One more line will do it. One more line and I can get through this class. One more line is all I need. Taping it out and cutting the line has always been therapeutic. Maybe that's because it never changed, it was a well-established ritual that I could do in my sleep. Maybe it was the fact that I knew within minutes I wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe it's a combination of the two, the anticipation of a good high. Snorting the line, feeling the blow entering my body has already put me at ease. I place my hands on the edges of the sink and lean forward, staring into the mirror. Aside from the fact that I was losing weight I looked exactly the same as I did when I started this over a year ago. I should be thankful that this habit of mine has not affected me in other ways, but my father is surely beginning to notice the weight loss. I swear he could spot a lost pound a mile away. Food is very important to him. I could have stood there examining my reflection forever but a sharp knock on the door brings me back to reality.

"Just one minute," I stammer out as I hurriedly collect my things and throw them into my bag.

Pushing through the door, past the other Seattle Prep student who was eager to use the only private bathroom on the whole campus, I mutter a small 'sorry' and rush down the hall. I had spent more time in the bathroom than I had intended and now I am late to my English literature class. As much as I hated being late to this class, it did have its advantages. I did not have to worry about trying to dodge and weave through throngs of students milling about, there was no one pushing past you in an attempt to make it across campus in time for their next class and there was no one staring. I hate it when they stare. My last name commands attention, being a Grey was almost synonymous with being a celebrity in Seattle.

Arriving at the classroom door I drew in a deep breath and turned the handle, mentally preparing myself for the next hour.

"Nice of you to join us Miss Grey, did you get lost?" Mr. Benson quipped from where he sat on the edge of the desk, his copy of Return of the Native clutched in his hand.

"Sorry, bathroom," I breath as I take my seat at the back of the classroom and dig out my own copy of the novel.

"Don't let it happen again," he says before turning his attention back to the goings on of Egdon Heath.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I open my novel just as I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. It could really only be one of three people: my brother Teddy, my best friend Liv or my father. I really hope it is not my father. Glancing up, I check to be sure that Mr. Benson is once again enraptured in the story and fish my phone out of my pocket. Calm washes over me, the message was from Liv asking if I had heard so and so was throwing "the party of the year" tomorrow night. The thought made me laugh inside, did Liv forget who my father was? That party was never going to happen, for me at least. I could feel the coke finally starting to really hit me, I could feel myself shift.

As the class came to a close and the bell rang, finally signifying the end of the school day and week, I headed to my locker. As I was sorting through what I would need over the weekend and what could be left behind I could feel someone standing behind me. Their presence sent chills down my spine. Standing up I turned to Jackson Sullivan standing there in all his glory. Tall and lean, he was the picture of perfection. Jackson's brown hair lay unruly to just above his striking green eyes.

"Hey Phoebe," a smile played on his lips as he spoke my name.

"Hi," confidence oozed out of my words while my hands shook.

"Are you going to be at Matt's party tomorrow night?"

God the way he leaned so casually on the locker next to mine set my blood on fire. His laid back, nonchalant attitude could turn any girl into anything but laid back.

"I was thinking about it," I say as I tuck a wayward strand of my copper hair behind my ear.

"Cool, I'll see you there then," he leaned forward and ran his hand through my hair I had just tried to tame, then smiled and walked away.

Drawing in a deep breath and leaning back against the locker where he had just been, I smiled to myself. I had never met someone who had such an effect on me, who had put me so on edge in such a good way. Beethoven's fifth symphony ripped me from my silent musings and I felt myself involuntarily roll my eyes, Christian Grey was calling. Pulling my phone out of my pocket I prepared myself.

"Hi dad," I say into the receiver as I shut my locker and pick up my bag.

"Good afternoon Phoebe, Sawyer just called me. He's waiting for you out front," I can tell by the sound of his voice that he is distracted.

"Yeah, I know, I was just heading out there. You know I'm only five minutes late, do you think you guys could relax just a little bit?"

"It's his job to look after you Phoebe and you are never late. Most days you are running out the front doors as soon as the bell rings, you can't fault him for worrying."
"Alright, alright. I'm heading out there now," I say as I walk down the staircase to the main entrance of the building.

"I will see you soon then, we are going to be spending the night at Escala," he states in his matter of fact way.

"Dad, I can spend one night on my own at home. I don't want to stay in city tonight, I want to go home," I can feel myself getting irritated, probably mostly due to the blow wearing off.

"This is not up for discussion, I will see you soon. I love you."

With that the phone call was over, nothing was ever up for discussion with him. My father was a dictator, he ran his family like he ran his business. What Christian Grey says goes, don't question it. When mom died, I felt bad for the people that worked for him. My dad did everything he could not to bring his pain into our home, too be strong for Teddy and I. With no where else to go with that pain my father took it to work and subsequently took it out on almost everyone around him there. Now that Teddy has gone all the way to Harvard, I feel bad for myself. With it just being my father and myself, aside from Taylor, Mrs. Jones and Sawyer, there is no one to buffer my fathers attention. Walking toward the waiting car Sawyer steps out and reaches for my bag, I can feel the students who are still lingerings eyes on me. I shoot Sawyer a look and maintain a tight grip on my bag.

"I've got it," I say under my breath so only he can hear and I see him give a slight nod.

Once I have fastened my seat belt and Sawyer is back behind the wheel we pull away from the school, leaving the muttering students behind...until Monday that is.