the skin, creating a needle thin laceration. You hissed through your teeth, the cold air making them ache. Like a papercut, beads of crimson welled up from between the delicately flayed skin.

Perhaps not.

"I was with an old friend of mine. He was in town for a couple days." you fessed up, sounding sheepish.

"Splendid! Invite him to the hotel for drinks." His tone frightened you — it was the jovial tone that was elevated in pitch; the one he used when nothing was, in fact, jovial.

You brought your hands to his face, petting the cool flesh lovingly. "James, no... no it's not like that at all."

James withdrew the knife from your neck, nodding patronizingly, his lips pouted. For a moment, he said nothing — too interested in watching your desperate display, which you acted out with such conviction.

"Did I stutter, my dear? Invite him.... for drinks."