FIFTY FALLS.

This is an interpretation of a copyrighted original material. The original characters of the fifty shades of grey are owned by E. L. James. I'm just using her wonderful characters and mixing it up a bit…

Christian is 32, who didn't get into BDSM at the early age he did in the original books. He's still fifty shades though. Ana is 24, and totally not the meek and mild Ana. She's different; she's a model and business woman and has a very dark and troubled past.

If you want to read Fifty Falls be my guest, but remember this is not fifty shades. Reread that if you want the same thing, this is not even close to those wonderful books, oh and I am terribly dyslexic, so bear with me, also I am trying to write American/English lol so very different from English/English...

CHAPTER 1:

C POV:

For many years, I have had issues. I have battled my childhood abandonment issues, my hatred of my crack whore birth mother issues, my body issues and my fear of intimacy issues, my whole life I have had these demon issues running and ruining my life. Until now, I was getting help dealing with theses and the many other issues that sprang from those hate filled first four years, those early years I spent living in purgatory, with that woman, laughingly known as my mother.

I needed lots of help in chasing the demons away growing up. Alas, I have today released its all crap; I am making my past rule my life. In doing so, I'm not moving on. So yes, until now I have followed their wishes, I have taken their help, listened to their help and do you know what? It hasn't helped!

That 'helping process' was begun by my wonderful mother, Doctor Grace Trevelyan Grey. Under Grace's watchful eye, so began the myriad of therapists she has had me see since early childhood, I think it's a given I have run them ragged with the help I have needed, throughout all my troubled early years, but when I reached my very nasty and enraged teenage years, I hit an all-time low. Why they hadn't shipped me off to military school, I do not know, because living with me was no walk in the park; I made my family's life miserable, what with the many drunken arrivals back home at all hours of the night or early morning, the smoking, the fighting and the brawling, the endless rows with my father. My siblings never knew how to talk to me, so didn't. I was a lonely, angry boy and was looking for help, help that fucking worked! I sigh, re-running that back, I had so many issues and help issues. I even hate the darned word, issues, because fuck me, I have them by the bucket load...

A lifeline was however finally thrown at that drowning angry kid! A welcoming life jacket, instead of the padded white one I thought I needed, was tossed my way! Finally, I got plenty of help in learning how to cope with my anger issues, and with the most unlikely person on god's green planet. He with no letters after his name, no stupid fees, no comfy couch or homework tasks, just an elderly neighbour and some wood! My elderly neighbour, he saw me sitting alone one day, after yet another drunken grounding and he came and sat by me on the decking by the boat shed.

"What did you do this time Grey?"

"I don't know I was too drunk to remember Sir."

"That's a bit of an understatement Son. Do you want to know what you did to my fence?" I wasn't aware at that time I had done anything to his damn fence, but my head was aching and so I listened. "You drove your dads car through my fence and ruined my wife's garden." Finally, I'm ashamed, ashamed at seeing his hurt, because they were a nice elderly couple, and the troubled teenaged Christian must have seemed to them, like I was a spoilt rich wild kid. I always remember feeling like crap that day, that was the day I realized I was hurting others and not just my family.

"I'm sorry Sir; can I do anything to help fix it?"

"I don't know Son, do you think you can?"

"I don't know. Where and how would I start?"

"Fixing Rose's flower beds would be a start Son; do you think you could do that?" I had never done manual work in my life; I was a spoilt rich kid, so obviously I hadn't! I spent three days weeding, re-laying her lawn, building back her flower beds, replanting them and replanting the new pots I had to pay for from my allowance, that week's would be beer money went on pots, grass, dirt and damn flowers. I worked hard from morning to night, falling asleep, tired and worn out, too tired even for the nightmares to wake me. When I finished, I felt like I had achieved something wonderful. I had, I'd rebuilt their garden and it was better than it was before and in doing so, for the first time I didn't feel like a failure, do you know how happy that made me feel? I guess not, you're not me!

When I had finished the garden I asked Mr Steele did he need a hand with fixing the fence, I'd wrecked with dad's car, now that I had finished the garden. He smiled and showed me his pride and joy; his workshop by his boat shed, he had a massive woodworking room, all neatly laid out and well-loved. That day I had found a focus for my anger, woodwork. Yeah, that's all it took to help me an old guy some wood and tools, oh and a shit load of patience, there's a cliché that a bad workman blames his tools?' Well, those tools were the fucking bane of my life for weeks, and they never worked properly!

The only one I mastered, and well was the block and sandpaper, I didn't get to do the cool stuff until I learnt to calm down and sand with the grain. It seems I had an overactive brain and it needed focus and discipline, he was pretty damned patient with me, because I damn near on kicked the shit out of his workspace on more than one occasion. I was angry and frustrated when I couldn't get the machines to do the things I wanted, and yes, he sent me to sand the damn boat frame again, until I calmed down. I was given another helpful way to channel my anger, from his son, he showed me how to work off my anger at the gym, he was a cool guy too, a big arsed marine, Ray Steele. He and his father, Raymond senior helped me focus my anger with simple yet alarmingly great results.

Ray came to visit his parents a lot whilst on leave, and then one summer he turned up with a little girl in tow, because his wife Carla had left them both, running off with an army dude. He then had to leave the Marines; so he could raise her and help Ray Senior with his business, they refit ships. Steele Yacht Services were a family ran business. Annie, Ray's daughter, well she was a whiny kid and was always wanting her daddies, Grandma Rose or Grandpa Ray's attention, and she hated being left alone I noticed! I noticed too, she would sit, read and draw for hours. I was eighteen and leaving for Uni when they actually returned home to live for good, and I never had very little time for the ten-year old brat, anyhow. She was about the same age perhaps as my fruity sister Mia; she was too annoying! I still went to help her grandpa all the time, we would spend hours crafting and working on the almost complete fishing boat for his retirement, and I loved the time I spent there with him.

Then one day that shed too became a painful place. I returned home from Harvard that day; to find Grandpa Steele asleep in the work shed, only he wasn't sleeping, he was dead. The pain I felt being unable to wake him rehashed all the memory's I had of being unable to wake my crack whore mother from her sleep. Ray had to call for my mother as I rocked his father in my arms crying and telling him to wake up and not to leave me. I was left devastated, because he had been my lifeline to being calm for five years and I missed him. Soon after that, Grandma Steele joined him, she died of a broken heart, and Annie and her dad then moved away. They sold up and left Seattle; they moved on to a new life in Portland as Ray started a business there. I inherited the half-finished fishing boat and his woodworking tools, Dad had the things moved to the shed on our property when the Steele's moved. I couldn't face that damn boat again, and to my shame, it's still unfinished, untouched and unloved, the poor Anastasia-Rose sits under a dusty tarp and awaits attention. I went on to finish at Harvard Law, so then had very little time for the woodwork, or life at home, besides Grandpa Steele wasn't there, and he was the real reason I went there and home so much.

When at twenty-two, having gained my Harvard degrees in both law and business and finance, my Grandfather Trevelyan gave me the backing I needed to set up in business. I started off working from an office in my tree house home, in Bellevue and soon had enough money in the bank to get my first real offices and get a team together. At the age of twenty-five, I was a multi-millionaire and nothing was standing in my way, I was the master of my universe. I focused my time and energy, into getting and eventually becoming rich, rich enough for me to buy happiness and perfection! I no longer let anyone in to hurt me, if I didn't let them in they couldn't die and leave me, they wouldn't matter, not if I didn't let love or affection or let them matter to me! I was driven to succeed in business. I eventually purchased a multi-million dollar apartment in Seattle too, it was the highest apartment there was in Seattle, at the time, and got it only after the owner went bust and all so I could look down on the minions below!

Never would I look up to anyone again, they would look up to me, want to be me want to date me. I drove the best cars, wore the best clothes, shipped in from Savile Row and Italy. I ate at the finest restaurants, because I owned the finest restaurants. I appreciated good wines and so I owned the best wineries. I even flew a helicopter and owned a company building them, just because I could. I owned a shipyard that built yachts and undertook the refitting of older ones, funnily enough, it's right by the old Steele place, (I hadn't thought of them in a while!) where I am designing a bigger catamaran, my dream boat, The Grace Two. She will be an eighty foot beast when work on her is complete and she will be both elegant and beautiful, like my mom... I worked hard and played hard.

I still needed help with my abandonment and anger issues, especially after Grandpa Steele died, I regressed to a deep place for months, because he too had left me, so I found another darker way to release my anger, and it wasn't sanding wood either…

My last therapist, Doctor John Flynn's way, isn't working either and I find myself listening to what he says and wondering what the fuck I pay him thousands of dollars for? The last session with him was my last session ever, because I decided his ideas aren't working anymore, I leave angrier these past few months than I was going in. I damn well know I need to change who I am and learn how I deal with my 'issues' better,' I use that fucking word a lot I note!

I finally figured that out, with the help of a stranger on a park bench. After today's shouting session, whilst sat on the couch of that overpriced charlatan, I ran out, slamming the door behind me, and told Taylor, my security, to go home. I was going for a run, and he wasn't needed, so I ran with no particular route planned, I just hit the road. After a while, I pulled over and rested on a park bench, when a girl limped over. It seemed to me, like she had pulled a leg muscle and she cursed at me like a ship-yard-docker, when I offered to rub the back of her leg and relieve the cramping. I see her point; I did look and could easily be a rapist or a wacko of some sorts, out to prey on lonely girls in a park, and from her point of view, I suppose she had a right to shout?

"Let me help you, I am sure it's hurting you and you can't handle the pain needed to massage the leg muscles properly."

"What are you a doctor or something?"

"Just a man who gets them too, and all the time, here you need to rub and stretch the muscle, then rub it hard and yes, it does hurt." I began gently rubbing her leg and I swear she turned the air blue when I got to the deep tissue massage.

"Fuck me, that hurt are you sure you're not making it worse?"

"No, I assure you I am not. I do know a thing or two about this, my mother's a doctor."

"No shit, my mother's dentist, but I don't suppose you'd let me see to your teeth would you?" I laughed because she had a point.

"Fair point well-made Miss...?"

"My names Kate, Kate Kavanagh, pleased to meet you, oh, here's my roommate, she had to stop to take a call." Her friend was walking towards her and shouted she needed a couple more minutes.

"She has so many irons in the fire, she's going to get burnt one day. You don't run in here a lot, are you new to the area?"

"No, it's just on the way from my doctor's office and I needed to let loose a little." She put her leg down on the floor and smiled.

"Well, look at that doctor, sorry, what are you called?"

"Christian, sorry I should have said."

"So did the doctor sort you out?"

"No, unfortunately after three years, we're still rehashing the same crap."

"Well; if he's not managed after three years to sort you out, perhaps it's time for a change, or go see the park doctor over there, he's shit hot at the old advice crap." She pointed to a vagrant feeding the pigeons his dinner. The friend was busy warming up, and was stood with her back to me and what a nice backside it was too. Her body was clad tightly in her cropped waist runners and tight tank top, her body was defined and tight in all the right places too, and her friend had now wiggled her leg free from the cramp, putting a stop to my ogling of the strangers backside.

"Come on Kavanagh, move that butt, we still have two more kilometres to run." She passed the seat and Kate got up to follow her.

"Thanks for the help Dr Christian, see you around, remember if you're in need of advice see 'ole' Truman there, he's really good on all matters of the brain, the heart and the odd financial titbit, and he's cheap and normally spot on, see you again doc."

With that, the blonde girl, Kate Kavanagh; now, why did that name ring a bell and I couldn't think why? Off she jogged and finally joined her friend on the rest of their run. I looked towards the man and I wondered if he would sign an NDA? I walk over and I spend an hour talking to the guy, who Kate was right about, he did know his shit. I gave him some money, said my farewells and jogged hard for home. I'd spent thousands on therapy that hadn't worked and what was it the vagrant said, that finally hit home? Kick the shit out of a punch bag and talk to people nicely, and nice is what I'd get back. I'd catch more bees with honey than I would by using vinegar. I had to let go of the past, and move on and I was to stop thinking she did me wrong, because she didn't, she could have got rid of me at any point in my life, even before I was born. Yet she hadn't and because of that, perhaps I could be more grateful to her for still being here, instead of blaming her for leaving me alone to face her pimp? Perhaps I should remember she had just as many issues and nobody helped her, had I ever thought of that. Perhaps, I should focus on hating the pimp who did the damage to both her and me.

Thinking about it, I always saw myself as the victim; perhaps we were both victims? I guess somewhere down the line I have heard this before and had chosen not to listen or I did but didn't listen properly…