Thank you so much for your encouragement and kind words. I never expected that so whoa! I was freaking out a lot as I've never written anything like this, so thank you! Hope you like this one just as much as the first. Again, please be kind with me if possible :D
Fate's Pull
APOV:
Once the police start getting out of their vehicles, a female officer pulls me over to the side in order for me to recount my story of what has happened. I see the paramedics load Christian Grey up into their van, but as far as I can tell from the distance away that I am, he is still unconscious.
I try to keep my story as closest to the truth as possible; That he literally came out of nowhere, that he told me he was jogging and he slipped. I am 99% certain I didn't hit him. He must just have slipped on the slick road while jogging, crashing into the front of my car.
In all my 21 years of life, I have never so much as been in a car accident before. I have never been issued a parking or speeding ticket, and I like to consider myself a good citizen. I would never intentionally do anything reckless to get myself into some sort of trouble, because it shows on your record and, no doubt, would be a bad mark for any possible employers in the job I want to do once I finish college.
I feel ill with nerves, though. Are nerves a key sign of guiltiness?
After taking down my report, the female officer wanders towards where the van is. She disappears in it for about a mind-torturing ten minutes or so, then she finally reappears, climbing down out of it and coming towards me. I have no idea whether I am going to be arrested or changed.
Terrible as it is of me to think, I hope I won't get charged or have to pay too much of his medical expenses. Apart from doing my classes at college, I work part-time at a hardware store where the income isn't very high up there. Considering how I have to fork out rent money fortnightly in order to pay my half with my roommate Kate, I really cannot afford the added expense of paying his medical bills and whatever else I would need to.
It's a terrible and inconsiderate way to think about it, I know. But my financial situation at the moment isn't exactly the greatest.
The female officer tells me that his condition is now stabilized and that they will have to take him down to the hospital to check him out for any severe concussion or head trauma. Internal bleeding. He's awake again, and his incident report matches mine, give or take a few extra details. I feel my belly swell with relief when she informs me that he has no intentions to press charges and that he is happy to pay for his own medical expenses, as well as paying for any damage he has caused to my car.
It's so kind of him. It takes the weight off my shoulders almost instantly, hearing her tell me that. I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise. Plus, I am already in enough of a predicament as it is; I should be at my assigned desk, in the examination room, doing my test in order to graduate and get my certificate. It's incredibly hard not to panic.
She also gives me a list of registered counselors available, in case I feel I need someone to talk to to get over the shock. I think I'll be fine dealing with it all on my own, though, as scary and unexpected as the whole thing was.
The female officer uncurls a piece of paper in her hands. "Also, he wanted to give you his contact details in case you feel the need to keep in touch." She hands the thin shred of paper to me, and I take it, smoothing out the wrinkles with my fingers. Surely enough, in small, neat handwriting in a black ballpoint pen, is his name and phone number.
Christian Grey.
I can hardly contain my surprise. Why on earth would I possibly feel the need to contact him?
Still, its awfully kind of him.
Once I'm free to go and the officer has taken down all my private details in case they need to contact me again, I find my phone where I've sat it in the console. I contact my teachers, explaining why I haven't showed up for my finals test.
To my relief and due to the extraordinary and unique situation I've found myself in, they allow me to resit my examinations next week.
When I get back home, rushing inside to the warmth of the heater, I find Kate lounging around on the couch.
"Ana, what's happened?" she asks me in concern, probably seeing something troubling there in my expression. "You look pale as a sheet? I thought you were meant to be sitting your exams?"
I start to cry, unable to help it. This morning, what had happened... it was so overwhelming.
"Ana, what the hell?" Her voice breaking, she comes closer, hugging me in a tight embrace. "Shit, did something happen?" She sounds petrified for me, because I don't think I have really ever cried in front of her before. "Why are you so upset? Your shaking?"
"I had to reschedule to sit my finals," I whisper to her, resting my chin against her thin shoulder. "There was an accident. I was driving and then literally out of nowhere, this man slipped and hit his head on my car."
"Jogging?" She doesn't understand. She pulls back from me, shaking her head. "In this weather? What kind of crazy person jogs in the rain?"
"He did. I had to hold his head in my lap and keep him conscious until the police and paramedics came. He was bleeding from the forehead and there was... blood everywhere."
"Shit, how horrible for you. Is he still alive?"
"Yeah, as far as I know, he is. They said he was in a stable condition anyway."
"And what about charges being laid?"
"Oh, no. The female officer there said that he didn't want to press any charges, that he played a part in the blame, too."
Kate's face softens in relief and she lets out a big exhale of breath. "God, Ana. I'm so sorry. Of all the things that could happen to you on one of the most important days of your life..." She shakes her head again in shock.
"Tell me about it," I murmur.
"So how are you doing?" she asks me in worry. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine, I think. Just a little shaken. They offered me a few counselors to call to talk to. I think I'll be fine, though. I'm just so glad that he didn't die!"
When I help Kate with making a vegetarian stir-fry for dinner, I find myself playing with my food on my plate, pushing it around with my fork and sawing it into little pieces with my knife. My appetite hasn't come to me, and its next to impossible to force myself into eating anything down. It's all too hard to swallow.
"You okay?" Kate asks me softly.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You still worried over what happened with the jogger this morning?"
"Yeah, I am." There's no use in pretending. "I feel so bad."
"Maybe you should consider talking to someone then?" she suggests gently. "I mean, it could help, just for reassurances sake?"
"I think I might just actually try to get some sleep," I decide, standing up. "I'll put my dinner in the fridge and eat it later once I feel better."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." I put my plate in the fridge, then hug Kate goodnight.
I change into my PJ's and crawl into bed, closing my eyes. I don't know how long I lay there for, in the dark. But its obvious sleep doesn't want to come to me either. I just seem to keep replaying what happened over this morning, but only where its ten million times worse.
Driving along the road. Rain ricocheting down around the windshield. Him appearing in front of the road. Slamming on my brakes. The glass of the windshield cracking and caving in, streaks of dark red blood staining everywhere as I collide into him. Getting out of my car, hysterically screaming. Him, lying on the road, groaning helplessly. His head split open with brain matter and intestines and blood and torn flesh everywhere... Like a real nightmare, a true horror story.
I feel too... strung out, and wide-awake with worry. With a frustrated sigh, I turn on my side, switching on my lamp. It's only eight thirty in the evening, way too early even for me.
I decide to do something I haven't done in a while, something I know will inevitably make me feel better. I find my sketch pad and my charcoal pencils, opening up a fresh page to start a new drawing. Ever since I could remember, I have always enjoyed drawing. When I was a kid living with my mother, when I found myself unable to sleep or was wading knee-deep in my own thoughts and fears, I'd draw to distract myself. A lot of people have actually dared to say I am good at it; Kate and my art teachers especially, but I figure they are just being kind.
I arrange my pencils next to me on the bed in different shades, then select the darkest to start with.
I have no idea what I want to draw, but it seems to come easily to me. I start roughly sketching the outline of a human head. Then it starts to take on a new life of its own. I am not thinking much into it, really. My hand is just doing its own thing, drawing what it wants to draw.
Once I've got the main form and outline drawn, I start to lay in softer tones and shadows. The facial features and the piercing gray-eyes; the well defined cheekbones and smile lines, the small amount of stubble, until I'm finished. The hair takes the longest to get right. Once I'm done, I stare at the picture.
Surely enough, I've drawn him.
The man I had the car run in with, where I held his head in my lap, stroking his hair while trying to keep him conscious.
Christian Grey.
Maybe my brain is trying to tell me something? Maybe I should consider calling him and checking in?
Biting my lip in indecision, I choose not to. It's too late and he is probably still recovering, no doubt. He probably expects me to call though, seeing as he gave me his contact details. And I probably should call, to be considerate. But is he sleeping right now? In agony writhing in bed, all due to what happened this morning?
HOPE THIS ONE WAS OKAY? THANK YOU SO MUCH.
NEXT CHAPTER, CHRISTIAN WILL FIND A WAY TO RUN INTO ANA AGAIN. LET'S JUST SAY HE HAS BECOME A LITTLE OBSESSED AND CURIOUS BY HER... THANK YOU, AND AGAIN, PLEASE GO EASY ON ME. I DON'T KNOW IF I AM DOING THIS RIGHT AT ALL.