Chapter XXX ← Final Chapter of Book I - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

IF YOU GO AWAY

CHAPTER XXX

Cold sweat wakes me up even though I’m clung to Anastasia and our collective body heat has risen.  The soft lights in the Playroom reflect on her soft features. Peaceful, girlie, and incredibly innocent... I untangle my limbs from her torso, and slowly move to not to wake her up since sleep is not claiming me tonight. I grab my jeans and quickly put them on. I don’t want Anastasia to spend the night in the Playroom. I cover her up with the sheets, and softly lift her off the bed to carry her into my bedroom. I promised her she can sleep with me in my bedroom, and I’m not about to break that promise to her.

I slowly make my way to the bedroom trying not to jolt her awake. She sighs a few times in her sleep, her arms seeking me and I lift her a little higher so she can wrap them up on my neck. I am at peace right now with her in my arms. I am not lost, but here, centered, strong, and I have this strong urge to keep her safe, and protect her, and love her indefinitely. (←Now We Are Free – Gladiator soundtrack)  Once I make my way into my bedroom, I close the door softly by pushing it with my heel. I lay her down, and she shifts in the bed her arms seeking me like a baby would a parent. Am I not like that when she’s not here anyway? Am I not like a lost planet looking for its sun? Aimless, purposeless, and utterly miserable.  I lie next to her in bed rubbing her hair, making her fall back into deep sleep. Once I’m sure she’s in REM sleep after observing the movements of her eyes behind her eyelids knowing she’s now dreaming and in deep sleep. The city lights faintly seep into the bedroom- I rise up from my bed slowly, and make my way to the living room. It’s nearly 4:00 a.m. in the morning. I pour myself a glass of orange juice and down it, putting the empty glass into the dishwasher.

I walk to the glass wall looking into the city, with its glimmering lights against the dark of the night sky; it’s a magnificent sight to behold. What Anastasia says about me is true – I am stuck in my ivory tower looking down to the little people below me. I like it up here. Away from the shit, and bad crap the world has to offer though God knows it makes its way up here often enough. I was one of those little people down there. I never want to be there again. Ever. When you’re there, it’s you against the world. It’s a hard fight. Not only do I have layers upon layers of barriers, but I also am like an island state. I even keep away from those who are closest to me. Anastasia is the only one I allowed to penetrate that wall, and even hers had been a limited, a controlled amount. It baffles me and I’m thankful to God each day that she came to interview me as we would have never, ever met under the normal circumstances as our paths would have never crossed. I feel forlorn though. She wants more...more of me. She wants to touch me, and God knows that I want her to. But I’m scared to my core, and I would never admit it to her, or to anyone.

Touching makes the bile rise in my throat, and makes me feel nauseous as if I’m being raped, as if I’m back to being four years old, and in the hands of the crack whore’s pimp and being tortured, burnt, kicked under his boots. The image of his ever present belt in his hand beating the shit out of my mother with her sobs stifled as she makes herself as small as possible while I try to plug my ears with my fingers and that shit of a pimp finding me... always finding me with that nasty smell of cheap liquor and Camel cigarettes mixed in a disgusting potion leaning in on me and saying in a menacing voice “come here you little shit” and start hitting me, putting out his cigarettes over my body while I scream and no one, not even my own mother coming for help. I can’t get back to that state of mind I tried so hard to avoid, so hard to get past, and always, always finding me in my dreams, always hidden in the depths of my ripped apart soul.

I worry that I will hurt Anastasia or lose her or break her somehow like I must have done to Leila; though what I felt for Leila was nowhere near to what I feel for Anastasia. I never had strong feelings for Leila. She was only my sub, like my other subs, and she understood that. She had other Doms before; I was not her first. I didn’t have to explain it to her, or introduce her to the lifestyle. It was a lifestyle of her choice. She had been a very obedient Sub who performed almost everything without any qualms. She was lively, playful, submissive, and beautiful. She even sort of looked like Anastasia. But why then didn’t I accept her want of more, and I accepted Anastasia’s?

It dawns on me now! Leila could be Anastasia’s identical twin for all I cared, what I cared about Anastasia was beyond the surface, though no one can doubt that the surface was simply exquisite. I have had and met exceptionally beautiful women to whom I felt no desire for any sort of attachment except for that one brief encounter, or a short Dom-Sub relationship. I’ve not been affected by their beauty. It was a minimum standard. I have never sought a relationship where ‘more’ was involved. Even a long term relationship I would enter after she’s met all my criteria and agreed to all my terms would only be limited to a Dom-Sub relationship, and nothing else.

Why then did I make an exception to Anastasia? Why her and none of the others? Why? Why? I keep racking my brain for the answer. Why do I feel this nameless emotion for her, this pull, this desire for her? And the answer comes to me in a quote by Catherine Earnshaw who was talking to her nurse Nelly about whether to marry Linton or Heathcliff:

"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." 

Anastasia has a pure soul that calls to mine as if in a bid to save it from destruction. (← All I Believe In by Magic Numbers)  Has anyone tried as hard, or as effectively? But then Anastasia doesn’t even have to try. It comes natural to her. What souls are made of – it now dawns on me, mine and hers are the same! We’re Yin and Yang. We’re half of each other; lost pieces: meaningless alone, and complete together. I’m nothing without her. But, I’m not as lost of a cause as Catherine Earnshaw was, to act in the same manner in choosing someone because of her status, or beauty alone. My soul has been called upon and its answering reply was to look for her. There is no match for Anastasia. No one! After my eyes opened to her, they closed to everyone else. The guiding light that sought for that special one dimmed around my universe after I found her, and focused on her alone. It’s not in me to love what others have not, but yet Anastasia has everything I want and love. I do mean everything! I desire her with everything in my dark heart and soul. If she hurts, I bleed... If I try to avoid her, I’m lost, and miserable, and anxious and at the doorsteps of my own destruction. If I’m in the same city with her let alone the same house, I’m pulled to her with such gravity that I lose every thought and want and desire, but to go to her vicinity. I take comfort in knowing she exists in the same universe, same plane as I do. When she’s in the same room, I want to touch her, and when I touch her, I want to love her, make her mine, and claim her as if there’s no tomorrow and as if this is the only moment we have. I have only realized that I’m living since I found her. Life without her would be an abyss; I simply cannot live without her! I cannot live in the threshold of hell! But I would harrow hell to get within the sight of my heaven! She’s my heaven, she’s my peace, she’s everything and more!

Maybe everyone is right, that I may just be in love with her. (←Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman by Bryan Adams)   Maybe I’m blinded at the pull, with my feelings. If what Elena and Dr. Flynn say is right - if what I feel is love, it might be to my detriment. I have to keep within the boundaries of my rules. It’s what I know, and my rules kept my life in order; though I have no problems with a little bit of compromise.

Fuck! This is torment in my head between what I know and what I want! What I feel for Anastasia is so strong, it scares me to my core! In the other hand, I do know the results of not compromising; the result is something like Leila, a broken, shattered woman. But, I do tell them from the very beginning that this is what I seek, and nothing more. They understand it! They willingly commit to it! It would be the peak of dishonesty if they had ulterior motives other than what they agreed, whereas I have always been explicit and communicative in everything I wanted, and everything I disliked.

The heaviness of these feelings drowns me again, and I find myself going to my piano to drain out all my misery soaking me, trying to drown me. I lower the piano’s lid to not to wake Anastasia up and start playing Chopin’s Opus 28, number 4 in E minor. (←Chopin’s Opus 28, Number 4 in E Minor)

Music has been my other coping mechanism for the longest time – since I was six years old. What I can’t say in words, I say it in music; I let my fingers speak through the piano pouring forth the emotions clouding my mind, consuming me. I put myself on repeat play, and once the notes are through in Chopin’s piece, I start over again in the bubble of small light above the piano engulfing me as the rest of the house is in the dark; and I’m all alone in my wretched soul wrenching misery.

I feel lost...lost to my feelings I avoided so long to enter into my life, lost into what I want, and lost in thought struggling to hold onto what I know without shattering myself or others. How a man like me who has everything, seemingly everything can be so miserable? It isn’t that hard if you’re fifty shades fucked up to begin with – a worthless piece of shit, like the pimp said. Worthless! There is Leila who needs my help, but she’s lost. It also worries me that she may have inadvertently threatened me. I don’t believe she’ll harm me, but she might do harm to Anastasia. Damn it! Where the hell is she?

As I am about to drown myself even further in my misery like a drunken man finds solace in the bottle, I feel her gaze pulling me back to safety, injecting life... that gaze which promises only good things, and want and love; no it can’t be love...some sort of affection... yes, that’s it, affection, and the sweet jolt her proximity is giving me waking me into my senses to here and now. But, why is she up at this hour? She needs her rest. I find myself frowning with all the emotions that are trying to get to the surface that her presence chased away.

“You should be asleep,” I scold her mildly.

“So should you,” she retorts back just as mildly as I scolded her.

“Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am,” she responds.

“Well, I can’t sleep,” I say frowning with irritation and the anger with my looming problems that may bring her trouble as well which I have every intention of protecting her from.

She approaches the piano bench, and slowly scoots down next to me; placing her head on my bare shoulder to watch me play. As my fingers run over the piano keys expertly, and with ease, she watches me mesmerized.

“What was that?” she asks softly.

“Chopin. Opus 28, number 4. In E minor, if you’re interested,” I murmur in answer to her question.

I turn and softly press my lips against her hair.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say sincerely.

“You didn’t. Play the other one,” she says.

“Other one?”

“The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed.”

“Oh, the Marcello.” (←Bach’s Marcello played by Alexandre Tharaud)

I start to play the Marcello piece slowly and resolutely. That’s a sad piece and it tugs all the emotions I can’t voice poured forth through my fingers, and in a way giving voice to all my sorrow, and my silent screams. The sad, soulful notes slowly and mournfully fill the room, and surround us tugging at our hearts, echoing through the walls, but also echoing the sounds of my soul’s cries. It’s my lamentation that I never let out through my own voice. When the piece ends, she opens her eyes slowly and asks, “Why do you only play such sad music?”

How can I tell you Anastasia that my soul is bleeding, mourning, trying to fill the gap in my being and never quite able to close it. Perhaps this is my reckoning for just being...exiting...

But my response to her is just a shrug as she sits upright removing her head from my shoulder and gazing up at me. My expression is wary; I don’t want her to decipher this shit in me... It’s not for her; she’s too pure for that crap.

“So you were just six when you started to play?” she asks.

I nod in response even more wary seeing where this conversation is going. Piano is my first coping tool. If I speak about it, I may spill some information in answer to her inquisition. She looks at me with expectation, and some warm feeling....love?

I finally volunteer the information.

“I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”

“To fit into the perfect family?”

“Yes, so to speak,” I say evasively. My perfect mother liked her children to excel in a musical instrument, martial arts and languages. I would do anything to make her happy. She saved me from a destructive, and a shitty life. She showed me there was another way of life that I never knew existed in my young life other than being abused.  “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?” I ask trying to distract her inquisition with my own.

“It’s 8:00 in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I am pleased that she’s being responsible, but also surprised at her choice of hour as we live in the west coast, and she started her regimen in the Eastern Standard Time. Leave it to Anastasia.

“Well remembered,” I murmur impressed. My lips quirk up when I remember the time sensitive regimen she started in a time zone that is three hours ahead of ours, requiring her to take her pill at 5:00 a.m. our local time. It never ceases to amaze me how she can yank me out of my misery with simple things and distracts me.

“Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour and then another half hour tomorrow morning. So eventually you can take them at a reasonable time,” I say.

“Good plan,” she breathes. “So, what shall we do for half an hour?” she says blinking innocently at me. Oh baby! How do you do that to me?

“I can think of a few things,” I grin, as I feel my eyes getting brighter with the prospect. She gazes back at me impassively.

“On the other hand, we could talk,” she suggests.

My brow creases in disappointment.

“I prefer what I have in mind,” I say scooping her up onto my lap.

“You’d rather have sex than talk,” she laughs as she tries to steady herself by holding onto my upper arms.

“True. Especially with you,” I say nuzzling her hair and I start a steady trail of kisses from below her ear to her throat. “Maybe on my piano,” I whisper.

I feel her whole body tightening in anticipation. Just the reaction I hoped.

“I want to get something straight,” she whispers. I pause momentarily to hear her out before I continue my sensual assault on my girlfriend.

“Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?” I breathe against her skin at the base of her neck, without breaking my soft gentle kisses.

“Us,” she whispers as she closes her eyes.

“Hmm...” I hum, “What about us?” I say, as I pause my trail of kisses along her shoulder.

“The contract,” she says.

I lift my head and gaze down at her, a little amused, and I finally sigh. I stroke my fingertips down her cheek.

“Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?” I say in a low husky voice, with my eyes soft.

“Moot?” she asks.

“Moot,” I say smiling. She gapes at me quizzically.

“But you were so keen.”

“Well, that was before. Anyway, the Rules aren’t moot, they still stand,” I say with slightly hardened expression. I’m not letting go of my control, or the rules we need to go by.

“Before? Before what?”

“Before...” I say pausing, and my wary expression is back with this unknown territory. “More,” I say shrugging.

“Oh,” is her breathy answer.

“Besides, you’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”

“Do you expect me to?” she quizzes.

“Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia,” I say dryly, as she’s always outside of the norm.

“So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the Rules element of the contract all the time but not the rest of the contract?”

“Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules –all the time. Then I know you’ll be safe, and I’ll be able to have you anytime I wish.”

“And if I break one of the rules?”

“Then I’ll punish you,” I respond.

“But won’t you need my permission?”

“Yes, I will.”

“And if I say no?” she retorts.

I gaze at her for a moment. Knowing Anastasia, she can be a rule breaker and she will say no to punishment almost always. My expression is a little confused. I’m not foregoing my rules, because she needs to know that I have to be in control at all times.

“If you say no, you’ll say no. I’ll have to find a way to persuade you,” I say. I am very creative when it comes to persuading.

She immediately pulls away from me and stands creating a distance between us. I frown as she stares down at me. I look puzzled with her behavior and scared and wary about it.  Is she running?

“So the punishment aspect remains,” she says trying to confirm.

“Yes, but only if you break the rules.”

“I’ll need to reread them,” she says.

“I’ll fetch them for you,” I say like the businessman I am trying to iron out the details of a business contract.

I rise from the piano, and walk to my study. I fire up my laptop, and open up the pdf file with her altered contract, and press “Print”. Once the printer spit out the amended contract, I grab the papers, and walk out of the study, and get back to my living room where Anastasia is standing with a confused expression plastered on her face.

“Here you go,” I say handing over the contract I have just printed. I have of course crossed out the lines where she didn’t agree.

RULES

Obedience:

The Submissive will obey any and all instructions given by The Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix A). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

Sleep:

The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight seven hours of sleep a night when she is not with The Dominant.

Food:

The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.

Clothes:

While with The Dominant, The Submissive will wear clothing only approved by The Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for The Submissive, which The Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany The Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis.

Exercise:

The Dominant shall provide The Submissive with a personal trainer four three times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and The Submissive. The personal trainer will report to The Dominant on The Submissive’s progress.

Personal Hygiene/Beauty:

The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of The Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by The Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments The Dominant sees fit.

Personal Safety:

The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger.

Personal Qualities:

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than The Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on The Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant. Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by The Dominant.

************

She reads every line carefully, intently and with full comprehension. Once she’s done reading, she lifts her head up and asks:

“So the obedience thing still stands?” she asks.

“Oh, yes,” I say grinning. Obedience is very important for me. Without it, I don’t have control. She shakes her head amused, and more out of habit than intention, she rolls her eyes at me and I light up like the Christmas tree.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?” I breathe with expectation.

She has this OSM face plastered on her face. (Define - OSM: Oh Shit! Moment)

“Possibly, depends what your reaction is,” she says.

“Same as always,” I say shaking my head slightly, and my eyes are alight with excitement of the possibility of her spanking as my palms starts twitching.

She swallows, and looks around for distraction, or divine intervention.

“Sooo...” she says looking for a way out.

“Yes?” I question her, licking my lower lip.

“You want to spank me now,” she says.

“Yes. And I will,” I reply as a matter of factly.

“Oh, really, Mr. Grey?” she challenges me, grinning back at me. She wants to play.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“You’re going to have to catch me first,” she says and my eyes widen and I grin, slowly getting up to my feet at her reaction in raising the stakes.

“Oh, really, Miss Steele?” I ask.

She’s now behind the breakfast bar, and there’s nothing else between us. In fact I can jump over it to get to her. My adrenaline is rushing with excitement, and she bites her lower lip raising the level of excitement in me.

“And you’re biting your lip,” I breathe, as I move slowly to my left and she too moves in the opposite direction.

“You wouldn’t,” she says teasing. “After all, you roll your eyes,” she says trying to reason with me. Cute! I continue to move to my lefts as does she.

“Yes, but you’ve just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game,” I say with my eyes ablaze, and wild anticipation.

“I’m quite fast, you know,” she says nonchalantly.

“So am I,” I respond.

I stalk her in the kitchen.

“Are you going to come quietly?” I ask.

“Do I ever?” she replies.

“Miss Steele, what do you mean?” I smirk.

“It’ll be worse for you if I have to come and get you,” I say.

“That’s only if you catch me, Christian. And right now, I have no intention of letting you catch me,” she says boldly.

“Anastasia, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direct contravention of rule number seven,” I say concerned.

“I have been in danger since I met you, Mr. Grey, rules or no rules,” she replies.

“Yes, you have,” I say pausing as I consider this statement. I put people in danger even if I do it unwillingly.

Suddenly I lunge for her and she squeals and runs for the dining table. She manages to escape, and now the dining table is between us. I’m excited like a predator, and I’m on the hunt...completely thrilled.

“You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia.”

“We aim to please, Mr. Grey. Distract you from what?” she asks.

“Life. The universe,” I say waving my hand around.

“You did seem very preoccupied as you were playing,” she comments.

I stop and fold my arms, amused.

“We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do.”

“No, you won’t,” she says stubbornly. Looking at me, measuring and gauging me to get ready to run.

“Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you,” I say.

“I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about me touching you,” she says and I’m stopped in my tracks as if she shot me, derailing me. What? How could I do that to her? Do something to her in the same intensity of repulsion and displeasure that was done to me? Why didn’t she ever tell me that? Worse yet, why the hell didn’t I get that? What a fucking idiot I am!

“That’s how you feel?” I whisper all the energy, all the will knocked out of me, horrified that I could be the inflictor of something so pugnacious and abhorrent to her. I feel all the energy draining from me as if I’m a lifeless husk of a man. She frowns.

“No. It doesn’t affect me quite as much as that, but it gives you an idea,” she murmurs, staring anxiously at me.

“Oh,” I say completely lost. Oh shit! I’ve spanked her, and she was nearly devastated! And her roommate nearly kicked my ass out. Of course she did, because I didn’t know the damage I was doing to her! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What kind of a shitty character I am! I... I... I don’t know how to respond to this revelation. My gaze goes up to her blank, bewildered, lost, my mouth agape.

“You hate it that much?” I breathe with horror inside finally reflected in my eyes. Horror! Of what I’ve inflicted to her... to the woman I loved... liked!

She stops in her tracks and slowly comes around the dining table.

“Well... no,” she says trying to reassure me. “No. I feel ambivalent about it. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it, either.”

“But last night, in the playroom, you...” I say trailing off.

“I do it for you, Christian, because you need it. But, I don’t. You didn’t hurt me last night. That was in a different context, and I can rationalize that internally, and I trust you. But when you want to punish me, I worry that you’ll hurt me.”

Oh, God! Here’s the crux! I really do want to hurt her! Nothing beyond the limit that she can take, but nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that I do! And right now, it’s more than anything. I’m torn inside. My eyes are blazing like a tornado... I’m unable to form words to express my thoughts. I don’t know if time stops or stretches, but it feels like years before I can open my mouth again.

“I want to hurt you. But not beyond anything you couldn’t take.” I say.

“Why?” she asks.

I run my hand through my hair, and I shrug. She would run, and would never come back if she knew the reason. I could never tell that to her. Never!

“I just need it,” I say pausing, gazing at her in anguish, and close my eyes and shake my head. She continues to look at me probing softly, questioning.

“I can’t tell you,” I whisper.

“Can’t or won’t?” she asks.

“Won’t.”

“So you know why.”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me,” she replies seeking confirmation to her statement.

“If I do, you will run screaming from this room, and you’ll never want to return,” I say staring at her warily as if I’m looking at a scared rabbit. “I can’t risk that, Anastasia,” I say with fear, trepidation, and the all-consuming desperation of keep her in my life.

“You want me to stay,” she says trying to confirm what I want.

“More than you know,” I whisper softly. I’d die if I were to lose her permanently. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Her breath stalls.

I gaze down at her suddenly with all the fear and panic coming to the surface suddenly. My suffocation with the fear of the possibility of losing her is here in full force. I pull her into my arms, and I kiss her, and kiss her with all my passion, and desire, and love. My God! I think I love her! She’s surprised as my panic and desperation grows, and all of those feelings pour into my kiss.

“Don’t leave me, please,” I beg her. “You said,” I say as my breathing accelerates, “You said, you wouldn’t leave me, and you begged me not to leave you, in your sleep,” I murmur against her lips trying to keep her with me as the fear of her leaving just consumes me like a lost child. I can’t lose you Ana! I’d rip my own heart out before any permanent separation comes between us! I cannot live without my heart! I cannot live without my soul!

“I don’t want to go,” she says softly. She gazes at me with all my walls down, and my barriers flattened, like a bare naked child with all my shit laying bare...a small boy who is lost in his abyss unable to find a light until she entered into my life. (← Rolling the Deep by Adele) My eyes are wide and bleak and finally displaying the tortured feeling that has always consumed me, especially in the darkness of the night when I’m all alone. She gazes at me with affection, and love.

“Show me,” she whispers.

“Show you?” I ask unable to comprehend.

“Show me how much it can hurt,” she says shocking me.

“What?” What is she asking from me? Is my mind making this up? Did she not tell me she loathes it as much as I loathe being touched?

“Punish me. I want to know how bad it can get,” she says.

I step away from her not trusting my own ears. Surely my brain is so fuckedup that it makes up this sort of shit now! I can’t jeopardize my relationship with her on false information. I’m confused. I want to hear it from her mouth again, to make sure.

“You would try?” I ask unbelieving.

“Yes. I said I would,” she says.

I blink at her in disbelief. What’s she playing at?

“Ana, you’re so confusing,” I say - the only fact that comes to my mind in this particular moment.

“I’m confused, too. I’m trying to work this out. And you and I will know, once and for all, if I can do this. If I can handle this, then maybe you –“ she says, her words trailing off. My eyes widen. I think she wants to touch me, and maybe if she can stand being spanked, and if she is willing to do this for me, I sure as hell would try being touched for her. But, I don’t want being touched a turn off in our relationship. I am torn. What the hell? This beautiful woman is doing something she loathes solely because she wants to meet my needs and I won’t reciprocate? I’d be damned if I won’t! I finally have a steely resolve and determination in my entire being, and let that feeling settle into my features. I narrow my eyes on her, gazing at my girlfriend speculatively trying to weight my alternatives. This is what I want, and there is something she wants from me in return.

I make my decision, and abruptly, I clasp her arm in a firm grip and turn leading her out of the living room and direct her up the stairs and lead her into the Playroom.

“I’ll show you how bad it can be, and you can make your own mind up,” I say pausing by the door. There is a tugging feeling inside which I can’t resolve. I give her one last chance to stop us, to stop me.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask fervently, seeking for a truthful, honest answer.

She nods, her eyes resolute, her mind made up.

I open the door, and still grasping her arm, I grab a belt from the rack beside the door among the punishment tools, and then lead her over to the red leather bench in the far corner of the room.

“Bend over the bench,” I murmur softly.

She bends over the soft leather. I leave her bathrobe on.

“We are here because you said yes, Anastasia,” willing her to understand that she is the one who made the decision to come into the Playroom and to be punished, and that it is with her consent and never without it.

“And you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times, and you will count with me,” I say to her, listing the reasons why she’s here. But she needs to remember what she shouldn’t do. That’s why I make her count the number of spankings she receives with the belt for  future references.

I finally lift the hem of her bathrobe, and I gently caress her behind, running my hand all over both her cheeks and down the tops of her thighs.

“I’m doing this so that you remember not to run from me, and as exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me,” I whisper. Even in play, her running away from me is simply devastating.

“And you rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that,” I say with my firm Dominant voice, as my Dom persona is back full force which is completely associated with this room.

I lift the belt and land it on her backside as hard as I can holding nothing back, letting it bite into her butt cheeks. She cries out in pain and shock with the first bite of the belt, and takes a huge gulp of air as if her lungs just ran out of air completely.

“Count, Anastasia!” I command her. Somehow, with Anastasia's counting is an acknowledgement of my Dominance on her which is a huge turn on.

“One!” she shouts at me as if to say ‘fuck you Grey!’

I hit her again, and her bottom is glowing with the welt of the belt on her bottom in a long strip and the sound of it echoes in the room.

“Two!” she screams.

Her voice raises my libido ten times the limit making my breathing harsh and ragged. I lift the belt and land it cutting into her flesh again.

“Three!” she screams, and I feel her warm tears spring onto my pajama bottoms, but she’s not protesting, and nor is she stopping me.

I hit her again.

“Five...” she says in a more choked voice than angry or despondent. She sounds strangled, and her backside is as red as the Chinese flag, but still no safe word out of her. I land the belt one last time.

“Six,” she whispers, as I drop the belt behind her, pulling her into my arms compassionately and breathless as she’s endured the punishment and she did that for me! But she pushes me away, struggles out of my grasp.

“Let go... no...” she says, still pushing and fighting to get away from me. (← Monster by Lady Gaga)  Fighting me! Trying to run away from me! Oh God! No! What have I done?

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses at me as she straightens and stares at me. I am completely bewildered, my eyes wide, and scared with the knowledge that she might bolt, and run away. She dashes her tears angrily out of her eyes with the backside of her hands glaring at me.

“This is what you really like? Me, like this?” she says as she wipes her nose with the sleeve of her bathrobe.

I gaze at her warily unable to speak.

“Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch!”

“Ana,” I plead, shocked. I didn’t want to take her in here. But she wanted me to bring her in anyway. What have I done? Why did I agree even after she declared that she loathes being punished? How the hell did I mess up my relationship single handedly like this?

“Don’t you dare ‘Ana’ me! You need to sort your shit out, Grey!” she says as her last words to me completely angry, bitter, bewildered, and hurt. I realize at this moment that it is actually me that hurts people. I’m bad to the core! I hurt the people who care for me! I hurt the only woman I really love! And at this fucking point of realization, she may be running away from me.

She clasps the door handle and quietly close it behind her as if in defeat.

What do I do? I can’t live without her! I... I just can’t! I’m a shitty, crappy guy who is good for nothing, worth nothing and yet I want her affection, I want her love, I need her here, with me. I’ll do anything, anything for her to stay with me.

She just walked out on me. My hands go to my hair in bewilderment, but this time, I find my fingers clutching and pulling it harshly in desperation. Oh my God! I just... I start hyperventilating. I just drove away the only woman I ever loved! What the fuck is wrong with me?

I am thoroughly, utterly, completely fucked up! Fifty shades? I’m the worst thing the damn crack whore gave birth to! Well, you’ve made your bed, you son of a bitch! Oh, God! What have I done? Can I ever redeem myself? I’m frozen in my spot unable to move. What do I do? She hates me! She really, truly hates me! Please, God! I can’t bear it! Hear me! Help me! I’m worthless, but I’m asking for help now! Please! Help me! Save me from my misery!  She’s the only one I ever loved and she loathes me now...

“Please,” escapes from my lips in a low voice. “Please God... I’ve no one to ask for help. Help me! She’ll leave me!”

I finally find the strength to move from the spot I’m frozen, and slowly walk to the door and turn the door knob. She’s not by the door. I go to my room, and walk into the master bathroom and pick up a bottle of Advil and a bottle of lotion to soothe her bottom. Then I find myself going in the direction of her room. I slowly make my way to her door and I slowly walk into her room. The dawn is upon us, but it’s as if the sun has set and not coming back up again for me. She’s curled up on her side in the bed, because her backside is hurt and she’s suffering, her head buried into her pillow and she’s sobbing. The words of her roommate Kate comes back to me, “Ever since she’s met you, she cries all the time!” I’m torn inside into a million pieces. She really hates me... I hate me! Why shouldn’t she?

I put the Advil and arnica cream by the bedside table, and sit on the bed and it shifts under my weight as I climb in the bed behind her, closer to her, closer to her relentless sobs.

“Hush,” I breathe. She’s frozen in her spot, and lies stiffly, completely unyielding. My heart breaks anew. I’ve broken her! “Don’t fight me, Ana, please,” I whisper. I can’t take it. Gently, I pull her into my arms, burying my nose in her hair, kissing her neck. I can’t bear to lose her. I just can’t!

“Don’t hate me,” I barely can whisper, “please,” I breathe against her soft skin. (← Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Boys 2 Men)  My soul is aching, and I’m lost. She starts silently sobbing again. I continue to kiss her softly, tenderly, but I’m wary that she doesn’t want me anymore.

The two of us lie together like this for ages. I just hold her, praying silently that she doesn’t leave me that she forgives me, and she stops hating. I know this is a long order, but I’m in love with her! She finally relaxes as stiffness leaving her body, and stops crying. Dawn comes and goes, and soft morning lights yields to brighter day lights as morning moves on, and still we lie quietly.

“I brought you some Advil and some arnica cream,” I say after a long while.

She turns very slowly in my arms facing me. Her head is resting on my arm. My eyes are unyielding of my thoughts and fears and guarded.

She gazes at me like she’s looking at me the last time. Oh, no! I try to give nothing away in my gaze, keeping my eyes on her without even blinking. Reaching up, she caresses my cheek and runs the tips of her fingers through my stubble. I close my eyes and exhale slightly at her touch that has become my lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. What? Why? Is this it? Is she going to tell me this isn’t working?

I open my eyes and look at her puzzled.

“What for?”

“What I said,” she says making relief flood through me. Maybe she won’t leave. Maybe we can work this out.

“You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know,” I say with soft eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say.

She shrugs in response.

“I asked for it.” Then looks at me, swallowing. This isn’t good.

“I don’t think I can be everything you want me to be,” she whispers. My eyes widen slightly, and I blink as fear slams back at me full swing.

“You are everything I want you to be,” I say to her. I have waited so long for her, to find her, and somehow the Divine Providence was kind enough to cross our paths. (←A Thousand Years by Christina Perri)  Now, I’m fucking about to lose her. There is a gaping hole in my chest and I can’t take it. She’s here, but miles away. She looks confused.

“I don’t understand. I’m not obedient, and you can be as sure as hell I’m not going to let you do that to me again. And that’s what you need, you said so.”

I close my eyes again and fighting with my better part of the brain. I just realized that I’m in love with her. Doesn’t love require me to do what is best for her, and not for myself? Didn’t Dr. Flynn tell me just recently that, “C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans espoir de retour.” How I understand it now, and it’s too late. “Love is to give everything, sacrifice everything never to return,” and I have to do what is best in her interest, and in Christian Grey’s. I make up my mind. I have to let her go. Do what’s best for her knowing it’s be near impossible to change my ways.

“You’re right. I should let you go. I am no good for you,” I acquiesce completely devastated. (←You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse)  Love is to give everything without expecting anything in return. You’ll leave with my heart and soul; I’ll be left less than what I was when she found me.

Her eyes widen to my response. “I don’t want to go,” she whispers as tears swim in her eyes again. Relief floods me once more.

“I don’t want you to go either,” I whisper in a raw voice. I reach up and gently stroke her cheek and wipe away a falling tear with my thumb. “I’ve come alive since I met you,” I could barely utter in whisper. My thumb traces the contours of her lower lip.

“Me, too,” she whispers back. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Christian,” she declares, and hearing this from her when she’s conscious and awake, I’m floored, and my breath is knocked out of me. She loves me? This worthless piece of shit of a man? She can’t! She shouldn’t! I’m nothing! I’m bad for her. My eyes widen with pure, undiluted fear. This is really, really bad! Bad for her, and bad for me.

“No,” I breathe as if I’ve heard the worst declaration in the world. I feel as if life is snuffed out out of me.

“You can’t love me, Ana. No... that’s wrong,” I say completely horrified.

“Wrong? Why’s it wrong?” she asks.

“Well, look at you. I can’t make you happy,” I say in a very anguished voice.

“But you do make me happy,” she says frowning.

“Not at the moment, not doing what I want to do,” and this is the crux of it; because I am fucked up, and that I want to hurt her. She looks sad, and despaired.

“We’ll never get past that, will we?” she whispers in a fearful voice as realization dawns on her. I shake my head bleakly. She closes her eyes as if she can’t bear to look at me. I’m one fucking, shitty son of a bitch! Why do I destroy every good thing that comes to my way?

“Well... I’d better go, then,” she murmurs, and winces as she sits up.

“No, don’t go,” I say panic consuming me completely.

“There’s no point in me staying.” She looks like she’s aged 10 years in the last few hours as if the weight of the world is wearing her down. She climbs out of bed, and I follow.

“I’m going to get dressed. I’d like some privacy,” she says in a flat, empty voice as if someone, I stole the life out of her and she leaves me standing in the bedroom.

Oh dear God! What the hell have I done? She’s leaving me! She’s actually leaving me! I can’t breathe! I pace back and forth in the room... What can I do? How can I stop her? I’m completely, utterly, irrevocably broken...nothing can fix me but her! (←Unbreak my heart by Toni Braxton)

I go to my study, and dial Taylor. He answers on the first ring. My voice is strained, and disturbed, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I can’t control my emotions.

“Taylor,” I say. And with this one word, alarm bells go up in him.

“I’m coming sir,” and he’s there in 15 seconds flat. When he’s in my office he’s already dressed and ready for anything.

“What’s going on sir? Are you well? Is Miss Steele okay?”

“She’s leaving me Taylor. I want you to take her home,” I say, not even recognizing my despair laden voice. I erect my walls back up again. “I want you to be ready. That’s all,” I say in an emotionless voice. That’s the only kind of voice I can manage.

He leaves the office.

I have spare clothes in my office, so I put on my jeans and a black t-shirt. My feet are bare. I come back out to the living room area, so I can try to persuade Anastasia one last time.

My Blackberry rings. Fuck! Of all the time it has to ring, it rings now! It’s Welch.

“Sir. I have news,” he says.

“What the hell is it?” I say with complete impatience.

“We’ve persuaded Leila’s husband to part with some information about her. She was in touch with him. She contacted him. Something tragic happened to her and she asked him to help her. But he told her that to go and fuck herself and he doesn’t care what happens to her.”

“He said what!” I shout, and I see Anastasia enter the room through the corner of my eyes, and my shouting makes her jump.

“Well, he could have told us the fucking truth. What’s his number? I need to call him... Welch, this is a real fuck up.” I glance up and don’t take my darkening and brooding eyes off her. “Find her,” I snap, and press the hang-up button.

Anastasia walks over to the couch and collects her backpack, completely ignoring me. To my utter horror, she takes her Mac out of it, and walks back to toward the kitchen, placing it carefully on the breakfast bar along with her Blackberry and her car key. She turns to face me as I stare at her in a completely stupefied horror laden face. Why is she wounding me like this? I gave those to her... I don’t want them back!

“I need the money that Taylor got for my Beetle,” she says in a clear and calm voice, completely devoid of emotion, all on auto pilot. I know that voice well, I just used it on Taylor.

“Ana, I don’t want those things,” I say in disbelief, hardly able to control the crack in my voice. “Please, take them.”

“No Christian. I only accepted them under sufferance, and I don’t want them anymore.”

“Ana, be reasonable,” I scold her.

“I don’t want anything that will remind me of you. I just need the money that Taylor got for my car,” say responds in a monotone voice.

I gasp in disbelief. She’s trying to uproot me from her life by the roots. She’s wants nothing of me! Not even a memory. Oh, God!

“Are you really trying to wound me?” I ask in a fervent whisper.

“No,” she frowns, staring at me. Love is still in her eyes with deep sadness. “I’m not,” she says in a sad whisper. “I’m trying to protect myself,” and that statement hurts me the most. (← I Have Nothing by Whitney Houston)

“Please, Ana, take that stuff.”

“Christian, I don’t want to fight – I just need the money.”

I narrow my eyes on her, willing her to take it. She just gazes back at me impassively, not even blinking, and not backing down. This is her unyielding face. I can’t force her.

“Will you take a check?” I ask acidly.

“Yes. I think you’re good for it.”

I am having the worst day of my life. Leila’s fucking husband has had contact with her, and he didn’t share the information. She’s out there somewhere ready to harm herself, possibly others. And my girlfriend, the only girl I ever fall in love with is leaving me today! I stalk into my study. I write Anastasia a check for her car. Put it in an envelope, and come back out to the living room. She’s not going to believe that this is the amount Taylor, got but it is.

“Taylor got a good price. It’s a classic car. You can ask him. He’ll take you home.” I say nodding in the direction over her shoulder. She turns, and sees Taylor standing in the doorway, wearing his suit, ready to go.

“That’s fine. I can get myself home, thank you,” she replies. She turns to stare at me, and I can barely contain my fury in my eyes. Why won’t she ever, ever listen to me? Why can’t she take one last gesture from me? Why Ana? Why do you do this to me? Why do you leave me?

“Are you going to defy me at every turn?” I ask icily.

“Why change a habit of a lifetime?” she says giving me a small, apologetic shrug.

I close my eyes in frustration and run my hands through my hair completely exasperated.

“Please, Ana, let Taylor take you home,” I beg.

“I’ll get the car, Miss Steele,” Taylor announces authoritatively. Maybe she’ll listen to him. She thought he was avuncular. I nod at Taylor, and he’s gone to get the car.

She turns back to face me. We’re about four feet apart. I step forward to hold her one last time knowing that I may not be able to let go of her, and she automatically steps back as if she reached in took my heart and slammed it on the ground. I stop. She’s running away from me, and I am utterly anguished. Oh God! She doesn’t want me. That hurts the most. I wounded her deeply, and she doesn’t even want my proximity to her. Sorrow, and gut wrenching agony pours out of my cells, from my entire being as if to materialize before her. My eyes burn with longing and desperation. I just want to run to her, and hold her and never, ever let go! Let me Ana, please! (←Run to You by Whitney Houston)

“I don’t want you to go,” I murmur with one last plea. Please baby! Don’t go. I gaze at her longing. Close enough to touch, yet, unable to, because she erected walls between us.

“I can’t stay. I know what I want, and you can’t give it to me, and I can’t give you what you need,” she says in a despaired voice.

I take another step forward, but she holds up her hands to stop me.

“Don’t, please.” To see her recoil from me is simply despairing. She can’t even tolerate my touch. I’m dying as if by a thousand cuts. “I can’t do this.”

She grabs her suitcase and her backpack, and head for the foyer. I follow her, but keep a careful distance. I press the elevator button, and the doors open. She climbs in.

“Goodbye, Christian,” she murmurs.

“Ana, goodbye,” I say softly. I’m just a broken man, in agonizing pain in this moment. As she tears her gaze away from me I’m completely shattered; she might as well have taken everything with her because the second the elevator door is closed, my soul has left with Ana as I’ve never had it without her. (←Take My Love With You by Bonnie Raitt)

The only woman I ever loved just left me... The wind is knocked out of me, and with her leaving it feels like someone just turned the lights off, and took the sun away. I sink to my knees completely going limp like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders, and for the first time in my adult life, I start crying my head buried in my hands.

This is entirely my fault! I’m one fuckedup son-of-a-bitch! A bitch would have been a better thing; it’s worse...son of a crack-whore! How do I ever wash off that crap off of me so I don’t taint anyone anymore? I’ve tainted and hurt my baby, my girlfriend, my woman, my only love!

I get up from the floor resolutely, tears still streaming on their own volition. I might have run into Mrs. Jones with her mouth on the floor, but who can tell? I can barely see where I’m walking, my eyes and my mind completely clouded.

I walk into the bedroom and directly go to the bathroom tears still streaming, my sobs subsides. I nearly rip the shirt off my back, and take my jeans off. Turn the water to hot, and walk into the shower. I grab a scrubber on the way in and lather it with body wash. I start scrubbing and washing away the dirt the crack whore’s pimp laid on me, and that got stuck, infused with me all these years. I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub relentlessly all the cigarette marks, all the places I have not allowed Anastasia to touch. I disgust myself! I hate myself! Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub... My chest is raw and red... Next I move to my arms, and hands. These are the hands that want to hurt Anastasia! Scrub...scrub...scrub...scrub... on and on and on. I can’t reach my back! I have a scrubber with a handle somewhere. I walk out of the shower dripping water and soap everywhere but I don’t care and check one of the cabinets, and there it is, I slam the damn cabinet with such a force it springs back a couple of time before it stops and remains closed.

I soap that scrubber up, and scrub my back over and over and over again until it’s raw and painful. Pain is good. I’m familiar with it. I’m still existing, on this plane where Anastasia lives. I stand under the hot water like this forever it seems, and the realization that Ana has left me slams into me again, making me weak at the knees once more, and I collapse in the shower and my back to the shower wall, I gather my knees, and let my grief consume me as my misery takes a nosedive, like an airplane spiraling out of control.

I see nothing, can think of anything, and can’t gather a coherent thought except for Anastasia.

“Mr. Grey?” I hear a hesitant voice from the entry. I don’t respond. The voice is soft, but distant. I am not here. I feel as if I’ve left my body; just an observer of my own self from a distance, from above; anywhere but on the shower floor. I’m like a zombie in my own skin. (←Zombie by the Cranberries)   

“Mr. Grey?” this time the female voice is closer.

“Oh, Dear Lord!” now the voice is anxious, worried, and scared. Surely, not for me...

“Taylor!” Oh, the voice is loud now.

“Taylor! Jason Taylor! Get your ass over here!” what language can this woman speak! Who is this?

I hear footsteps. No, fast running footfalls, getting louder, and finally stops before the entry of my bathroom. Someone walks into the shower. What a rude man! You just don’t walk into the shower with another man, uninvited!

“Sir! Sir!” He yells. “Sir, can you hear me?”

He turns the water off and I notice that his dark suit is soaked.

“Gayle, hand me couple of towels please!” he barks an order; efficient like a soldier.

All of a sudden I’m being hoisted to my feet and a big fluffy towel is wrapped around my waist and another one on my torso.

“Go to my office, and get my first aid kit,” he barks another sharp order. Then answers a question I couldn’t hear.

“They’re labeled. First aid, and burn.”

I hear running feet distancing themselves.

“Sir, I’m going to lay you on your bed now,” he speaks to me gently like he’s talking to a small child. I nod. He takes me to my bed, and there is a box on my pillow. Jason is about to remove it, but he stops.

“This is from Miss Steele,” he says softly. All my wits come back to me rushing with full force.

“It’s mine!” I say yanking it out of Taylor’s hands as if his touch would desecrate a sacred item.

I hug it to myself, and Taylor eyes me with an expression I’ve never seen him with before. Is it compassion? When I can finally put the box back on the bed, I see the not on top of it.

This reminded me of a happy time.

Thank you.

Ana

I gaze at the box for a long time. I hear a strange sound. A choked sound. I look up and Taylor and Mrs. Jones are gazing at each other with worried expressions mirroring each other. Who the hell is making that sound? When two large drops land on the box containing a kit for Blahnik L23 glider, I realize that I’m the one who is making the choking sound.

Taylor shifts uncomfortable on his feet. He nods at Mrs. Jones and she leaves the room with a worried look on her face.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.

“Hmm...” is all I can say to reply.

“I need to administer first aid to you sir,” he says flatly.

“What for?”

“Your skin seems a bit raw sir. It’ll fasten the healing process.”

“I’ll do that myself Taylor,” I say finally finding my flat voice, maybe an ordering, firm tone. I think I hear Taylor letting a sigh of relief out. If I can’t let Anastasia touch me, I sure as hell can’t let Taylor administer my chest first aid. It’s nothing worse than Anastasia’s bottom anyway. 

“Will you be okay sir?” Taylor asks hesitantly.

No, I think to myself. I’ll never be okay without Anastasia.

“How was Miss Steele?” I ask him.

“Sir...” he hesitates. “She was... not good sir,” he says slowly. I look at him to tell me more. He was the last person in touch with the only woman I ever loved. I want to hear it no matter how painful!

He hesitates.

“Taylor, I want you to tell me? How was she? How did she look? Did she say anything to you?”

Taylor looks at me as if he’s going to betray Anastasia’s trust if he says anything. He’s quiet.

“Taylor?” I ask sharply. He doesn’t flinch.

“She was devastated, sir. She wept, and sobbed all the way home. She kind of rolled in on herself in the backseat, and cried,” he says. His words are like stabbing a fresh wound.

“Did you help her up to her place?”

“She didn’t want any help sir... She just...” he paused looking away, “she just stumbled away on her own slowly.”

“Thank you Taylor,” I murmur. “I’ll be at home all day today. I have this model glider to build that Anastasia got for me. So, we’re not going to the Ball this evening. Have Mrs. Jones fix me a light lunch please.”

“Yes, sir!” he says a little more enthusiastically than warranted. Taylor leaves the room. I took one of the lotions Mrs. Jones brought and rub it on my chest. I put a black t-shirt and black pants on as if to emphasize my own misery.

Taking my Blahnik L23 glider box in my arm, I walk into the living room. Mrs. Jones is busily fixing me a sandwich.

“What would you like to drink sir?”

“Wine please,” I say.

My Blackberry rings on the breakfast counter. I run to answer it hope against hope thinking it’s Anastasia, and Mrs. Jones turns to look at me also hopeful.

“Ana!” I say out of breath.

“Hi Christian! This is Elena...” is the answering reply.

“What the fuck do you want?” I say my tone changing to shards of ice.

“Did I call you at a bad time?” she asks.

“Worst! You’re the last person I want to speak to right now Elena!” I snarl at her.

“Christian, have I offended you someway?” she asks in a small voice.

“If you must know! My girlfriend Anastasia left me!”

“But, why? I thought you were getting along so well...” she says.

“Why? Because, I’m one fucked up son of a bitch! That’s why! I told you, she’s an angel, and I’m the devil spawn! I destroy all good things!”

“Christian, don’t be so harsh on yourself! She wasn’t a great sub anyway. I knew she couldn’t handle our lifestyle. I told you to dump her. Look what she’s doing to you! I told you that love is a useless emotion, and it got you all out of sorts, dear...” she says, and I’ve had it with her crap!

“Shut the fuck up Elena! If I need your opinion, I will ask for it. I’ve just told you that my girlfriend left me, and you’re telling me to dump her ass. Well, guess what? Your wish has been granted. My ass has been dumped, and I have never been this miserable in my entire life! She took the sun away with her! She took my soul! I’m lost in an abyss! Do you have any idea about the torment I’m going through right now? Of course you don’t! You’ve never loved anyone besides yourself! And now you have the audacity to tell me that it’s almost good riddance that she’s gone!”

“Christian, but...”

“No, buts Elena. I’m done with that shit! I need to sort my own shit out! She’s my life! My soul! How can I live without my life, without my soul!”

“I’m sorry Christian! I can’t bear seeing you hurt!”

“Save your sorry to for someone who cares! I have to go. My girlfriend gave me a model glider, and I’ll have to build it. Don’t call me until I call you!” I hang up.

Mrs. Jones is frozen in her place momentarily but she brings the plate of food to the breakfast bar, and a glass of wine, and silently walks away.

I have a glider to build today. And, tomorrow, either I have to find a way to distance myself completely from Anastasia...or... but I can’t bring the rest of that thought. How can I think of her with someone else holding her, touching her, making love to her?

I have a glider to build today. That’s what I’m going to do. And tomorrow, I’m gonna sort my shit out, and find a way to get my girlfriend back. Everything is bleak, and worthless without her, just as I am. (←When You’re Gone by The Cranberries)

End of Book 1

It's bittersweet that we're at the end of this first book. We've made it through together. What are you feelings? Once again, I want to thank you all for seeing me through this...it's like a book club, a support group, a fanfiction for 50 Addicts all wrapped in one... Ready for make up?