Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Book III - Chapter XXVI - Final Chapter - Christian and Anastasia Fanfiction

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe



No wonder why the doctor hasn’t come to talk to me. I had just sat down to go through some work documents on my laptop knowing the doctor might be a while, I get this great news. I take a deep breath, and I’m in the process of closing the numerous documents I have opened on my laptop to go see Anastasia, the door to the waiting room opens again. I glance up and see my wife beaming.

“He’s awake,” she proclaims excitedly. Her confirmation of his awakening as well as her clear joy finally relieves all the tension I have been living for days. I smile as if part of the heavy load is lifted off my shoulders. I want this to be her joy and don’t want to tell her that I already heard. I take the laptop and put it aside and hold my wife in my embrace.

“How is he?” I ask as I hold her.

“Talking, thirsty, and bewildered. He doesn’t remember the accident at all.”

“That’s understandable. Now that he’s awake, I want to get him moved to Seattle. Then we can go home, and my mom can keep an eye on him,” I state what I have been thinking.

“I’m not sure he’s well enough to be moved,” she responds immediately. But, that opinion should be left to his doctors. We have enough technology to provide the same care of his step-down environment since he’s not using the life sustaining machinery and he can be comfortably transferred to a Seattle hospital in a medical helicopter for a duration that will take less than an hour.

“I’ll talk to Dr. Sluder. Get her opinion,” I state simply.

“You miss home?” she asks realizing.


“Okay,” she acquiesces understanding.

Dr. Sluder greets us after we go back to see Ray. Ray is as Anastasia described confused, but now informed that he’s been in an accident and in a coma. After his coma and near death, the smallest animation of his limbs, and uttering however few words make Anastasia completely overjoyed. It’s like a shot of adrenaline. As Ray’s doctor explains his improvement Ana grins constantly while she squeezes my hand with excitement. When we are alone with Dr. Sluder to discuss his health, I turn to her and ask the question that's been in my mind since yesterday:

“Doctor Sluder, is Ray well enough to be moved to Seattle?”

“We need to observe him for at least 24 hours and perform some tests to give the green light for his transfer. I’m eighty percent positive that his transfer can be doable sometime Tuesday subject to his test results,” she replies. Good, one or two more days in Portland perhaps. I feel relief in that knowledge.

When we pull up outside of the Heathman, I turn around and see Anastasia with her wide grin.

“You haven’t stopped smiling,” I remark.

“I’m very relieved, and happy.”

I grin in response. I’m happy when she’s happy. “Good.” The air is cool and crisp as the evening darkness starts blanketing the city. Anastasia hands the keys to her R8 to the valet who eyes the car with a carnal appreciation as if she’s a beautiful woman. A shiver goes through Anastasia’s body, and I know that it’s not the concern this time, but the chill of the air. I put my arm around her.

The doorman opens the door as we walk through.

“Shall we celebrate?” I ask as we enter the foyer.


“Your dad,” I remind her. How soon we forget. She giggles in response, “Oh, him.”

“I’ve missed that sound,” I say kissing her hair. I have indeed. Seeing my wife distressed, and hope sucked out of her have been very hard. And her current elation immediately relieves me.

“Can we just eat in our room? You know, have a quiet night in?”

“Sure. Come,” I say as I take her hand.

Dinner is more than pleasant, because Anastasia polishes off her food and desert to the last morsel both surprising and pleasing me.

“That was delicious,” she murmurs completely replete, pushing her plate away. “They sure know how to make a fine tarte Tatin here.”

We take a relaxing bath together. When I come out and dry, I put my t-shirt and jeans. I go to the living room and turn the iPod on. Perhaps all Anastasia’s appetites are back. There’s one way to find out. I put Dido on shuffle, and she’s singing White Flag.

Dido – White Flag

When Anastasia comes out freshly bathed and only wearing my t-shirt and possibly just her panties underneath, she looks good enough to eat. If I’m lucky, maybe I can. “That’s the most I’ve seen you eat the entire time we’ve been here,” I observe.

“I was hungry,” she replies.

I sit in my chair and lean back, and then take a sip of my white wine with a self-satisfied smirk. “What would you like to do now?” I ask in a soft voice, hopeful, concupiscent voice.

“What do you want to do?” she answers with another question.

Isn’t it obvious? I raise an eyebrow, looking amused. “What I always want to do.”

“And that is?” Come one Ana! Stop teasing me!

“Mrs. Grey, don’t be so coy,” I say. But this time she reaches across the dining table, grasps my hand and turns it over. Her touch ignites my blood, searing me; a current courses over my every cell like a wild fire. My breathing is shallow though rapid. She skims over my palm with her index finger.

“I’d like you to touch me with this,” she murmurs as she runs her finger up over my index finger. Her touch resonates in my groin and down to the tip of my penis, making me shift in my chair. “Just that?” I ask as my eyes darken, and I’m carnality personified.

“Maybe this?” she adds running her finger up over my middle finger and back to my palm. “And this,” she continues tracing a line with her nail over my ring finger, “definitely this,” she confirms as her finger stops over my wedding band. “This is very sexy.”

My eyes are wide, focused, intent, and I am completely turned on.

“Is it, now?”

“It sure is. It says this man is mine.” She is definitely turning me on. I lean forward and cup her chin with my other hand making her look at me.

“Mrs. Grey, are you seducing me?”

“I hope so.”

“Anastasia, I’m a given,” I say is a low, carnal voice. “Come here,” I order softly tugging her hand, and pulling her onto my lap. “I like having unfettered access to you,” I say and run my hand up her thigh to her buttocks. Grasping her neck with my other hand, I hold her firmly in place, and kiss her with all I’ve got. First soft and sensual, but then when she runs her fingers through my hair, holding me in place, I am once again on fire for her, and my tongue dips into her mouth and explores, touching, feeling, licking and demanding. Her tongue curls around mine, and twist in a seductive dance, mirroring her hands. It’s arousing, libidinous and intoxicating. I have to have her, now.

“Let’s go to bed,” I murmur against her lips.

“Bed?” she asks, unsure. Does my wife want something different? I pull back further, and pull her hair up making her look up at me. “Where would you prefer, Mrs. Grey?” She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Surprise me.”

I smirk. She is ready for anything. “You are feisty this evening,” I say running my nose along hers.

“Maybe I need to be restrained,” she adds. Fuck! How hot is that!

“Maybe you do. You’re getting mighty bossy in your old age,” I say narrowing my eyes on her, but I am completely pleased with her demand.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks enticingly. You ask me that? I can do a number of things with this request. “I know what I’d like to do about it. Depends if you’re up to it.”

“Oh, Mr. Grey, you’ve been very gentle with me these last couple of days. I’m not made of glass you know.”

“You don’t like gentle?”

“With you, of course. But you know…variety is the spice of life,” she replies batting her eyelashes in a comely manner.

“You’re after something less gentle?” Dare I ask?

“Something life-affirming,” she answers. I am more than capable of providing that. I nod. I gaze at her for a moment, assessing her mood. She bites her lip. “Don’t bite your lip,” I whisper, and rise to my feet suddenly with Ana in my arms. She gasps in reaction to the suddenness of my movement, and grabs hold of my biceps. I walk over to the smallest of the three couches in the living room, and put her on it.

“Wait here. Don’t move,” I order, gazing her at for a moment with the intensity of my carnal desire and turn on my heels and walk back to the bedroom with sure steps. I know exactly what I want to do, and how I want to do it. I go to the bathroom and retrieve a hand towel and the massage oil. I walk back from behind her, and she’s startled to find me there.

“I think we’ll get rid of this,” I say as I pull her t-shirt and drag it over her head. She’s naked except for her panties. Completely hot. I pull her ponytail back once again, and kiss her.

“Stand up,” I order against her lips, and release her. She immediately obeys. I lay the towel on the sofa where I want her to sit. She looks at me quizzically.

“Take your panties off,” I command in a husky voice. She swallows, but excited and expectant, and takes them off by the sofa.

“Sit,” I say and pull her ponytail again, tilting her head back once again. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”

Overly excited, she’s unable to utter a word. She nods in the affirmative. 

“Say it,” I command in a stern voice.

“Yes,” she squeals.

I smirk at her reply. “Good. So, Mrs. Grey… by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you,” I whisper, speaking to her libido. Her eyes darken; the blue irises nearly disappear into a blue ring with her pupils dilating.

“Bring your knees, up,” I command again in a soft tone. “And sit right back.”

She rests her feet on the edge of the sofa, her knees in front of her. I reach for her left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathrobes, I tie one end right above her knee.
“Bathrobes?” she quizzes.

“I’m improvising,” I reply smirking. We’re not home after all. Then I fasten the slipknot above her knee and tie the other end of the soft terrycloth belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa, thereby effectively parting her legs in an inviting position.

“Don’t move,” I warn her, and repeat the process on the right leg, tying the second bathrobe belt to the other finial. Completely alluring and mouthwatering. She’s before me, outspread on the sofa, legs wide apart, trussed up, and completely turned on.

“Okay?” I ask softly, gazing down at her from behind the sofa. She nods. I bend and kiss her. I deliberately don’t tie her hands. I have a job for them.

“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” I murmur and rub my nose against hers. What I want to do requires a different type of music. “Change of music, I think,” I say standing up, and stroll to the iPod dock.

Gabriella Cilmi – Sweet About Me

This position is exposing; leaving you feeling vulnerable, helpless and of course aptly penetrable. Just the way I like it. The singer has a sultry, young and enticing voice. She starts singing “Sweet about me.” Watching me, she says as she starts her song. How apt. That’s exactly what I plan to do. Watch my wife pleasure herself. I turn around and my gaze locks with Anastasia’s. Without breaking gaze with her, I saunter to the front of the sofa and agilely sink to my knees before her. My eyes scan her body, and she now has the full effect of how exposed she is.

“Exposed? Vulnerable?” I ask, knowing exactly how she feels. My hands don’t leave my knees. She nods.

“Good,” I say. That’s exactly where I want her. “Hold out your hands.” Our eyes remain locked, and she can’t take her gaze away from me. She does as she’s told. I pour massage oil scented with a rich, musky, sensuous fragrance. It contains ambrette seed, sandalwood, and patchouli. The combination of these elements makes the scent very erotic, uplifting, earthy and stimulating. It’s perfect in creating the deep, rich massage oil. She inhales the scent as she closes her eyes. I know she’s captivated by it.

“Rub your hands,” I order as she opens her eyes. She is practically squirming, under my scorching gaze. “Keep still,” I warn.

“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself,” I say in a husky voice.

She blinks and looks at me, hesitant. I am going to guide her all the way. I am completely turned on by the idea of my woman pleasuring herself for my eyes only.

Sheena Easton – For Your Eyes Only

“Start at your throat and work down.” She is reluctant.

“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.” My voice and face a challenge, but mostly I’m dying to see this. I want to see her confident in her sexuality. She finally hesitantly places her hands against her throat, and slowly slides them down to the top of her breast with ease, spreading the trail of oil and the intoxicating scent.

“Lower,” I murmur, my voice husky, full of carnal anticipation, my eyes are ablaze. She cups her breasts with her hands.

“Tease yourself,” I order softly. She tugs on her nipples gently. I want to see her really pleasure herself, pulling, stretching, and  elongating her nipples.

“Harder,” I urge her. I sit motionless between her thighs, just watching her, turned on beyond belief. She is still too soft, and gentle. “Like I would,” I add, my gaze darkening. She groans and pulls on her nipples harder. They stiffen with the massage oil, Anastasia’s ministrations, and my intense gaze.

“Yesss. Like that. Again.” I command her.

Anastasia closes her eyes, and pulls harder. This time she twists and rolls them between her thumbs and fingers, moaning harder. My breathing is shallow, but rapid. I’m excited. I want to see this again. And again. I want her to feel my gaze. Watching her fingers glide, pull, tease, hearing her moans, and seeing her eyes fixed on mine is extremely erotic,  a fucking turn on!

“Open your eyes,” I order. She blinks up at me.

“Again. I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.” She repeats it again. And once more.

“Now. Hands. Lower.” She squirms under her own touch.

“Keep still, Ana. Absorb the pleasure. Lower,” I say in a low and husky voice. Like the siren’s call, tempting her, seducing all at the same time.

“You do it,” she whispers, craving my touch.

“Oh, I will—soon. You. Lower. Now.” I say, my voice the personification of sensuality. I run my tongue over my teeth, and she writhes, pulling on the restrains. I shake my head in admonition.

“Still,” I say. I take my hands and place them on her knees, holding her in place. “Come on, Ana – lower.”

She slides her hands over to her stomach down over to her belly.

“Lower…” I mouth again, carnally.

“Christian, please.”

My hands glide down from her knees, gliding over her thighs, moving towards her sex. “Come on, Ana. Touch yourself.”

She finally moves her left hand, skimming over her sex, and rub herself in a slow circle, her mouth forms an O, panting.

“Again,” I whisper.

She groans louder, and repeats her motions, pleasure spiking, she tilts her head back, gasping.


Her loud moan is what tips the scale for me, and I inhale sharply. I grab her hands, bend my head down, and run my nose then my tongue back and forth over the inviting blooms of her sex perched on the apex of her thighs.

“Ah!” she groans louder.

She makes a motion to touch me, but I don’t want this cut short. Each time she tries to move her hand, I clasp her wrists tighter.

“I’ll restrain these, too. Keep still,” I order. She groans. I release her wrists then insert my middle two fingers deep into her sex as the heel of my hand rest against her clitoris.

“I’m going to make you come quickly, Ana. Ready?” I ask.

“Yes,” is her panting answer.

I position my hand in such a way that my fingers move against her sensitive sweet spot, and rub as I move my hand up and down in quick succession, I rub and stimulate her clit and G spot at the same time. This should intensely rouse her, building up her pleasure, spiking through her sex, spreading out to the rest of her body. She tries to lessen the built up tension by stretching her legs, but they’re tied, and it won’t work. She must absorb all of it in concentrated doses. She claws the towel beneath her. She tries to hold on, keeping her orgasm at bay.

“Surrender,” I whisper tipping the scale, and she lets go; her surging orgasm spreads through her body, pulsing it through my fingers, she cries out incoherently. I press the heel of my hand against her clitoris as the aftershocks of her orgasm run its course through her body, the feeling is prolonged by my hand, letting her enjoy the sweet agonizing sensation a little longer. While she’s still in the captivity of her aftershocks, I untie her legs.

“My turn,” I murmur and flip Anastasia over, leaving her face down on the sofa, and her knees on the floor. I spread her legs to accommodate my hungry erection, and slap her hard across her buttocks.

“Ah!” she yelps as I plunge my cock into her sex. It’s warm, tight, and wet. The still pulsing aftershocks pull my erection deeper, looking for more.

“Oh, Ana,” I hiss through clenched teeth, and I start to move.  I clutch her hips intensely, and hammer into her relentlessly over and over again. I now feel her familiar clenching of her sex, ready to pulsate another orgasm through her body, but she holds it at bay. It’s so fucking hot, and enticing at the same time.

“Come on, Ana!” I shout ordering her to let go, and she does. Her orgasm explodes from a single point where my cock pounds stimulating and rubbing, drawing an intense orgasm electrifying her whole body, making her cry out as she comes. I have to hold her from collapsing from the intensity of her pleasure. She’s spent, and life is affirmed.

“Was that life affirming enough for you?” I ask kissing her hair.

“Oh, yes,” she murmurs, so tired to move her gaze away from the ceiling. She’s lying on me, her back to my front, on the floor beside the sofa. She manages to move her head to notice me still dressed.

“I think we should go again. No clothes for you this time,” she mutters.

“Christ, Ana. Give a man a chance,” I mutter making her giggle. I chuckle in response to that sweet sound. “I’m glad Ray’s conscious. Seems all your appetites are back,” I say with a smile, completely pleased.

She turns around and scowls at me. “Are you forgetting about last night and this morning?” she asks pouting.

“Nothing forgettable about either of those,” I grin. I cup her ass into my palms. “You have a fantastic ass, Mrs. Grey.”

“So do you,” she replies arching a brow at me. “Though yours is still under cover,” she adds.

“And what are you going to do about that, Mrs. Grey?”

“Why, I’m going to undress you, Mr. Grey. All of you,” she replies making me grin as wide as possible.

“And I think there’s a lot that’s sweet about you,” she murmurs, finally coherent enough to hear the lyrics of the song reflecting the sentiments avowed on the song. But, I’m not that. I’m far from it. Realization makes my face fall.

“You are,” she whispers fervently after she takes a look at my face. She leans down and kisses the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes, and tighten my arms around her. I want to be worthy of her esteem but I’m not what she thinks. I’m a hard man, tough, mean, and broken inside. I only feel whole with her, and this thing, this character trait she speaks of does not belong to me.

“Christian, you are. You made this weekend so special-in spite of what happened to Ray. Thank you,” she utters fervently.

I open my eyes wide, serious, and bewildered. I’m at a loss. I do what I do for her, because I love Anastasia. I’d do anything for her, but I’m not that sweet guy. I don’t know any other way to express my love to her.

"Because I love you," I murmur.

“I know. I love you, too,” she says caressing my face. “And you’re precious to me, too. You do know that, don’t you?”

I want to believe that, I really do, but even I can’t love myself, I don’t see how she can... How can she love an unworthy man? I’m lost, without a compass.

“Believe me,” she whispers.

“It’s not easy,” I reply in a barely audible voice. How can someone who was even hated by the lowest form of human being be worthy of her love? Being unloved is easier. It’s what I know. I’ve learned a lot through my immense love for her, but how can I learn to receive something I’m unworthy of? Love… I’m undeserving of her love, of this sacred emotion, and it’s not easy to accept that. Therefore it stands the reason that being loved by her simply can’t be true. I desperately want to receive it, but I'm having a hard time keeping the door open to my heart for her to pour her love in.

“Try. Try hard, because it’s true,” she urges, stroking my face once again. Her fingers run against my sideburns. I have discovered that my heart is capable of loving Anastasia, but it’s a one way road. I’m able to love her, but unable to receive its reciprocity back into my heart. My heart has been desolate, forsaken and neglected when I needed it the most as a child, and later it only rejected, shunned and relinquished all love offered to me, remaining vacant; because I’m simply unlovable and undeserving. 

“You’ll get cold. Come,” I rise to my feet and pull her to stand next to me. She slides her arm around my waist and we wander back into the bedroom. She says nothing after that, perhaps understanding how I feel.

She frowns as we enter into the bedroom.

“Shall we watch TV?” she asks.

I snort. TV? I thought, I’d fuck her thoroughly again. “I was hoping for round two,” I reply. She arches her brow curiously and stops by the bed.

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll be in charge,” she says, and pushes me onto the bed as I gape at her. She climbs up and straddles me, pinning my hands down beside my head. That’s hot!

I grin up at her. “Well, Mrs. Grey, now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

She leans down and whispers in my ear, “I am going to fuck you with my mouth,” she replies.

I close my eyes, inhaling sharply, and she just runs her teeth gently along my jaw as she makes her way down my neck, and torso.

*****  *****
The morning finds me restless again, and I’m up and working bright and early in the suite. I have to respond to tons of e-mails for work. But first I order breakfast for Anastasia and I to be delivered in thirty minutes.

Not being in Seattle adds additional communiques to my daily agenda, so I dive into them immediately. And soon I discover an e-mail from one Detective Clark. This can’t be good news. Shit!
From: Jefferson Clark
Subject: Interview
Date: September 12, 2011; 7:50 a.m.
To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey,
I would like to talk to Mrs. Grey about Jack Hyde today. Please let me know what time would be convenient for her.
Thank you,

J. Clark
Detective, Seattle Police Department
I reply him immediately.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: RE: Interview
Date: September 12, 2011; 7:54 a.m.
To: Jefferson Clark

Detective Clark,

My wife is unavailable today. We’re in Portland. Her father had been in a serious car accident. Could this wait? If it can’t, can it be done over the phone?

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Jefferson Clark
Subject: Interview
Date: September 12, 2011; 7:59 a.m.
To: Christian Grey

No, Mr. Grey. Unfortunately, it can’t wait. And I prefer a hands-on approach. I’m not much of a phone person.

I’d be happy to drive to Portland today. This is important. The sooner I speak with Mrs. Grey, the sooner I will be out of your hair. Please advise me where I can meet Mrs. Grey.

Thank you,

J. Clark
Detective, Seattle Police Department
Guess there’s no avoiding him. He’s right; the sooner this is done, the sooner he’s out of our hair. But for fucker Hyde? I don’t want to waste any time for that jackass.

Just as I am contemplating, Anastasia walks in.

“Good morning,” she murmurs from the doorway. I turn and smile at her. "You're a sight sight for sore eyes, baby," I say. Upon seeing my happy smile, she just charges towards me and curl up into my lap. “As are you,” she says.

“I was just working,” I reply, shifting in my seat and kissing her hair. I’m unsettled by the e-mail from the detective, and really hate that even a single minute of our time would be spent for the fucker Hyde, even if it is indirectly. Anastasia senses my discomfort.

“What?” she asks.

I sigh.  “I got an e-mail from Detective Clark. He wants to talk to you about that fucker Hyde.”

“Really?” she asks surprised. She sits back to gaze at me.

“Yes. I told him you’re in Portland for the time being, so he’ll have to wait. But he says he’d like to interview you here.”

“He’s coming here?” Anastasia asks taken aback.

“Apparently so,” I say, distracted.

She frowns. “What could be so important that can’t wait?”


“When is he coming?”

“Today. I’ll e-mail him back.”

“I have nothing to hide. I wonder what he wants to know?” she asks.

We’ll find out when he gets here. I’m intrigued, too,” I reply, shifting again. “Breakfast will be here shortly. Let’s eat, then we can go and see your dad.”

She nods. Eyeing my open windows on my laptop, “You can stay here if you want. I can see you’re busy,” she says.

I scowl. I don’t want to send her anywhere alone if I can help it. “No, I want to come with you.”

“Okay,” she says grinning., and wrapping her arms around my neck, she kisses me.

Once she releases me, there is a knock on the door. I hit send on my e-mail before going to open the door.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: RE: Interview
Date: September 12, 2011; 7:54 a.m.
To: Jefferson Clark

Detective Clark,

We are staying at the Heathman Hotel in Portland. Let me know the time you will be here. We’d like to go to the hospital.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

*****  *****

Anastasia’s father must be getting better, because he’s well enough to have temper for being itchy and scratchy. He’s impatient and uncomfortable having been lying in bed for a few days. He hates being cooped up in a hospital room even though he’s going to need time to recover.

“Dad, you’ve been in a major car accident. It will take time to heal. Christian and I want to move you to Seattle.”

“I don’t’ know why you’re bothering with me. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says squeezing his hand with a loving gesture, and he smiles at Anastasia. I point my head to the door to leave Ana alone with her dad, and make my way to the waiting room to work. I turn my laptop on, and take another chair to put my mouse on. My laptop is on my lap, I open some files to work on. I check the e-mails again to see if there’s a response from Clark. There isn’t any.

My Blackberry buzzes, and I pull it out of my pants’ pocket.

“Grey,” I say answering my Blackberry without looking at the name. Speaking of the devil himself…

“Mr. Grey. This is Detective Clark,” he says. “How does two o’clock look to you today?” he asks.

“No, can’t do it. We’re at the hospital with my wife’s father. That’s not a very good time. After lunch but before dinner and preferably still within business hours would be better for us.”

“Four p.m. would be good then. It’ll give me enough time to ask all my questions to Mrs. Grey, and still be within the business hours by the time we are through with the interview.”

“Detective Clark, what is this about?” I ask irritated.

“I told you. I've got some unanswered questions about Mr. Hyde, and some cross checks with the statements he’s given us,” he says cryptically.

“And this can’t be done over the phone?”

“No sir, I prefer to be face to face,” he says firmly.

“Four p.m. at Heathman Hotel, then,” I reply and the door opens.

“See you then, Mr. Grey.” I hang up. Anastasia looks at me quizzically.

“Clark will be here at four this afternoon.”

She frowns, reflecting my sentiment. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “Rays wants coffee and doughnuts.”

I laugh at that. “I think I would too if I’d been in an accident. Ask Taylor to go.”

“No, I’ll go,” she responds.

“Take Taylor with you,” I counter her in a stern voice.

“Okay,” she says making her concession but not without rolling her eyes. Oh, Mrs. Grey, go ahead, challenge me. I smirk and cock my head to the side. I can pull her on my lap right here if she so desires to keep running with this attitude. I’ll only be too happy to utilize my twitchy palms.

“There’s no one here,” I say in a low, husky, threatening voice. Her eyes sparkle, right about to dare me, but stops when a young couple enters into the room. The woman is copiously weeping. Seeing her, Anastasia shrugs apologetically, and I nod. We’ve been in their place only a couple of days ago. I pick up my laptop, and take my wife’s hand, and lead her out of the waiting room.

“They need the privacy more than we do,” I murmur. “We’ll have our fun later.”

Taylor is patiently waiting outside as usual. What the hell--no place to work at the hospital, and my wife is about to go get some coffee and doughnuts. I’m game, too. “Let’s all go get coffee and doughnuts,” I say, and we take off.

*****  *****

At 3:30 sharp, we are at the hotel. Taylor is already informed of the Detective’s visit, and he’s with us in the suite. At exactly 4:00 p.m. there’s a knock on the door. Taylor goes to the door and escorts Clark into the living room. Clark looks his usual grumpy, perversely irritable self. Welcome to the club; I’m about to get there as well.

“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey, thank you for seeing me.” He greets us. At least he has some form of manners.

“Detective Clark,” I shake his hand, showing my restrained civility, and direct him to a seat. Ana and I sit down on the sofa we have christened last night. Anastasia must be thinking of the same thing, because she blushes profusely.

“It’s Mrs. Grey I wish to see,” Clark says pointedly to me and Taylor. I glance at Taylor, and nod imperceptibly. Taylor turns his back and leaves, closing the door behind him. It’d be a cold day in hell if I were to leave him alone with my wife to talk about the Hyde fucker.

“Anything you wish to say to my wife, you can say in front of me,” I say, in an even, cool and businesslike voice. The Detective is relentless. He turns to Anastasia.

“Are you sure you’d like your husband to be present?” he asks as if insinuating that there is something Ana is hiding. I look at Anastasia. She frowns at him. “Of course,” she replies adamantly. “I have nothing to hide. You are just interviewing me?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then, I’d like my husband to stay,” she says.

What can this be about? I’m wound tighter than a drum, and tension and stress is radiating though every cell on my body.

“All right,” murmurs Clark, resigned. He clears his throat as a preamble to whatever bad news he’s going to announce about the piece of shit. “Mrs. Grey, Mr. Hyde maintains that you sexually harassed him and made several lewd advances toward him,” he states as if he’s talking about Sunday’s weather. I’m about to lurch to my feet, and smack this asshole for saying such a thing. It’s talking all my self-control to restrain myself without getting up and telling him where he can go with this. I just shift in my seat, sitting forward, ready. Anastasia’s hand finds my thigh and squeezes to restrain me further, reminding me.

“That’s preposterous,” I detonate with malice. Anastasia squeezes my leg tighter to silence me.

“That’s not true,” she elucidates perfectly calmly. “In fact, it was the other way around. He propositioned me in a very aggressive manner, and he was fired.”

Clark’s mouth thins into a flatline briefly before he furthers his accusatory counter statements.

“Hyde alleges that you fabricated a tale about sexual harassment in order to get him fired. He says that you did this because he refused your advances and because you wanted his job.”

I can kill that fucker Hyde for making up such a malicious story. Anastasia frowns. “That’s not true,” she says shaking her head. Upset, but still calm.

“Detective, please don’t tell me you have driven all this way to harass my wife with these ridiculous accusations,” I hiss.

Clark turns his imperturbable blue glare at me, but restraining himself like I am doing. “I need to hear this from Mrs. Grey, sir,” he says. I’m about to kick his ass out of my suite, and he won’t have the helpful welcome I have shown him without the presence of an army of attorneys! Anastasia on the other hand squeezes my leg once more to keep restrained.

“You don’t have to listen to this shit, Ana.”

“I think I should let Detective Clark know what happened,” she says looking me. I gaze at her impassively for a minute, then raise my hand in a gesture of resignation.

“What Hyde says is simply not true,” explains Ana keeping her cool, and calm. She takes a deep breath and looks the detective in the eye. “Mr. Hyde accosted me in the office kitchen one evening. He told me that it was thanks to him that I had been hired and that he expected sexual favors in return. He tried to blackmail me, using emails that I’d sent to Christian, who wasn’t my husband then. I didn’t know Hyde had been monitoring my emails. He’s delusional-he even accused me of being a spy sent by Christian, presumably to help him take over the company. He didn’t know that Christian had already bought SIP,” she summarizes everything calmly. She shakes her head as if to shake the bad memories away.

“In the end, I… I took him down,” she says. Clark’s eyes widen, and his brows shoot up in surprise. “Took him down?” he asks leaning forward.

“My father is ex-army. Hyde…uhm.. he touched me and I know how to defend myself.”

I glance at Anastasia with pride, and though I try to conceal it, she knows that I’m so damn proud of her for kicking Hyde’s nuts.

“I see,” Clark says leaning back on the sofa again, sighing heavily. I know that he knows Anastasia is telling the truth.

“Have you spoken to any of Hyde’s former PAs?” I ask affably.

“Yes, we have. But the truth is, we can’t get any of his assistants to talk to us. They all say he was an exemplary boss, even though none of them lasted more than three months,” he says, knowing that there’s something fishy there. If he has half the brain, he’d figure that out.

“We’ve had that problem, too,” I murmur almost absently.

Both Anastasia and Detective Clark have the same gaping expression on their faces.

“My security chief. He’s interviewed Hyde’s past five PAs,” I explain.

“And why’s that?” asks Clark accusatory.

I glare at him with my implacable stare; unyielding to his accusation. “Because my wife worked for him, and I run security checks on anyone my wife works with,” I state. I glare at him to say, ‘do you dare to have a problem with that?’ Clark flushes. Anastasia shrugs, apologetically, knowing my controlling tendencies.

“I see,” Clark murmurs. “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye, Mr. Grey. We are conducting a more thorough search of his apartment tomorrow, so maybe something will present itself then. Though by all accounts he hasn’t lived there for some time.”

“You’ve searched already?” I ask.

“Yes. We’re doing it again. A fingertip search this time,” he states.

“You’ve still not charged him with the attempted murder of Ros Bailey and myself?” I say softly.

Anastasia whips her head to me, hearing this for the first time, her eyes searching my face, questioning, worried.

“We’re hoping to find more evidence in regard to the sabotage of your aircraft, Mr. Grey. We need more than a partial print, and while he’s in custody, we can build a case.”

“Is this all you came down here for?” I ask, now my voice is accusatory.

Clark bristles like a porcupine, but maintains his composure. “Yes, Mr. Grey, it is, unless you’ve had any further thoughts about the note?” he asks. Fucking bastard has to ask that in Anastasia’s presence! She furrows her brows, and gaze face searches mine.

“No. I told you. It means nothing to me,” I reply unable to hide my exasperation. “And I don’t see why we couldn’t have done this over the phone.”

“I think I told you; I prefer a hands-on approach. And I’m visiting my great-aunt who lives in Portland…two birds… one stone,” he replies with his brand of impassive face, appearing unfazed of my bad temper.

“Well, if we’re all done, I have work to attend to,” I say standing, effectively kicking him out. Detective Clark stands up, getting his cue.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grey,” he says politely to Anastasia. She nods in response without a word.

“Mr. Grey,” he says unable to spare a kind word for me, not that I give a shit! He leaves, and I close the door behind.

Anastasia sags into the sofa exhausted with the stress of the interview.

“Can you believe that asshole?” I explode.


“No. That fucker, Hyde.”

“No, I can’t.”

“What’s his fucking game?” I hiss through my clenched teeth.

“I don’t know. Do you think Clark believed me?”

“Of course he did. He knows Hyde is a fucked-up asshole.”

“You are very sweary,” Anastasia states looking at me.

“Sweary?” I smirk. Leave it to my wife to put everything in the lowest common denominator. “Is that even a word?”

“It is now,” she says, so sure of herself.

I grin with her statement, and sit down next to her, pulling her into my arms.

“Don’t think about that fucker. Let’s go see your dad, and try to talk about the move tomorrow.”

“He was adamant that he wanted to stay in Portland and not be a bother.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I want to travel with him,” she says. I gaze at Ana for a moment. She’s determined. Okay, I’ll give her that. It’s her dad, her only parent nearby.

“Okay. I’ll come, too. Sawyer and Taylor can take the cars. I’ll let Sawyer drive your R8 tonight,” I say, and it’s simple as that.

*****  *****

It doesn’t take long for me to convince Ray. I tell him that Ana will be driving back and forth to Portland to visit him daily, and it’s much easier to have him in Seattle than in Portland. Knowing his stubborn daughter, he grimaces.

“That’s three hours of drive one way. I don’t think I want to have her driving every day to see me,” he says.

“Neither do I, Ray. And she has that lead foot. I don’t want her lying here next to you where you and I both can have peace of mind by simply having you in Seattle. That would actually be a favor to us. I hope you don’t mind. I hate to ask you this as a favor seeing you just had the accident. Would it bother you much if Northwest Hospital treated you in Seattle?”

“Favor? Christian, I’m worried about my stubborn daughter making that trip daily. It’d be just like her,” he says. Not that I would let Ana drive back and forth daily. But Ray doesn’t have to know that. “You both have work,” he mulls the idea over his head. Then shakes his head coming to decision. “I’ll go,” he acquiesces grumpily but also reluctantly. And that’s that.

On Tuesday Ray is checked into the rehabilitation center of Northwest Hospital, looking around, checking his new surroundings after he is transferred via a medical helicopter. Anastasia wants to remain at the hospital with Ray for a little while longer to make sure he settles in. I acquiesce although I would have loved to drive to work with her like we normally do. She’s going to work right after she talks to his doctors. We’re in our home turf. I leave her at the hospital with Sawyer, but I have mountains of work to get through. Taylor drives me to GEH directly.

Andrea jumps up at her feet as soon as I walk through the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey. Welcome back, sir,” she chimes, and follows me into my office with her tablet and a pile of documents. She’s bristling with efficiency.

“Mr. Grey, we have some postponed meetings from Friday afternoon and yesterday. Sam is with the engineering team and they’re waiting for you in the meeting room 3.”

“Remind me the agenda again, Andrea,” I say as I start skimming the contents of the folders she’s put before me.

“Yes, sir. Since the purchase of the shipyard is going to be finalized within a few days, you are scheduled to go to Taipei. Our engineering team wants to fully acquaint you with the capabilities of the shipyard, what needs to be added, changed, and how to allocate the additional workforce we are planning to shift. I have before you the existing specs, the current workforce categorized under the job class and titles, the required additional employees. Walter is also going to meet you after you are done with the engineers to discuss the allocation of the funds for the needed improvements and the additional workforce as well as the final pay off to the Taiwanese. The funds are expected to change hands after the signing of the documents in Taipei within two weeks at the latest.”

“Okay. Let’s get to it then,” I say as I rise from my seat. Andrea and Taylor follow me in my trail.

By the time we are done with the meetings it’s nearly 1:00 p.m. Ros, Sam, Walter and I go to lunch to discuss the trip to Taipei, and go over the notes from the meeting. I want to call and talk to Anastasia, but missing just a day and a half of work is taking its toll, and they must be completed. It’s been about three hours since I haven’t seen my wife, and I am missing her already. God! How can I be attached to another human being this much? I write her an e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 13:57
To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey,

I’ve been back in the office for only three hours, and I’m missing you already.
Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.
I’ll pick you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband,

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her reply is short, brusque, and frankly unsettling. What has happened in my absence? Is Ray alright? I’m concerned now. If something is changed with Ray’s condition because I had him transferred, I’d never forgive myself. But, she didn’t say. Is it about work? Did they say something, or do something because she was gone?
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:09
To: Christian Grey


Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
I write her a reply to find out. What is troubling her?
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:13
To: Anastasia Grey

Are you okay?

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
She’s freaking me out. What has happened to my cheerful wife I left this morning at the hospital?
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:16
To: Christian Grey

Fine. Just busy.
See you at six.

Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
Something is definitely wrong. No endearments, no greeting, no smart mouth, none of her usual wittiness. What happened to my wife within the last few hours?

I call Sawyer.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” he answers.

“Sawyer, is Mrs. Grey alright?”

“I believe so, sir. Though she looked like she’s seen a ghost earlier.”

“When was that? At work or at the hospital?”

“After the hospital. I was waiting for her in the SUV. She was done visiting her father. Mrs. Grey looked like she was cold. Very cold, but the weather was very pleasant. Her face was ashen. She looked very upset, worried, and preoccupied, sir.”

That doesn’t make sense. What upset her? Sawyer says she looked like she’s seen a ghost. Did someone visit at the hospital? Jose? Did someone do something to her? Did her work call giving her some bad news? What the hell happened to my wife?

“Did you drive her directly to SIP?”

“Yes, sir. I asked her where she would like to go seeing that she wasn’t feeling well. She said, SIP.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t sick?”

“I don’t know sir. She could be. She didn’t look well. Come to think of it, she was feeling chilly when the weather was nice. She looked a little ill. But she did look upset. I couldn’t tell you for sure sir.”

“Thank you Sawyer. Keep an eye on her. If she’s ill, call me.”

“Yes, sir.”

I doubt that she’s sick. She would have told me that she wasn’t feeling well. It’s something else. Six p.m. couldn’t be here soon enough. I call my mother and ask her if she had a chance to visit Ray. She tells me that Ray's condition though tired, improving rapidly. So, it isn't Ray. What the hell happened?

*****  *****

Taylor opens the door, and Anastasia climbs into the SUV timidly like a gazelle chased by a lion. What or who is bothering her?

“Hi,” I greet her reflecting he wariness.

“Hi,” she murmurs her reply halfheartedly. My heart sinks to my feet. Concern is etched on my face, and I’m worried about her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask frowning. She shakes her head as Taylor drives us to the hospital.

“Nothing,” she replies. How could it be nothing when her face tells me that the world is falling apart?

“Is work all right?” I probe.

“Yes. Fine. Thanks.” Her words are staccato, emotionless and to the point. I groan inwardly.

“Ana, what’s wrong?” I ask in a forceful tone. I know something is wrong, and I know she’s hiding something.

“I’ve just missed you, that’s all. And I’ve been worried about Ray,” she says. Oh! She was concerned about his transfer. This could be it. I relax a little. “Ray’s good. I spoke to Mom this afternoon and she’s impressed with his progress." I take her hand into mine. It’s freezing. “Boy, your hand is cold. Have you eaten today?”

She blushes profusely. She’s worried about her dad, her normal routine is upset, and she hasn’t eaten. That could cause her to get ill.

“Ana,” I scold her, completely displeased. I don’t think asking her to remember to eat isn’t much to ask.

“I’ll eat this evening. I haven’t really had time.”

Grant me patience! She frustrates the hell out of me. She’s thin as it is. I shake my head in dismay. “Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to the security detail’s list of duties?”  

“I’m sorry. I’ll eat. It’s just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all.”

There it is again. That twinge of unease. Something is horribly wrong. I can’t put my finger on it. My lips press into a thin hard line.

I have to tell her about my impending trip to Taiwan. Maybe she’d like to come with me. “I may have to go to Taiwan,” I say.

“Oh. When?”

“Later this week. Maybe next week.”


“I want you to come with me.” She swallows. I know she’s going to say ‘no’. If she doesn’t even go to New York with me, of course she wouldn’t go to Taiwan. What is wrong me asking my wife to be by my side when I want and need her?

“Christian, please. I have my job. Let’s not rehash this argument again.”

I sigh, and pout. Why can’t she do this for me? If she was doing something for her work, and she wanted to take me with her, it’s my duty as her husband to be in her arms and to support her in her endeavor. At times, I will need her to be by my side however boring the activity. Does she not understand that I need her? But, she makes me take a backseat to her job. “Thought I’d ask,” I say dismally. Her brusque attitude, her demeanor, and the worry behind her eyes make me wonder why she is in this mood. It gnaws at me, worrying.

“How long will you go for?” she asks.

“Not more than a couple of days. I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Well, now that my beloved husband is going away…”

I kiss her knuckles. “I won’t be away for long.”

“Good,” she says smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and the dim worry in them lingers ominously.

Ray is a little more cheerful, and he’s thanking me every few minutes.

“You don’t have to thank me Ray. Ana likes to see you daily, and you’re actually doing me a favor by agreeing to be treated in Seattle. But if you really think you want to thank me, you can do that by coming to fishing with me sometime in Aspen.”

“What kind of fishing do they have over there?”

“Lake, river fishing. Fly fishing is very popular.”

“You don’t say!” and we actually have a good time talking about fishing and Mariners. He is still weak though, and gets tired after a little while. It’s best we leave. I look at Ana, and she nods.

“Daddy, we’ll leave you to sleep.”

“Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, too, Christian. She was very reassuring. And she’s a Mariners fan.”

“She’s not crazy about fishing, though,” I say wryly as I stand up to leave.

“Don’t know many women who are, eh?” he replies grinning.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Anastasia says and kisses him. She hasn’t said more than three sentences the whole time we were there. She kept gazing into the distance, and phasing out. What the fuck is wrong?

“Come,” I say holding my hand out, and frowning at her. She takes it and we leave the hospital. The ride to home isn’t any different than the ride to the hospital. She’s checked out.

“Mr. and Mrs. Grey, dinner is served,” Gail announces. She’s cooked chicken chasseur. I take Ana’s hand and walk her to the dining table to eat our dinner. My gaze is constantly on her, and she’s completely unaware that I’m looking at her. Her fork in her hand, she just picks at her food, hardly eating four tiny bites. I can no longer take it. She’s been in this mood since this afternoon, and the worry is killing me.

“Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what’s wrong?” I ask as I push my empty plate away, completely aggravated. She gazes at me silently. “Please. You’re driving me crazy,” I plead.

She swallows. I can see the panic in her eyes. My heart races at her reaction. What the hell is wrong with my wife? She takes a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, I think she said she’s pregnant. But that couldn’t be right. She just can’t be pregnant. I freeze in my seat. All color drains from my face. I just want to confirm what I heard. “What?” I whisper my question. Though I’m scared to hear the same answer, I have to know.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats again. She is fucking pregnant?!

I don’t understand how this happened. She’s getting a birth control shot to prevent pregnancy. My brow furrows with incomprehension of her simple statement. “How?” I ask. The one time I hand her the control of contraception, and she fucks it up! Did she even get her shot? Why the hell would I concede her to have control over this when she can't even remember to eat?

She dares to give the how-do-you-think-I-got-pregnant, look.

My posture changes immediately in response to her brazen look. My eyes harden, turning into icy chards. “Your shot?” I bellow. Her face blanches.

“Did you forget your shot?”

She just stares at me wordlessly. She forgot her fucking shot! I can’t believe this. I am fucking furious! Does she have to be reminded of everything? Eat Ana… dress warm Ana… sleep Ana… Don’t go to a fucking trip with Hyde Ana… The one thing I trusted her with, one fucking shot! And she doesn’t do it! It’s my damn fault for consenting to give her the reigns of that decision!

“Christ, Ana!” I shout banging my fisted hands on the table, making her jump. I stand abruptly, and the chair I was sitting on quake and wobble in its place, almost getting knocked over, but I don’t give a shit right now. “You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”

She gasps at my epitaph. Yes, stupid! She never does as she’s told. Never! Always does what she wants without showing a fucking concern about what I might think, or want or feel. This takes the cake! Fuck! She gazes down at her fingers, “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Sorry doesn’t cut it!

“Sorry? Fuck!” That’s all she’s got to say?

“I know the timing’s not very good.”

“Not very good!” I shout. We got married what -- three minutes ago, and I’ve only known her for a total of five minutes, and she gets knocked up despite the fact I have provided her the best doctor in the city of Seattle, got her shot just so she didn’t have to remember taking a pill every day, and all she had to do was to go get the second shot when it was due and scheduled!

“We’ve known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now…Fuck! Diapers and vomit and shit!” I close my eyes. I’m trying to gain control over this surmounting rage. And I have this ominous feeling that I have no control left over my life anymore. I have lost it. She made me lose all control. She is spreading her chaotic behavior into all aspects of my life. I. have. No. control! I’m suffocating. I can’t be a father! I just can’t! I’m no good for myself, how can I be good for a baby? Wait! She was automatically scheduled for her next shot. They would have given her a courtesy call to come for her shot and her checkup. Did she deliberately avoid going to the doctor? Did she try to get pregnant? If she got knocked up on purpose why would she do that knowing how I’d feel? All these fucking emotions are clouding my slipping judgment.

“Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?” I ask as my eyes blaze and rage ignites around me like the hydrogen bomb, consuming me and everything else around me.

“No,” she whispers.

“I thought we’d agreed on this!” I shout.

“I know. We had. I’m sorry.” So, she simply forgot? Overlooked? Ignored? Why did you have to fuck our lives up Anastasia?

“This is why. This is why I like control. So shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up,” I bellow.

“Christian, please don’t shout at me,” she says as she turns the faucets on. “Fuck!” I am freaking out! This is wrong! This is bad! Very very bad! I am a fucked up man! How can I be trusted to father a child? I barely, barely had time to have a normal life… Barely held Anastasia in my arms, spent five fucking minutes with her, and now! A baby! I’m going to lose her to a baby! I run a hand through my hair, but I am ready to pull it off my head. I find my fingers lacing a pulling a pile of hair. If I was never fucked up before, I am utterly, completely fucked up for life now, courtesy of Anastasia!

“I know neither one of us is ready for this, but I think you’ll make a wonderful father,” she says choking. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How the fuck do you know!” I shout. No, I scream. “Tell me how!” I’m grieving the loss of my wife, the woman I thought I would have to myself for a few years, and now, she’ll never be the same to me: She will not love me, spend time with me, care for me, or even hold me like she had been. This is not fair! I’ve never had this before, ever! I’ve never been held, never been loved, never been the center of someone’s life before. And it will be all gone! It is gone! And I’m going to have the responsibility of another human being, a baby! What the fuck would I know about a baby? I’m not fit to be a father! People like me should never have children. I’m going to fuck it up, and it won’t just be my life screwed over this time!

I wanted to learn to have a life first with my wife. I’m losing it. No, I’ve already lost it… I’ve lost two of the most important things tonight: my wife; her love and attention, and the control over my life. I’m grieving, terrified, and petrified. The fucking chaos rules my life again. I’m back to being four years old. Others tell me what is best for me. Other’s make decisions without my permission, or desire, and thrusts the results upon me to deal with the shit! What the hell do I do? How the hell do I get back to my life? I’m scared like I have not been in a very long time.  Every barrier I carefully erected to protect myself even from myself at times and the world is now in ruins. I am defeated.

“Oh fuck this!” I blare insolently, and hold my hands up. I’m obliterated, defeated in my own life by the one person I love the most. All punishment is out of the table even though she bared my soul of all the layers of protection I have carefully erected all my life to the whole world to see and rip apart piece by piece through her carelessness! I turn on my heels, and stalk towards the foyer. I grab my jacket, and take off through the double doors into the foyer, slamming the door behind me.

I’ve no place to go. No one to talk to! No one understands me. No one! No one knows what my fears do to me. How they render me a brute, a menace to myself and to the society. The elevator descends to the lobby of the Escala. I put my jacket on, and exit to the lit street. I hear rapid but nearly silent footsteps behind me.  Without looking behind, I know they’re Taylor’s. I turn on my heels and stop to talk to him.

“Go home Taylor. I’m only going to Flynn’s office,” I order.

“I’m sure you won’t mind me going there with you until Dr. Flynn shows up, sir,” he says with an impassive gaze, but he can’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“I want someone to obey me, do exactly as I say tonight! What the fuck don’t you understand? Do I have to fire the head of my security tonight?” I say forcefully.

“Mr. Grey, please, sir. Let me do my job you hired me to do.”

“Go home, Taylor,” I order looking at him pointedly. He looks at me fixedly, assessing with his gaze to see if I’m a danger to myself. I can plainly see that in his eyes. Having made his decision, he nods.

“I’ll see you at home, sir,” he says, and turns back. I know he’ll be tracking me, but I just want at least the illusion of I’m in some sort of control tonight. I’m radiating with tension, freaking out. I am truly afraid of my future...our future now. What the hell do I do?

I take my Blackberry out and dial Dr. Flynn as I’m just a few blocks away from his office. It rings five times before he answers his God damned phone. There are a lot of background noises.

“Christian?” he greets in a low voice, trying not to disturb some people in the background.

“John! I need to see you now! I’m nearly to your office. How soon can you get here?”

“I’m sorry Christian. I can’t tonight. I’m at my children’s school. The students put up a production for the parents. It’s the parents’ evening here. I can’t possibly leave right now. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”

I’m hyperventilating. This never happened before! I’m frozen under a semi-lit street lamp.

“No! It can’t. This is an emergency!”

“I can only talk to you for a few minutes, because my children’s turn is coming up,” he says then he apologizes to someone for the noise he’s making. He lowers his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything! My life is royally fucked up! Anastasia is pregnant! Apparently she forgot to get her Depo Provera birth control shot, and now she’s fucking pregnant!” I hiss.

“Congratulations to you both, Christian. This may feel like a bad thing to you, but it’s not. You have an uncanny ability to figure things out, solve the unsolvable problems. Look, you managed to have a normal relationship with Ana, haven't you? You’re both intelligent, capable individuals…” he starts.

“John! Don’t you understand? I’ve lost all control and I’m definitely going to lose my wife: Because she will belong to the baby. Not to me! Everything I carefully created to have some sanity, some release and a sense of control have vanished! Gone! Destroyed!” I can hear John sighing on the other end of the phone.

“Christian, look, I have to go, but I will see you first thing in the morning. It’s my children’s turn right now. Don’t overthink this tonight. Take a breather, get a drink, relax, then go back to your wife and we’ll talk tomorrow morning,” he says and hangs up. He hangs up on me! This night couldn’t get any worse!

I start walking and wandering through the streets. Who do I talk to? Not my parents. They’ll say what John had said. And Elliot? What the fuck would he know about becoming a parent? He never knocked anyone up… The truth is, I’ve got no friends, no place to go, and I am in desperate need to have a few minutes with someone who understands me. I am fucking angry with myself for relenting on this, trusting Anastasia to have charge of the birth control. I have never relented to any woman I fucked before on this, why did I do it with her? How could I be so fucking trusting when I can’t trust her to feed herself? Anger, tension, exasperation are radiating through me with enough energy to annihilate everything in the vicinity. I’m looking for something familiar. Something that can put me back into my orbit. I’m lost. I turn the corner, and find myself in the upscale shopping neighborhood. The lit up sign of Esclava is like a beckoning sign, calling me from several doors down. Stores and shops are closed now, but as I reach close to Esclava, Elena walks out the door of the saloon and closes it behind her, locking. She senses my presence from a few doors down, and waits for me to approach.

I don’t know why I’m here, or how I got here. Is this the place to be for me? It sure doesn’t feel like it. But Elena is familiar; I associate her with control of my life. Still… I can’t talk to her about Ana’s pregnancy. But I need to talk to someone; I need to gather my thoughts, get my head together. As it is, my life is in shambles. The rug I thought was securely tacked under my feet is pulled out under me, leaving powerless, out of control and in chaos. And now I am face to face with my biggest unfinished business. Seeing Elena makes me feel that this isn’t the orbit I belong. Mine is at home. But maybe this is something I can finish, finalize. I can leave something resolved behind me tonight. This will give me some sense of control. Some sense of accomplishment however little.

“Christian,” she greets me, eyeing me carefully.

“Elena,” I nod.

“You look upset,” she says carefully. “I haven’t seen you like this in a very long time. I… uhm, I was going to a bar around the corner to have a quiet drink. Would you like to join me?” she asks. I nod. The walk to the bar is quiet. I’m still very tense, but I feel a sense of wrongness in this. Chaos. I’m contributing to my own chaos right now. Fuck!

I ask for a table instead of a seat on the bar. We’re taken to a corner table.

“Bottle of Sancerre if you have it,” I say. “Elena?” I ask.

“I’ll have Sancerre with you,” she says her eyes not leaving me. The waiter leaves.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” I hiss.

“Your newly acquired fifty first shade of your fuckeduppedness for starters. It's all over your face…” I shake my head. The waiter comes with the bottle and two glasses. He pours the wine, and asks if need anything else. I send him away.

“Since you came to Esclava, and not to Escala, I’m going to be bold and assume that it’s about Anastasia,” she says. I sigh, and gulp down my wine, and pour another cup and take another sip.

“That bad, huh?” I look up to Elena. This woman taught me everything I know about fucking and control. For years, she’s been the only friend I had. There wasn’t anything under the sun that we didn’t talk about. There was even a time I thought I loved her and I’d do anything for her. Anything she’d asked me to do. But this, this here is far from those days. I feel nothing of the sort anymore. Seeing her here only emphasizes my love for Anastasia. A pregnant Anastasia who fucked me up, but it’s Anastasia I want.  

“Anastasia wants to have a baby,” I say and down my cup again. This isn’t what Elena expected.

“Oh?” I bet she was expecting a problem in the Play Room or that I am getting a divorce, or that she’s leaving me, but this I can see in Elena’s face that it took her by complete surprise. She takes a careful sip of her wine. Places it back on the table.

“And you don’t want a child?” she asks carefully.

“Look at me Elena! You’ve known me most of my life. Am I the father material to you? I’m a fucked up son of a crack whore!”

“You are best in your playroom. Fatherhood? You both are a bit too young. How would that affect the dominant side of you?” she asks.

“I know,” I murmur.

“Perhaps, some choices you’ve recently made weren’t in your best interest,” she murmurs as she casually takes a sip. “Surely, you are better at being a dominant. You are the best! You are in your element when you are in control, because you were born to be a dominant. Of course," she says her words lingering, "there’s nothing wrong with trying other curiosities,” she says as if Anastasia is a curiosity. I narrow my eyes. I miss Ana already. I down my wine again. Pour another cup, and place it on the table. My hand is shaking, radiating my fear.

Elena licks her lower lip, and bites it slowly as if to entice me. Her hand reaches out to touch mine, and as she grasps my shaky hand, I automatically flinch and rip it out of her grasp. This isn’t why I’m here with her! But my impulse reaction shocks us both. I have never flinched away from Elena’s touch. Ever! It’s as if time stops; everything, every movement suspended in time. My automatic revulsion of her and my facial expression tell her that her advances are unwelcome, unwanted, and undesired. What the hell am I doing here?

“Don’t!” I hiss. “I’m not here for that. I love my wife! I don’t think of you that way, not anymore! In fact, I haven't thought of you that way for years!”

Elena is flustered.

“Christian, I’m sorry. You misunderstand. You’ve never flinched away me before. This marriage thing is getting you all uptight. Honestly! When have you become a prude? Just because I tried to give you a friendly reassuring squeeze doesn’t mean I want you in my playroom…” she says nervously taking her wine glass and downing it.

This time I see Elena for what she is. Anastasia is carrying a child. My child. My baby. And suddenly I see Junior with Elena. She’s slapping him, then kissing, then slapping him again. He’s kneeled in her darkened playroom, naked, and she’s there to fuck… Bile rises in my throat, and I am disgusted. The image of my own child with her… I can’t take the idea! Where did this protectiveness of a person who didn’t exist this morning come from? My hands clench into fists. Knuckles white. I feel a moment of clarity. An epiphany. I royally fucked up again. I left my wife at home, and here I am having a drink with one woman Anastasia hates. As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a text message. I look at it. It's Ana.

*Where are you?*

I don't reply. I need to finish this business. I put my phone back in my pocket.

“Elena,” I start. “This is the last time, the very last time you and I will ever see each other. There isn’t going to be another time. This was our unfinished business, and we are finishing it here and now. I am going to my wife after this. I love her more than I ever loved anything or anyone, or all the people I ever loved combined. She’s my life. My entire universe,” I say my gazed fixed on hers.

Her gaze is impassive, impenetrable. “I know. I can see that in you, Christian. I don’t bear you or Anastasia any ill will. Besides, I have Isaac who makes me very happy and I have Esclava which keeps me immensely busy. But I do miss your mother’s friendship. Since your birthday, my social circle has narrowed dreadfully. When she took her friendship away, she also took her own social circle away from me. We used to be a part of the same circles, you know..." she says then takes another sip of her wine. "I understand her sentiments; she loves you, she’s your mother. I do however terribly miss your friendship. I grieve the loss of it. And the last time we were together, you know, you, Anastasia, and,” she looks down at her wine glass sighing, “Grace, it was the most dreadful, single most awkward moment of my life. I can’t take it back, but I do understand that after what happened, it’s impossible to get back to what I had with Grace or with you for that matter without getting you in trouble with your wife,” she says smiling.

“We can't have what we had before Elena, not even the friendship. I understand now,” I murmur.

“Understand what?”

“That what we did, what we had…was wrong. It’s best that we part our ways permanently, conclusively. I’m not going to see you again, Elena. Ever.”

She takes her purse, and tries to smile as she stands up on shaky feet.

“This is goodbye then,” she says.

“No, Elena. It’s farewell. This is the final time we see or speak to each other.” She nods with a sad smile.

“Bye Christian. Good luck with everything,” she says as she turns her back, and walks out.

I can’t even bear to be close to her. I realize that now. Finishing this didn’t even feel remotely satisfying, because I’m miserable. Without my wife, nothing makes sense, I feel like shit! I’m lost, a planet without a sun, a life without a soul. I’m hollow, empty, and meaningless without her. Having acted like an ass to Anastasia is anguishing, and I can’t get back home to her. My behavior was deplorable. I look at the now empty wine bottle. What do I do now? This one night, I want to drown my sorrows. I want to forget how despicable I was. I’ll ask her forgiveness tomorrow.

“Waiter! I need a bottle of bourbon!”

Alone - Celine Dion

Hi everyone. I was going to put the part with Elena next week, but I decided to put it today since you've already been waiting. In Book I we see Christian the Dominant. In Book II, he's Christian the Boyfriend, in III, he's the husband. And it is appropriate that he becomes, Christian the father-to-be and father in Book IV. So, we'll continue where we left off next week in a new book. Nothing will be left out. Thank you for reading!