Hey Y'all 3

So, I've been having a serious problem with writers block to the point that my HSM story has come to a complete standstill and I really am very sorry to any of you that got a notification for this and wanted it to be that. I know you all hate me. I'm so sorry.

This story came to me just after watching the movie adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey, because I couldn't help but be intrigued by what the story would be like if Anastasia were to have a physical disability and so not just be so much of a typical, able-bodied person.

I read the books a long time ago, before they were famous in fact, and I know that there are plenty of people who don't like them, the themes and whatnot. I, personally, like the storyline, but just not the books themselves, as I feel like even I could write better at points. However, I do have a very special soft spot for the characters. While I understand people's criticisms for some of Christian's controlling behaviour, having lived in a house with a man who went through bipolar-esque control issues very much the same, I also feel as though that it's important that stories and films don't censor these kinds of things, because they are realistic, and they do happen. Christian is deliberately written to have many faults, but that doesn't mean he's undeserving of love and second chances...and, to me, that's what Anastasia teaches him.

So, there's this. The name may change of this story. I haven't decided on it yet.

Also, music is very important in my life; I songwrite as a hobby, and since I'm using my own experiences with my disability, I decided to incorporate that into the story, too, since Ana likes to write...

Please feel free to leave feedback, as it will be super helpful!

PEACE & LOVE

––Stars Walk Backward.

The songs I post at the beginning of chapters are there as Ana's playlist, but also to set the mood of the chapter, so I would strongly recommend giving them a listen before and during reading :)

HAPPY READING XOX

Ana's iPod

Now playing:- "No one" by Aly & AJ

"I am moving through the crowd
Trying to find myself
Feel like a guitar that's never played
Will someone strum away?

You are moving through the crowd
Trying to find yourself
Feelin' like a doll left on a shelf
Will someone take you down?

Your life plays out on the shadows of the wall
You turn the light on to erase it all
You wonder what it's like to not feel worthless
So open all the blinds and all the curtains."

1.

Parties as a phenomena I have never understood. They are, ideally, meant to be fun, but all they ever made me feel is stomach churning anxiety and they always leave me sat in the corner surrounded by people and yet no one even notices.

And birthday party of Kate's old college friend was no exception to this rule.

Sat in the car beside Katie in her dark chiffon thigh-length dress, I dispute my options. When I first heard that the theme of the party was 1920's dress, I had taken it literally and done so with vigour, as, though I wouldn't consider myself fashionable, it was the period I most love in terms of clothing. The understated sparkle, unfitted silhouettes, emphasis on elegance…there was such a level of romance about it all. The kind of clothes that fitted with the style of some of my favourite novels, the Brontës, 'Tess'… Understated, but by no means lacklustre.

However, my literal take on the twenties costume was beginning to feel fuddy-duddy when I compared myself to the woman next to me. Kate had opted for the sexy option, wearing a twenties style short dress that showcased her beautiful figure and toned olive skinned legs, with only a thin layer of material to showcase the skin under her dress. My own outfit, a V-neck cream dress made in criss-cross lace that is tight to my figure and touches my shins, is definitely authentic to the period, but certainly doesn't feel like it was at all what everyone else will be wearing…if Kate's outfit is any indication.

However, since there is no option to change, I either have to hide, or not get out the car.

"Kate, did you bring a coat? This dress lace is really see-through, and while I did wear a skin-coloured bra, it feels like I'm hanging out––"

"Ana, the dress is hot, for fucks sake. You look hot. The dress hugs your body and you'll be the only one not to look slutty and to actually look twenties, which is something you should be proud of. Stop fussing, okay?"

I sigh, attempting to swallow the lump of nerves in my throat and fidget to rid the knots in my stomach. My palms are clammy as I subconsciously check my twenties finger wave hairstyle that Kate somehow mastered on my long, difficult hair with a created a hidden bun and using a lot of setting lotion. As tedious as it was to sit through the process, I have to admit, it does it look impressively accurate. As I thumb the long pearls around my neck where they rest against my breasts and below, I really do feel like I fell right out of The Great Gatsby. I suppose my anxiety about my outfit aren't really about my outfit at all.

"Ana, come on. Get in the picture," Kate coaxes as she held her iPhone in front of her to take a photo. Reluctantly, I shifted closer to her, pulling against the taxi seatbelt. I smile a little despite the image of myself I see on the screen, never having been comfortable with my appearance, even with all this make up. I inspect the photo after Kate takes it, taking in my appearance with the grey eyeshadow, maroon lipstick and false eyelashes, which Kate insisted I wear. I admit, I do feel pretty. Certainly in comparison to how I feel on a normal day, when I don't usually wear any cosmetics at all.

As we pull up outside the location of the party, a penthouse bar in Portland, I find it hard to breathe, though that may have more to do with the fact that my dress is tight around the waist-to-hip area, making bending to exit the car difficult. Kate ushers me into the elevator and chats away about her latest sexual encounter. I try to listen, to pay attention, I really do, but listening to it when I have yet to have ever had a sexual encounter is somewhat grating, considering I am twenty-two years old, and so is she. With every apparent failure or inadequacy she comes across, I feel an ever increasing level of hopelessness, though I try my best to bury it. When is it my turn to even have an opportunity?

"I'm just so excited to meet new people, thank god."

I swallow hard as I watch the elevator numbers climb. "I'm not. I'm shit with new people."

Kate just rolls her eyes at me, as she does often. "No, you're not. People love you, Ana. You just have no confidence in yourself. Which, incidentally, is what alcohol is for."

I think this over. Yes… Losing my inhibitions for a night does sound appealing. It's been a while since I had any fun. At the same time… what if everyone new at the party thinks I'm weird, like they always do?

"But what if they all stare, Kate? That's why I hate places where I don't know anyone. They stare––"

Kate is touching up her lipstick in her compact mirror at the elevator comes to a halt, indicating they have arrived. She simply scoffed defiantly, because everything to Kate was simple and easily solved. "If they do, I'll break their faces. Now, come on."

With that, she pulls me out of the doors and toward where Emma is stood at the entrance to her party, with her short blonde hair perfectly pinned, dressed in a floor length glittering plunge dress in a vintage cream, not too dissimilar from the colour of mine… except hers will have, no doubt, cost an arm and a leg. She is from a family not too unlike Kate's: wealthy and influential and she has a great graduate job in fashion already. She is, as they say, 'on the way up'.

"Ana, it's so nice to see you!" she exclaims on sight of me, clasping me in an embrace with a warm, genuine smile. I want to hate her, because she's so, damn, lucky, but it's basically impossible. She's just so nice!

"Woah––that dress! Ana, you look insane! Like, insane, insane! Where did you get it?! You look so twenties, I think you've beaten me to my own party theme!"

The music is pumping from the rooms behind us, so whatever Emma says she shouts, but I hear her compliments with a level of great disbelief. Me? Looking 'insane'?

"Um…" I can't tell her wear I really bought it. It was just from H&M. European, yes, but hardly the height of fashion. "Thanks. It's my grandma's, actually… I really love twenties stuff…"

Emma's eyes glint and she grins at me and hands me a drink in a teacup, which, as I sip, I soon realise is most definitely not tea. "Well, it's unbelievable, The guys are going to go crazy for you in there. Kate––can you believe this?"

"I've been trying to tell her all night!" Kate admonished with wild gestures as she takes a sizeable gulp from her own teacup. They chatter and I remain quiet, taking in the venue. Less than ten metres away are throngs of people, all looking incredibly dapper and sophisticated, though, like gate, most of the women are in skirts that would not have gone down well in the 1920's. The ceiling is dropped with fabric, and inside the fabric are fairy lights in different colours, lighting up different sections of the room in different warm rainbow colours. There are tables with silly twenties moustaches on sticks to take photos with, and rows of teacups, vodka, gin, whisky… It is all very beautiful and appealing. Not at all like the awful club and bar atmospheres that I have been subjected to previously. It actually has…character.

"The theme looks really good!" I shout to Emma over the music, who gives me a thumbs up just before she's dragged away from Kate by a group of men. Kate, incidentally, pulls out an cigarette from her bag. "Come with me to smoke?"

I nod––because, what else would I do?––and follow her. (How does she know where she's going?) As we walk through the many, many guests and through the middle of the room, I feel eyes on me as I follow Kate and so resort instantly back to my day-to-day habit, that Kate says I need to break: training my eyes to the ground, rather than walking with my eyes up. I do this mostly because I hate eye contact with strangers, but also because I hate how they look and stare when I walk. At least, if I trail my eyes on the ground, I can pretend it's not happening… or at least I can't see it happening. I almost lose my balance on my heels once or twice as slightly intoxicated people fail to move to give me room to squeeze past. I bite back the adrenaline and fear of falling each time. It's okay, I think. You haven't embarrassed yourself yet.

We end up outdoors, but not quite, in a tented area that is covered by material and strings of lights, with lounge seating surrounding shisha smoking pipes. Most of the seats are full, except one, with enough room for Kate and I. Kate has my hand and leads me to it, as I instantly look to the ground once I notice that there are strangers surrounding us, my instant thoughts resembling panic, social anxiety swelling in me like a balloon.

Great, now all those people saw me walk up to them. All those people are going to be looking at me when I move now. Brilliant.

"Hi," Kate says to those surrounding the nearest pipe, two men opposite with one girl, and one on the couch next to me, or so I can tell from my peripheral vision: I have yet to look up from my teacup. "Can I get a light, please?"

I roll my eyes. I know she has her own lighter, of course she does, it's just a technique to start conversation. All very clever, Kate. All very clever.

One of the men opposite agrees, as they light her cigarette. "You girls friends of Emma's, then?" comes the confident voice of the man. I don't look up much other than enough to see he's blonde, broad, attractive. Yes, he'll do for Kate just fine.

"Yes, we went to collage with her. Washington State."

"Ah, college girls––Well, I must say. You're very beautiful and all, but the came can't really be said of your university." His tone is teasing. I know this ploy well, Kate begins the show off, debating with the men opposite about our choice of university over the many others in the country, while I, for the first time, raise my eyes to watch them. Non of them seem to have noticed me, but once the blonde says something very inaccurate and rather sexist, I'm offended and my words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

"Well, I don't think that's fair. Harvard and Stanford have the worst rates for gender equality of perhaps any institution in the tristate area. Or didn't you realise that sixty percent of the women there prostitute themselves to help afford tuition, considering you most likely slept with half of them?"

The words were rude and candid and very unlikely what I would usually say outside of my private thoughts, blog or journal. I look down and realise my cup is empty. I must have been drinking it absentmindedly to avoid eye contact. One look back up at the men says they are shocked by my candidness, but only really spurred on further, as the darker skinned one to the right laughs at my insult of the blonde, whose name I soon catch on is Elliot. Kate is beside me, speaking just as much as she always does, and after a few more comments, I fall silent again, checking my phone out of habit. It's only then that I realise there is a man beside me who has not spoken up at all. I lower my eyes so I appear to be looking at my phone screen and peak at him, instantly struck by what I observe: high cheekbones, tanned skin, dark brows, dark brown hair with flecks of auburn that is styled in a perfectly formed quiff, with flat sides, wearing a crisp white shirt and thin black tie, with black braces over his shoulders to keep up his straight smart dress pants. At this first glance, I would guess style and appearance is key to what he is about… Man, he was attractive. How can someone be so attractive? How is everyone else here not so stuck by him? I feel an alien kick to the stomach from somewhere deep within that instantly has me on my feet.

I clear my throat and tell Kate, who barely hears me, that I'm going for another drink. Instead, I walk straight as I can to the nearest bathroom, relieved to find no one else there. I approach the sink and rest my forehead against the cool mirror with a sigh.

Damn it. I know what this feeling is. I may have never liked anyone before, never fancied anyone at school other than silly crushes on the odd boy when I was twelve, but I had read enough in the expanse of romance literature to know what desire felt like. The flushed skin, the desire to stare, the racing heart against your chest as though you had just run a sprint. This was it, no doubt…and yet he is so beautiful, there is no point even considering or hoping…because he is so, as much as I hate the phrase, 'out of my league'.

The same old mantra swirled round and round my brain as I gripped the sink.

Don't even go there. You're the weird, disabled girl who was born three months premature and so walks 'like a spaz'. I shudder at the word, even in my own thoughts. You walk like you're drunk, but all the time, with your butt stuck out, and you're weird, anti-social, unexciting… He's not for you. You'll just get walked all over once he sees you walk, or he'll dismiss you instantly. Do not. go there. He'll be an asshole. All the beautiful ones are.

If my mother or Kate knew how negative my thoughts about myself were, they would probably slap me… but, in my mind, that wouldn't stop them being true.

No one knows why I was born so early, or why it therefore lead to a lack of oxygen on my newborn body, which then caused the part of my brain that sent messages to my legs and eyes to become damaged, so I walk with my legs turned in at the knee and have bad eyesight. No one knows why this happened, but it did, and while Kate claims I'm beautiful, and so does my Mother, and Ray… they didn't experience the shunning that I did in middle school, and in high school. They didn't see the look on the boys faces who had been my friend once but then became 'cool' and so had to find a way to tell me they couldn't be friends with 'the spazzy girl' anymore. They were not tripped up on the elementary school playground and knocked out, or stared at my groups of youths in the street. They didn't have to wear plastic splints at night for years or in their shoes at school. They didn't know what I knew.
They say I'm pretty and maybe I am, I wouldn't much know or care for that, because it doesn't change the fact that I'm physically different from the norm, and the human race does not have a very good track record of treating well those who are different.

I'm no Emma, I'm no Kate. They could play any man into their grasp without batting an eyelid. Me? I'm just a twenty-two year old virgin with Cerebral Palsy of the lower limbs from birth and low self esteem…and everyone knows it.

The fact of the matter is that they don't know the cruelty and the vanity of the world like I do, because they're normal. The world only shows its ugly, obsession with 'beauty', aka vanity, to those who have qualities that stand them out from the crowd.

As I close my eyes, I can still see the curve of his jaw in profile as he stared at his blackberry, the curve of his eyelashes, furrowed dark brows, his hair styled in a very vintage quiff, his hands…. I felt it again, the kick in the gut, the adrenaline and I bit my lip as the truth of my situation hit me square in the chest.

I'm fucked.

–x–

"Ana! There you are! That must have been some drink - you've been a while," Kate giggles—giggles—as I self consciously make my way back to the couch in the smoking area, having downed two cups of something very strong. He is still sat there, though all others appear to have moved slightly more away from him as more people have joined the group. Every so often, the blonde appears to try and engage him in conversation, to which he makes a smart comment before taking another drink and checking his phone again. I feel myself panic as I realise there is no room for me to sit down, knowing that in these heels and with my condition that I could stand up for long without having seriously sore knees and calfs. While heels help my bad posture and encourag me to walk better, they kill my bunions and make my feet hurt, just like any girl.

"Um..." I hum, embarrassed, as the group barely pays attention to me, engaged in tipsy conversation, with Kate doing little more than offering me an apologetic, 'what can I do?' look. Suddenly though, separate from the conversation, He stands from his seat at the side of the group. sliding past Kate. I swallow. I only came back to see you, my inner voice sighs with disappointment, causing me to instantly scold myself. Stop that. He's not worth it.

However, as I look up at his beautiful face, I know that's not true.

To my surprise, though, as he passed Kate, he looks right at me. Right at me. I feel the zing of his eyes on me, his presence no longer deniable. I feel my skin flush and the painful hammering of my heart against my ribs as he speaks to me for the first time, his elegant hand gesturing to the seat he had just vacated.

"Here — take my seat."

The words, in themselves, were unremarkable, but that intentions behind them are what almost knock me backward. No one other than Ray has ever given up their seat for me before, to the point I didn't know anyone younger than my father's generation knew to do such a thing. I know I'm gawping at him a little, so I try my best to give my most gracious smile and not to look at the floor. His face is as striking face-on as it had been in profile, to the point it's almost painful to look at by what it's doing to my heart rate. In this lighting, I can't make out his eye colour, but I can most definitely feel his gaze on me, as it's like wildfire is spreading across my skin.

"Thank you very much," I hum as the group ignore us. His mouth tugs at the corner. It's the first time I've seen him smile and it's not even a complete smile, but I instantly feel the urge to tell him that it suits him and he should smile more. "You don't know how nice that is. Thank you." I clamp my mouth shut as I sit and attempt to look nonchalant, holding my fourth cupful of whiskey in my hand as I stare down at it. I hear him hum "it's my pleasure" and I peek at him as he leaves the area, his walk far more elegant than mine could ever be in his shining expensive looking Italian dress shoes. He leaves with the tiny trace of a smile on his face and I don't know why, but I feel inner self leap and pump the air. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel like I've earned a small victory without even trying.

"That's my brother," came the loud voice of Elliot from opposite me, waking me from my reverie. I raise my eyes to meet his, noting he is smirking at me, an expression that is a mirror image of that on Kate's face. It irks me, as I can practically hear what they're both thinking, condensing the virgin over her crush on the beautiful man out of her league.

"Oh," is all I could think to say. I frown. "I have to say, you don't look alike."

"Ah, yes, well that's evidently because I am so much more attractive and chivalrous," he smirks with a wink. It is only now that I realise Kate has moved to side beside him, her face looking positively flushed with a grin that could split her features completely. Positively un-Kate.

"Yes, well, obviously," I smirk back, I almost like Elliot as much as I like his brother I decide as I gulp down my whiskey, though for completely different reasons.

"Now this party is definitely fun," Kate giggles as we make a visit to the bathroom. I roll my eyes at her near-hysteria, all because of a man. Honestly. If she could see herself…

"Hm," I hum, uninterested, only really interested in getting back out there to see if Elliot's brother has left…whatever his name is. "My bunions would be killing me usually by now. Must have had quite…a bit…more whisky than I thought."

"That brother of Elliot's is seriously fucking hot, by the way," she shouted from in the cubicle. "Though, he seems a bit odd - he just sat there looking grumpy on his phone and all… I feel like I know him from somewhere…"

"He offered me his seat," I murmured quietly, a smile creeping onto my face without restraint. "Which was nice."

"What did you say?!" she yelled from the cubicle, as someone opened the door to the bathroom letting in the boom of the ongoing party.

"Nothing," I smile, realising I quite like the idea of keeping Him to myself a little longer. All Kate would do is meddle. "Kate, I'm leaving. You taking fucking forever," I yell, deciding that maybe, just maybe, if I was going to risk this thing, I should try it alone.