by E. L. James
Ten minutes later, I throw the book onto the sofa beside me.
I'm restless and the uncertainty about Ana's whereabouts is becoming unbearable.
I head into Taylor's office. He's there with Ryan.
"Mr. Grey."
"Can you send one of the guys to Ana's place? I want to check if she's returned to her apartment."
"Of course."
"Thanks."
I head back to the sofa and pick up my book again. I keep glancing at the elevator. But it remains quiet.
Empty.
Like me.
Empty except for my growing unease.
She's gone.
She's left you.
Leila frightened her off.
No. I can't believe that. It's not her style.
It's me. She's had enough.
Having said she'd move in, she's now reneged.
Fuck.
I get up and begin pacing. My phone buzzes. It's Taylor. Not Ana. I quash my disappointment and take the call. "Taylor."
"The apartment's empty, sir. No one here."
There's a ping. The elevator. I turn and Ana walks a little unsteadily into the living room.
"She's here," I snap at Taylor and hang up. Relief. Anger. Hurt. All combine in a rush of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. "Where the fuck have you been?" I bark at her. She blinks and steps back. She's flushed.
"Have you been drinking?" I ask.
"A bit."
"I told you to come back here. It's now fifteen after ten. I've been worried about you."
"I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you attended to your ex." She spits out the last word like venom.
Hell. She's mad.
She continues. "I didn't know how long you were going to be with her." She lifts up her chin with a look of righteous indignation.
What?
"Why do you say it like that?" I ask, confused by her response. Did she think I wanted to be with Leila?
Ana looks down and stares at the floor, avoiding eye contact.
She hasn't come completely into the room.
What's going on?
My anger subsides as anxiety ripples through my chest.
"Ana, what's wrong?"
"Where's Leila?" She looks around the room, her expression chilly.
"In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont." Where the hell does she expect Leila to be? "Ana, what is it?" I take a couple of cautious steps toward her, but she stands her ground, distant and aloof, and doesn't reach for me.
"What's wrong?" I press her.
She shakes her head. "I'm no good for you," she says.
My scalp tingles, pricked by fear. "What? Why do you think that? How can you possibly think that?"
"I can't be everything you need."
"You are everything I need."
"Just seeing you with her--"
Christ. "Why do you do this to me? This is not about you, Ana. It's about her. Right now, she's a very sick girl."
"But I felt it. What you had together."
"What? No." I reach for her and she steps back, away from me, her cool eyes on mine, assessing me, and I don't think she likes what she sees...
"You're running?"
My anxiety rises, tightening my throat.
She looks away and her brow furrows, but she says nothing.
"You can't," I whisper.
"Christian, I--" She stops and I think she's struggling to say her good-byes. She's going. I knew it would happen. But so soon?
"No. No!" I'm on the edge of the abyss once more.
I can't breathe.
This is it, what I'd predicted from the beginning.
"I..." Ana mutters.
How do I stop her? I look around the room, for help. What can I do?
"You can't go. Ana, I love you!" It's my last-minute pitch to save this deal, to save us.
"I love you, too, Christian, it's just--"
The vortex is sucking me under.
She's had enough.
I've driven her away.
Again.
I feel dizzy. I put my hands on my head, trying to contain the pain that slices through me. My despair is carving a hole in my chest that gets bigger and bigger and bigger. It's going to take me down. "No. No."
Find your happy place.
My happy place.
When was it easier?
Easier to wear my pain on the outside.
Elena is standing over me. In her hands, she holds a thin cane. The welts on my back burn. Each throbbing with pain as my blood thrums through my body.
I'm on my knees. At her feet.
"More, mistress."
Quiet the monster.
More. Mistress.
More.
Find your happy place, Grey.
Make your peace.
Peace. Yes.
No.
A tidal wave rises inside my body, crashing and breaking within me, but as it recedes it sucks the fear away.
You can do this.
I drop to my knees.
I take a deep breath and place my hands on my thighs.
Yes. Peace.
I'm in a landscape of calm.
I give myself to you. All of me. I'm yours to do with as you wish.
What will she do?
I look straight ahead, and I'm aware that she's watching me. In the far distance, I hear her voice.
"Christian, what are you doing?"
I inhale slowly, filling my lungs. Fall is in the air. Ana.
"Christian! What are you doing?" The voice is closer, louder, more high-pitched.
"Christian, look at me!"
I look up. And wait.
She's beautiful. Pale. Worried.
"Christian, please, don't do this. I don't want this."
You must tell me what you want. I wait.
"Why are you doing this? Talk to me," she pleads.
"What would you like me to say?"
She gasps. It's a soft sound and it stirs memories of happier times with her. I shut those down. There is only now. Her cheeks are wet. Tears. She wrings her hands.
And suddenly she's on her knees, facing me.
Her eyes are on mine. The outer rings of her irises are indigo. They lighten toward the middle to the color of a cloudless summer sky. But her pupils are expanding, a deep black darkening each center.
"Christian, you don't have to do this. I'm not going to run. I've told you and told you and told you, I won't run. All that's happened. It's overwhelming. I just need some time to think. Some time to myself. Why do you always assume the worst?"
Because the worst happens.
Always.
"I was going to suggest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time--time to just think things through."
She wants to be on her own.
Away from me.
"Just time to think," she continues. "We barely know each other, and all this baggage that comes with you. I need. I need time to think it through. And now that Leila is...well, whatever she is...she's off the streets and not a threat. I thought. I thought--"
What did you think, Ana?
"Seeing you with Leila..." She closes her eyes as if in pain. "It was such a shock. I had a glimpse into how your life has been...and..." She rips her gaze from mine and looks down at her knees. "This is about me not being good enough for you. It was an insight into your life, and I am so scared you'll get bored with me, and then you'll go, and I'll end up like Leila, a shadow. Because I love you, Christian, and if you leave me, it will be like a world without light. I'll be in darkness. I don't want to run. I'm just so frightened you'll leave me."
She's scared of the darkness, too.
She's not going to run.
She loves me.
"I don't understand why you find me attractive," Ana whispers. "You're, well, you're you and I'm--" She looks at me, troubled. "I just don't see it. You're beautiful and sexy and successful and good and kind and caring--all those things--and I
'm not. And I can't do the things you like to do. I can't give you what you need. How could you be happy with me? How can I possibly hold you? I have never understood what you see in me. And seeing you with her, it brought all that home."
She raises her hand and wipes her nose that's blotchy and pink from crying.
"Are you going to kneel here all night? Because I'll do it, too!"
She's mad at me.
She's always mad at me.
"Christian, please, please. Talk to me."
Her lips would be soft. They are always soft after she's been crying. Her hair frames her face and my heart expands.
Could I love her any more?
She has all the qualities she says she doesn't. But it's her compassion I love most.
Her compassion for me.
Ana.
"Please," she says.
"I was so scared," I whisper. I'm scared now. "When I saw Ethan arrive outside, I knew someone had let you into your apartment. Both Taylor and I leapt out of the car. We knew, and to see her there like that with you--and armed. I think I died a thousand deaths, Ana. Someone threatening you. All my worst fears realized. I was so angry, with her, with you, with Taylor, with myself." I'm haunted by the vision of Leila and her gun. "I didn't know how volatile she would be. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how she'd react." I stop, remembering Leila's surrender. "And then she gave me a clue; she looked so contrite. And I just knew what I had to do."
"Go on," Ana prompts.
"Seeing her in that state, knowing that I might have something to do with her mental breakdown--"
A memory from years ago surfaces, unwelcome--Leila smirking as she deliberately turned her back on me, knowing the consequences. "She was always so mischievous and lively. She might have harmed you. And it would have been my fault."
If anything happened to Ana...
"But she didn't," Ana says. "And you weren't responsible for her being in that state, Christian."
"I just wanted you gone. I wanted you away from the danger, and...You. Just. Wouldn't. Go." My exasperation returns and I glare at Ana. "Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I know." I close my eyes and shake my head. What am I going to do with her?
If she stays.
She's still kneeling in front of me when I open my eyes.
"You weren't going to run?" I ask.
"No!" Now she sounds exasperated.
She's not leaving me. I take a deep breath. "I thought--" I stop. "This is me, Ana. All of me, and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."
"I love you, too, Christian, and to see you like this is--" She pauses as she chokes back tears. "I thought I'd broken you."
"Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite."
You make me whole.
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. "You're my lifeline," I whisper.
I need you.
I kiss each of her knuckles before pressing my palm against the palm of her hand.
How can I make her see what she means to me?
Let her touch me.
Touch me, Ana.
Yes. And before I overthink it, I take her hand and place it on my chest, over my heart.
I'm yours, Ana.
The darkness expands inside my rib cage and my breathing quickens. But I control my fear. I need her more. I drop my hand, leaving hers in place, and concentrate on her lovely face. Her compassion is there, reflected in her eyes.
I see it.
She flexes her fingers so I briefly feel her nails through my shirt. Then she removes her hand.
"No." My response is instinctive, and I press her hand to my chest. "Don't."
She looks bewildered, but then she shuffles closer so our knees are touching. She reaches up.
Shit. She's going to undress me.
And I'm filled with dread. I can't breathe. With one hand she awkwardly undoes the first button. She flexes the fingers trapped beneath my hand and I let her go. Using both hands, she makes light work of my buttons, and when she pulls open my shirt I gasp, and my breathing returns and starts to accelerate.
Her hand hovers over my chest. She wants to touch me. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. Reaching deep within myself and relying on years of control, I steel myself for her touch.
Ana hesitates.
"Yes," I whisper my encouragement and tilt my head to one side.
Her fingertips are feather-light on my sternum, stirring my chest hair. My fear rises in my throat, leaving a knot I can't swallow. Ana removes her hand, but I grab it, pressing it against my skin. "No, I need to." My voice is low and strained.
I must do this.
I'm doing it for her.
She flattens her palm on me, then traces a line with her fingertips to my heart. Her fingers are gentle and warm, but they're searing my skin. Marking me. I'm hers. I want to give her my love, and my trust.
I'm yours, Ana.
Whatever you want.
I'm aware I'm panting, dragging air into my lungs.
Ana shifts, her eyes darkening. She runs her fingers over me again and then places her hands on my knees and leans forward.
Fuck. I close my eyes. This will be hard to bear. I tilt my head up. Waiting. And I feel her lips, with acute tenderness, plant a kiss over my heart.
I groan.
It's excruciating. It's hell. But it's Ana, here, loving me.
"Again," I whisper. She leans in and kisses me above my heart. I know what she's doing. I know where she's kissing me. She does it again, and then again. Her lips landing soft and gentle on each of my scars. I know where they are. I know where they've been since the day they were burned into my body. And here she is, doing what no one's ever done. Kissing me. Accepting me. Accepting this dark, dark side of me.
She's slaying my demons.
My brave girl.
My beautiful brave girl.
My face is wet. My vision is blurred. But I feel my way to her and pull her into my arms, my hands in her hair. I turn her face up to mine and claim her lips. Feeling her. Consuming her. Needing her. "Oh, Ana," I whisper in veneration as I worship her mouth. I pull her down onto the floor and she cups my face and I don't know if the wet is from her tears or mine.
"Christian, please don't cry. I meant it when I said I'd never leave you. I did. If I gave you any other impression, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I love you. I will always love you."
I look down at her, trying to accept what she's just said.
She says she loves me, that she will always love me.
But she doesn't know me.
She doesn't know the monster.
The monster is not worthy of her love.
"What is it?" she says. "What is this secret that makes you think I'll run for the hills? That makes you so determined to believe I'll go? Tell me, Christian, please?"
She has a right to know. As long as we are together, this will always be an obstacle between us. She deserves the truth. Against my better judgment, I have to tell her.
I sit up and cross my legs and she sits up, too, staring at me. Her eyes are round and fearful, reflecting my feelings exactly.
"Ana." I pause and take a deep breath.
Tell her, Grey.
Get it out. Then you'll know.
"I'm a sadist, Ana. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore--my birth mother. I'm sure you can guess why." The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush like they've been ready and waiting for days.
She remains impassive. Still. Quiet.
Please, Ana.
Finally, she speaks, and her voice is a frail whisper. "You said you weren't a sadist."
"No, I said I was a Dominant. If I lied to you, it was a lie of omission. I'm sorry." I can't look at her. I'm ashamed. I stare down at my fingers. Like she does. But she remains mute, so I'm forced to look at her. "When you asked me that question, I had envisioned a very di
fferent relationship between us," I add.
It's the truth.
Ana's eyes widen, and suddenly she covers her face with her hands. She can't bear to look at me.
"So it's true," she whispers, and when she removes her hands, her face is alabaster. "I can't give you what you need."
What? "No. No. No. Ana. No. You can. You do give me what I need. Please believe me."
"I don't know what to believe, Christian. This is so fucked up." Her voice is choked with emotion.
"Ana, believe me. After I punished you and you left me, my worldview changed. I wasn't joking when I said I would avoid ever feeling like that again. When you said you loved me, it was a revelation. No one's ever said it to me before, and it was as if I'd laid something to rest--or maybe you'd laid it to rest, I don't know. Dr. Flynn and I are still in deep discussion about it."
"What does that all mean?"
"It means I don't need it. Not now."
"How do you know? How can you be so sure?"
"I just know. The thought of hurting you in any real way, it's abhorrent to me."
"I don't understand. What about rulers and spanking and all that kinky fuckery?"
"I'm talking about the heavy shit, Anastasia. You should see what I can do with a cane or a cat."
"I'd rather not."
"I know. If you wanted to do that, then fine, but you don't and I get it. I can't do all that shit with you if you don't want to. I told you once before, you have all the power. And now, since you came back, I don't feel that compulsion at all."
"When we met, that's what you wanted, though?"
"Yes, undoubtedly."
"How can your compulsion just go, Christian? Like I'm some kind of panacea, and you're--for want of a better word--cured? I don't get it."
"I wouldn't say 'cured.' You don't believe me?"
"I just find it--unbelievable. Which is different."
"If you'd never left me, then I probably wouldn't feel this way. Your walking out on me was the best thing you ever did for us. It made me realize how much I want you, just you, and I mean it when I say I'll take you any way I can have you."
She stares at me. Impassive? Confused? I don't know.
"You're still here. I thought you would be out of the door by now."
"Why? Because I might think you're a sicko for whipping and fucking women who look like your mother? Whatever would give you that impression?" she snaps.
Fuck.
Ana has her claws out, and she's sinking them into me.
But I deserve it. "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes."
She's angry, maybe? Hurt, possibly? She knows my secret. My dark, dark secret. And now I await her verdict.
Love me.
Or leave me.
She closes her eyes. "Christian, I'm exhausted. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I want to go to bed."
