AN: Hey everyone! I'm new to writing fan fiction, though I've read some before. This story has been flopping around in my head for a while – Ana has a rare genetic condition where she cannot feel any sort of physical pain or hot/cold. I haven't decided if I'm going to be strictly medical/realistic about this or put some "love conquers all" supernatural elements in. Give me your thoughts about that please!

The story starts where the original FSOG book 1 starts and continues with my story line from there. It's obviously OOC because breaking molds sounds destructive and fun.

If you ever find anything confusing or not adding up, just let me know. Also, please tell me if there are grammar errors – I often won't read other fan fiction because of grammar issues #snob

Obviously, EL James owns all, not me.

I only (sometimes) own my erratic thoughts and ideas.

Chapter 1

APOV

The sun has risen alone today with no clouds to obscure its powerful beams, but the gargantuan forest trees shield my skin from the harmful rays. The early morning damp earth, packed loosely enough to still provide a little bounce, squishes and gives under my bare feet as I glide along the path toward the gushing water. The air smells of fresh rain and clean leaves – new beginnings – urging me to continue my journey through the forest. The soil changes, crunching and turning to dust as I step out of the tree line and onto the riverbank. Pebbles shift under my feet, most are smooth and worn by the corrosive high tides, but a few are younger and sharper. I relish the piercing stab of these adolescent rocks, not yet worn down by time and force, still rebelling with jagged edges and no apologies.

The river gushes down its path, sure of its purpose and destination, knowing exactly where it must go and how to get there. Nature is always confident, never second guessing itself. Insects buzz around the mucky riverbed as the sun continues to rise. My skin tingles as the bright ball of fire warms my every fiber, running down my spine and branching out to my extremities. I curl my toes involuntarily.

I step into the water slowly, savoring the icy pin pricks, the goose bumps forming on my skin. As I submerge myself fully in the chilling river, all sounds cease. I hear my heart thumping wildly in my ears as I try to backtrack and count how many seconds I've been underwater for. I resurface and try to breathe but something is off. The sun is glaringly bright, reflecting off the water in blinding rays. My head is swimming and my vision is dotted with black spots. I get out of the water and lie down on the pebbles and close my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing and pounding heart. I smell something burning but can't imagine how someone could start a fire on a riverbed so I ignore it.

Calm down calm down calm down

I fall asleep repeating the mantra.

When I wake, the sun is setting. The river is shining with brilliant pinks and oranges as the sun continues its descent until the water turns dark. I get up from my spot on the riverbank and catch sight of my left arm. It's covered in an odd looking rash with blisters everywhere. I touch the blisters and feel the pressure from the fluid under my skin. I check the rest of my skin and find that the rash is covering every inch of my body. I can feel the blisters on my face, in between my toes, under my nails.

There was no fire.

I was burning.

I run to the river to soothe the burns but I can't tell if it's working. I don't know if the water's even cold. I decide to turn back the way I came; hopefully I can find some medical help once I get out of the forest. I look back to make sure I didn't leave anything behind as I head into the dark jungle of trees and brush. I see a glossy liquid trail that follows my path from the riverbed. I bend down to touch it and my hands are covered in sticky blood. My blood. I look down and see my feet are covered in blood too; my ankles are cut every which way and the trail of lacerations travels up my calves, knees, and thighs. I'm bleeding everywhere. I remember my head feeling odd and touch my hand to the back of my skull, knowing what I will find before I even make contact. My hair is matted with blood trickling out of the base of my head. As I stand at the edge of the forest, my vision becomes cloudy once more, but my head is clear with the realization.

I'm bleeding out.

I'll be dead within the minute.

Everything goes black as my knees buckle under me. I hear faint moaning in the distance as I fall to the ground.


I'm in my bedroom. I'm not dead. My sheets rub together strangely and I see that I've sweat through my pajamas and bedding. Great. My bedside alarm clock says 2:38AM in bright blue numbers.

"Aaaannaaaaa," croaks my roommate, and best friend, Katherine Kavanagh. Her voice echoes as she rasps out my name once more, the sound punctuated by gagging.

I race to the bathroom and find Kate clutching to the toilet for dear life as she vomits continuously, the action so violent it shakes her whole body. I grab a washcloth and wet it with cold water and place it on the back of her neck. I tie her hair up into a bun so it's out of her face (and the splash zone). I sit with her on the linoleum floor while she continues emptying her body and the dry heaving calms down. I periodically re-wet the washcloth so her neck stays cold to help with the nausea.

42 minutes later, she slumps to the ground and looks at me with her piercing green eyes. They may be rimmed with bright red and puffy skin but she still looks amazing. Only Katherine Kavanagh could have the stomach flu and still look breathtaking after an intense vomiting episode. I hand her a small cup with mouthwash in it. She smiles at me and takes it, croaking out a "thank you" before she swishes it around her mouth and spits it into the toilet behind her. She smiles at me for a moment before her face falls, horror overtaking her expression.

"Ana, I'm such a fuck up!" she moans. I'm confused; it's not her fault she has the stomach flu. I mean, Kate's not one to purposefully eat raw chicken or something. How is she a fuck up?

She registers my puzzled expression and tries to explain, all the while sounding like a chain smoker with her rasping voice.

"I have that big interview today in Seattle! How am I supposed to do that now?! It's not like I can bring a trashcan with me into the interview!" She sits upright and mocks interviewing me: "Hello, I'm Katherine Kavanagh. Please disregard this trashcan filled with puke, I'll be using it during the interview to prevent myself from hurling directly onto you."

Even though the situation is shitty, I can't help but laugh at Kate's scenario. After a second, she laughs with me too and we fall onto the floor fully in a pile of giggles and tears. She's always the sunshine to my rain, the half-full to my half-empty. Sure, she's pretty cynical about the rest of humanity but she cares fiercely for the few she loves, and I'm honored to be one of those few. I'm opposite of Kate in so many ways – I care about others and feel there's good in everyone, but don't pay much attention to my own needs beyond the required checks I have to make; she feels there's a skeleton hiding in everyone's closet (and voices that opinion quite often), but fights to help her loved ones clear those closets of anything negative. She's extremely social and outgoing, making snap decisions and just letting the current take her wherever it wants to, while I have to be cautious always. I don't have the luxury of not having a care in the world.

I was born with a rare genetic disorder called Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV, otherwise known as Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis (CIPA). Basically, I was born with impaired sensory nerves, so I don't feel any sort of physical pain, including hot and cold – that's the "insensitivity to pain" part. If something hits me, I'll feel the pressure of the impact but none of the pain associated with the strength of impact. Up until I was about 12, I also didn't have the ability to sweat – the "anhidrosis" part, which often lead to me passing out from heat stroke. My parents allowed a group of specialists to do some experimental treatment on me to counteract the anhidrosis and it worked. I now sweat normally. I know that's not very exciting to most people but it's pretty awesome when you don't have to worry about overheating and blacking out constantly.

Every few hours, I have to check my entire body for cuts, bruises, swelling, infections, and burns. When other people step on a rusty nail, they feel pain and stop to clean the wound and get a tetanus shot. When I step on a rusty nail, I might feel some pressure but I probably won't notice anything, which means I now have an infected cut on the bottom of my foot. Or I'll lean up against an electric stove, not knowing that it's on, and won't realize I've given my hip a third degree burn unless I register the smell of burning flesh. When I was kid, I had a broken ankle for 2 days while my parents were out of town and my neighbor, who was watching me, forgot to check me over. I didn't even know, I just thought I naturally walked funny or something.

Ray, my stepdad, is very protective of me for this reason (besides me being his only daughter) and for the first year of college, I constantly had to reassure him that I was doing the checks and I was fine. He relented when Kate and I started living together. He trusts Kate and I'm pretty sure they having an ongoing google doc about my checks and any potential issues. I know they mean well but I just want someone to rough house with me a little. I mean, I know that I won't register any pain but someone else surely knows how much strength to put into something before it gets harmful right?

My mom kind of ignores the issue, which is both a blessing and a curse. I don't have to deal with her anxiety about me but she also didn't think that me living with her and Husband Number 3 was an issue. Long story short, he was abusive but I was a particularly interesting target for his torture because he wanted to see how far he could push – if I'd ever feel the pain. I was his weird experiment and once I realized it wouldn't stop, I demanded to live with Ray.

"Ok I think I'm done for now," Kate sighs as she slumps back to the ground with me, finishing her third vomiting episode since I ran into the bathroom a couple hours ago.

"I can do the interview for you, if you want," I tell her, putting on my best "helpful Ana" face. She's been raving about this interview for months and she doesn't deserve to have it all flushed away (no pun intended) because she's sick. I can brave the offices of… of… of whatever company she's going to. I should probably ask for her research.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Steele, thank you," she sniffles. I think she's overwhelmed from the sickness and exhaustion so I help her to bed and leave a trashcan on either side of her bed so she doesn't have to run to the bathroom if she feels sick again. She's out before her head even hits the pillow.

My, how the mighty have fallen.

I giggle at my (obviously) hilarious thought and leave Kate to, hopefully, peaceful slumbers. On my way out of her room, I grab her laptop to find her research on this Mr. Bigshot CEO guy I'm going to interview. It's a little after 5 in the morning so I decide to just stay up – I don't need any more nightmares today. She's compiled a ton of info on this guy but it's all very technical, nothing about personal preferences or hobbies. There's nothing on his childhood, except that Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey and Carrick Grey adopted him in Detroit when he was 4 years old. He has a younger sister, Amelia Grey, and an older brother, Elliot Grey, who are both adopted as well. I search the web for more info, though I have a feeling I won't find more than Kate did – she's really good at researching these things.

After another hour of searching, I've found nothing new. Either Christian Trevelyan-Grey is an emotionless workaholic with no social life or he's extremely private. I have a feeling it might be both. Kate's research says he's only 27 – so he probably has been working his ass off since he started the company. You don't get that successful that quickly and still keep up a healthy work-life balance. I'm about to look up a picture of him when my alarm chirps. I need to shower, get changed, and do my morning checks still before I drive the 165 glorious miles to downtown Seattle. I guess I'll just see what he looks like when I meet him in person.


AN: soooo that happened - I published my first chapter ever. cue dramatic music.
anywho, I'm really interested in what all of you (meaning: the 2 readers I'll probably have) think of the story/where it's going/what should happen/my view of the characters/how much you love pizza on a scale of 1-10 etc. you know, basic stuff. (my love for pizza is at 100000000 btw). I don't know the update schedule yet or the average length of the chapters but I'll let you know (or forget to tell you and just keep you in the dark). Also, I've decided upon writing this first chapter that I'm kind of digging the supernatural feel so there's going to be some of that in it too. I won't get too crazy on you so don't worry. Also, this IS rated M so there's gonna be sex. I mean, this is FSOG so there's gonna be sex. But unlike FSOG, I'll omit the 2736294729119474 "oh my's" and shy, bashful "down there's" that the meek Ana from the books uses so frequently. I like a more rough-and-tumble kind of girl.

see ya later alligator
veni vidi scripsi (VVS)