Hours.
It's been fucking eight and a half hours and there's no sign or trace of Anastasia. I've ordered multiple people combing the streets to search for her, and so far they have found nothing. Up to twenty times I've called her and it goes straight to voicemail, each time. I've messaged her with no replies or tick that it's been read.
Where the fuck is she?
The last I heard from her was at 12:45pm today when she emailed me from work. After that, there were no more replies to my emails or calls. I am anxious and fucking mad. Mad that she was gone. Mad that she couldn't obey one single order to use security. Because of my unease, I couldn't handle staying home anymore, so I stormed out to look for her. And right now my thoughts are too haywire to take care of my children calmly so I ordered Mrs. Jones to look after them.
So I've been driving around Seattle like a maniac, trying to calm myself down. Because of my stress and anger, I almost want to punish Ana when or if she comes home. If.
Do not think about that, Grey, not now. She will come home, just be patient.
But I am not patient, never have been.
Fuck. Where is she?
It's late, 11:45pm, and dark. The Seattle lights twinkle in my vision as I try to concentrate on the task at hand – driving. Even doing a simple action like this is difficult.
Blinking back my tears, I pull over next to a row of stores to calm my wild thoughts down. All the "what ifs" pop into my mind and I think I may go crazy.
What if she was kidnapped? What if she got hurt? What if the baby got hurt? Has she gone to meet someone? Stuck in traffic? Got caught up in too much work? Well, obviously not because I called her workplace and they said she had left. Is she just angry with me? Needs a break from me? No, she would call or text. Something is definitely wrong, because she would tell me. She would have picked her phone up by now. So, what if she did get kidnapped? How am I supposed to find her? What if she never gets found? What if she never comes back? What if she's dead?
Ahh!
I bang my hands on my steering wheel, breathing hard, and then brush them over my face and into my hair. Leaning my elbows on the wheel, I cover my face with my hands and let my emotion pour over me. I don't usually cry so it was partially surreal.
Where are you, Mrs. Grey? I want you back, please come back. I cannot live without you. I feel empty without you. Please. Come back.
After what seems like an eternity, my phone rings and I look up the dashboard and see it's 12:07pm. I wipe away my tears and answer on second ring hands-free. It's Mrs. Jones.
"Grey."
"Mr. Grey, I think you should come home right away." She sounds shaky.
"What is it?" I demand, starting my car up.
"I…" She hesitates and sniffs as though she's been crying. "I…I can't explain now…just please come home."
"I'm on my way."
There's a silence and more sniffling.
"Mrs. Jones, what's going on? Is Ana back? Please tell me."
"Yes, sir, she is back," she says, worry tracing her voice.
Oh thank Lord. She's back. My sweet Ana is back.
"Thank God, who found her? Is she okay?" I am desperate and impatient as I have to stop at yet another red light.
"Um, she came home herself, sir," she says and I am uneasy about the strain in her tone. "She's…" she hesitates and blows her nose on a tissue before continuing, "she's safe is all I can say."
"Mrs. Jones, tell me what the hell is wrong with her." I am panicky again.
Gail hesitates for a while, and finally finds her voice. "She's in a bit of a shock and she looks…oh god…she looks…I can't say. Not over the phone. She won't tell me anything. As soon as she walked into the door and saw me, she ran into bathroom. She won't answer me. I can…I can hear her crying and that's all." I speed up as she speaks and my anxiety goes over the rail.
What. The. Fuck?
My breathing is rapid. "I'll meet you soon, I'm almost home."
"Okay, sir." I hang up, concentrating on driving the last two minutes home.
I pull up and press a number into the keypad to open the gate of our home. When it was open wide enough to fit my car through, I raced through, skidding to a stop outside the house.
Panting from my stress, I ran through the door and met the teary-eyed Mrs. Jones sitting on the couch in the living room. Phoebe, who is two years old turning three in a month and Theodore, five years old, were currently playing with Mr. Truffles, our grey kitten, Moony, our black one and Bunny, our white one.
When they peek up, they both smile and come running up to me, yelling, "Daddy!"
I am glad to see that my children are safe.
My children. Ana's and my children. It never gets off on me.
I hug my children back as they wrap their arms around my waist. I look up at Gail, needing answers.
"Where is she?" I breathe, my voice raspy.
"Upstairs," she croaked. "In the bathroom. She hasn't come out yet."
"How long ago did she come home?"
"About ten minutes ago. Five minutes when I called you."
With that, I kiss each of my children on their heads and rush upstairs. I hear the sound of crying before I reach the bathroom door. I curse when I have trouble picking the lock.
"Ana?" I breathe through the door, still panicky.
She gasps and silence falls.
"Are you okay, baby?" Of course, she isn't, Grey! I chastise myself. She's crying!
"D-don't c-come in," is all she says.
"Why not?" I growl. Like hell I wouldn't. "I've been so worried for hours! You didn't answer my emails or phone calls for eight fucking hours. Eight, Ana. Where the fuck have you been? What happened?" I run my hands through my hair in frustration, having trouble calming my flaring temper.
I am so mad.
She sniffs a few times and says, "I know, I'm sorry."
"Ana, please open the door."
"No." Her voice is full of fear. I hated hearing her upset. What had happened to her to make her thus?
"Ana, open the damn door," I say through clenched teeth. "I won't ask you again."
"Y-you'll freak out. I don't want you to see me."
My heart tightens. I take a deep breath. "I'm going to see you when you come out anyway – unless you intend on staying in there for the rest of your life." I hoped she didn't think about doing that. That would kill me. I would have the door open by then anyway. "Open the door, Ana." My anger was rising.
After a moment, I hear the door "click" and I open it and walk in to find Ana leaning against the bathroom bench, her face in her hands. Her t-shirt and pants were off, only her bra and panties still on. It was an arousing sight but I was too distracted by shock. Several bruises and cuts dripping blood covers her body.
What. The. Fuck. What the hell had happened to her?!