Hello, everyone!

Thank you for all the reviews, faves and follows! It really means a lot! I am so ecstatic that I've decided to publish the second chapter that was already uploaded here.

To reply to my Italian reader, a CPOV will appear at some point but as a different story. It will probably be like a collection with a similar name to this one. I'm thinking something in the lines of "The demons inside me". Does it sound good enough? :)

For my Entwined readers, I have bad news (sort of). Chapter 35 is finished but I'm having Internet issues and since it's 6:30 PM on a Friday night... I think Monday evening (my time) will be the soonest that I can publish it.

I'm posting this from a coffee shop as we speak, from my phone... so if it looks crappy, let me know and I'll update this chapter on Monday as well.

Enjoy!


Ch. 2

My skin still tingles. I look at my hands and notice they're shaking. My heart is pounding in my chest and my head is seconds away from exploding. I. Am. A. Mess.

"Stupid! Stupid!" I keep muttering to myself as I try to get my adrenaline under control. I'm moments away from a panic attack and I'm the only person to blame for this. If only I'd kept my mouth shut, did the interview as I was initially supposed to and kept my filter on, I wouldn't be in this position. Simple as that. But noooo... Anastasia Rose Steele had to show that she can be sassy and smart! My subconscious snarls and with good reason.

I know I shouldn't push myself like this. Healing takes time, just like William, my therapist, keeps telling me. But, to be honest, I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting off memories and reactions and demons and sadness. I just want a break. Be a normal person. Is that really too much to ask?

The elevator arrives on the first floor and I step out as soon as the doors slide open. The heels of my riding boots seem to make more noise than they did when I entered this building. It's just your imagination, Anastasia, my subconscious tries to reassure me. I feel a few pairs of eyes trained on me and I square my shoulders and keep repeating to myself that I'm fine and that there is no one here that wants to hurt me. I'm just an unusual visitor that's not wearing an impeccable suit and isn't blonde. That is all there is to it. It doesn't have anything to do with Grey's look? My subconscious asks but I ignore her, as per usual. One moment my inner voice is comforting, the next – she's against me. Typical Anastasia fashion!

I keep on telling myself that nothing is out of the ordinary as I reach the front desk where the immaculate blonde is chatting with the attractive African-American man with short dreads who was in Grey's office before my interview. They stop talking as soon as I'm within earshot and the man looks at me. It's different from the way people normally look at me. It's like he's trying to find something that's not there. I feel scrutinized. Crap! He knows.

I look blankly back at them and make my way slowly towards the front office. All traces of the uncomfortable girl that came in just an hour ago are gone, like sand blown away by wind. In her wake is my daily mask that I put on when I'm in an uncomfortable situation. And right now is one of those times. Deep breaths, Ana. Just a few more minutes and you're out of here. My subconscious coaches me with a gentle voice and I listen and do as it says. Just a few more minutes and I will be free.

"Hello." I say with a calm voice that masks the storm of emotions raging inside me. What if he's familiar with the press back in the UK? What if he knows about the reasons why I left UK? Crap!

"Hello again, Miss Steele." The blonde greets me with a professional smile as I hand over my security pass.

Just as I'm about to turn left and start walking towards the exit, the man on my right speaks up, as though hearing my name has confirmed his suspicions.

"Hello. My name is Claude Bastille." He introduces himself with a smile and holds his hand for me to shake but I only stare back at him. Should I shake his hand and introduce myself? Should I smile politely and dash for the door? That would only make people think I'm rude and maybe even crazy. Decisions, decisions...

In a moment of boldness, I grab his hand in a firm handshake and smile politely. I have my game face on, ready to face the elements, whatever those may be.

"Hello." I reply with a cold tone to my voice and a blank stare. I offer nothing else. Inside, I'm praying to all the gods out there to keep me anonymous.

Claude Bastille regards me with a calculating look, tilting his head to the side. Double crap!

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Steele. Forgive me for staring but do you happen to have studied in France? In Lille, to be more precise."

To say one simple word like France lifted a ton from my shoulders would be the understatement of the bloody century! I exhale the breath I have been holding and offer a more genuine smile.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Have we met before?" I inquire, genuinely curious about this man. I don't remember him but since the time I've spent in the boarding school in Lille wasn't exactly what one would call... quiet. Some memories tend to be hazy. Because you were stoned out of your mind on a few occasions? My subconscious asks with her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She looks oddly like my mother. I suppress another shiver.

"Yes. I had a friend there... Jacques. He was your ballet instructor, I believe."

Oh!

Memories of Jacques and interminable hours of practice for the school dance surface in a matter of moments. That man pushed me like no one else and the results were always on his side. He helped me more than he would ever know. I smile involuntarily as I think back to Jacques's bitchy attitude whenever I missed a step or didn't keep up with the tempo because I wasn't interested in what he wanted to teach me.

"Oh, yes! We remember Jacques. How is he these days?"

"He's thinking about relocating. Something about children these days not caring about arts and dance anymore." Bastille replies with a sparkle in his eyes.

I throw my head back and laugh, unable to contain the visual of Jacques moaning about focus and discipline. It was the same speech he gave me each time he saw my bloodshot eyes. Right before he sent me to take a shower and hurry back for a few hours of practice. He was merciless but it did me good. More good than I ever thought it would do.

"That's nice to hear. He was always so passionate about his work. It would be a shame not to take it to the next level." I say with a smile.

"True." He replies with a smile. "Well, it's been nice seeing you again, Miss Steele, Jacques's infamous student. I'll let him know we bumped into each other."

"Please, do send him my regards. And tell him my coordination and balance are perfect."

He looks at me funny but nods nonetheless. Only Jacques and I know the many hours we spent on making sure I will stop falling on my behind. My balance was horrible as a small child.

I come out of memory land and shake my head slightly. I really ought to pay more attention to my surroundings and not get lost like this in the middle of a busy lobby. As I turn around and head towards the door, I catch the eye of one of the security men. The man is tall, muscular and has an extreme buzz cut hairstyle. In a way, he reminds me of Ray, with his collected demeanor and impassive gaze. His hazel eyes seem to be following my movements and he seems to be speaking very fast in an earpiece.

Frowning, I turn my attention away from him and focus it on the rain that has started somewhere between the time I went in the building and now. Great! Bloody awesome! Did I forget to mention just how much I hate the rain? And it's quite funny, really, since I live in the Evergreen State and it rains here as much as it used to rain in Lille and London. London…

The glass doors slide in front of me to allow me access onto the sidewalk outside Grey House. The constant buzz, both from people and cars, soothes my nerves. I try to focus my attention on something else other than the intense scrutinizing gaze of the security man. You are safe, Anastasia. It was only your imagination. My subconscious tries to soothe me but there is this feeling that I can't shake. Like I'm being watched. Deciding I'm just being silly, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply before I head out to my car.

I weave my way through Seattle traffic and hit the I-5. I never have to see Mr. Grey again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. Nothing soothes my nerves like a good song and a long swim that usually leaves my muscles burning. However, a nice race in a fast car ought to do the trick. For now.

Kate and I live next door to each other in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. It feels like home, even though I've only been living here for a year. Maybe it's because I decorated the apartment myself or maybe it's because there is no one that can come in without my permission. Either way, it is my sanctuary, a sanctuary that I will have to leave behind a few days after my graduation. The thought makes me sad. I have grown quite attached to my small flat. It's the place where I have pieced myself together, step by step. It's the war zone where I've fought demons, ghosts and insomnia. It's the place where I realized I have the power to get myself better. It's my place.

Stephen said something about me moving in a house he owns in Medina, Bellevue, right next to the Overlake Golf and Country Club, also owned by the Claytons, as soon as I graduate. I have to admit, the house that Stephen wants me to move in is gorgeous, or at least that's what the pictures and brochure suggest. It was built in the early 1960's and is an identical copy to the Miller House in Columbus, Indiana, designed by Eero Saarinen. Knowing the money the Claytons have at their disposal, I wouldn't be surprised if Stephen's parents commissioned the architect himself to recreate his masterpiece. My new home… but for how long? How long until you decide what you want from life, Anastasia?

I don't have any idea, my dearest voice that has taken residence inside my head. I have absolutely no idea. My world has been turned upside down a little over a year ago and ever since then, I'm running around like a headless chicken. I mean, who in their right minds would switch from Business classes to English Lit in their last year? Thank God I've studied literature for over ten years or else I wouldn't have been able to make it so far. And thank God Stephen was so generous to donate a moderate amount just to be sure I would be able to switch classes so late.

See, Anastasia? You're not that unlucky. It's just that luck leaves you when you most need it. My subconscious whispers with that sickly sweet voice that makes my skin crawl.

Did I ever mention just how much I hate this annoying voice inside my head?

As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account but I can't find the energy to care about that. The recording should be more than enough for her to write an article for the magazine. It's not like her job depends on this article. Why did I do it again? Because you care about Kate. My subconscious replies with a patient and caring voice. Oh yes, Kate! What would I do without her and her constant questions and invading of my personal space? I would probably revert back to the scared girl that I was a year ago. And there you go again! Stop thinking about that, Anastasia! My subconscious chides me and I cut that line of thinking.

"I'm losing my bloody mind, talking to myself!" I mumble as I step out of my car and arm the alarm with the push of a button. I'd have a coronary if my baby got stolen! We wouldn't want that now, would we? My mind replies, sarcastic as ever. I ignore her. My car is the expression of my freedom. Without her, I would feel like I'm missing a limb. The sarcastic voice inside my head – I could do without.

"Ana! You're back." Kate sits in the living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals – though she's still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. A year ago, I would have cringed. Now, it brings a smile on my face.

"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."

"Yes, well, it is raining outside; don't know if you've noticed that. I wanted to get back in one piece." I say as I shrug off my coat and put it on the back of an armchair. I rummage through my satchel and try to find my phone. Why do I need so much crap? I wrap my fingers around the bottle of prescription meds and a cold shiver travels up my spine. Breathe, Anastasia.

I release it as if it burned my fingers and finally grab my phone. I waive my phone at Kate and ask her to activate her laptop's Bluetooth so I can send her the recording and get this over with as soon as possible. And forget about it as soon as possible.

"Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?" Oh no – here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

"Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he's old before his time. He doesn't talk like a 27 year old man. Oh, and he has this way of looking at you like you're the dirt on his shoe if you ask him an uncomfortable question. Which I did, by the way. But I didn't ask him if he was gay. What on Earth possessed you to write down such a stupid question? Do you want to get blackballed?" I ask with a smile. I know exactly why she wanted to ask that specific question. Grey would be the perfect match for Kate's looks and attitude. Come to think of it, maybe her attitude would make him go mad so they wouldn't actually be good for each other. Oh, well...

"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date." Kate replies with a shrug. I narrow my eyes at her but she only blinks back innocently. Whatever, Kavanagh, keep your secrets!

"Well, whether he is gay or not, that's not your business. People should have the right to a private life, even if they are billionaires." I would know…

Kate nods but keeps her thoughts to herself. Now that's a first!

"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject.

"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude.

My phone pings, signaling the complete transfer of data. I pick it up and stuff it in an exterior pocket of my bag so I don't have to rummage through it again if I need it. That way, I can also avoid touching those damned pills.

"Okay then. That's my queue. I have a couple things I need to do but I'll be back in the evening if you need to ask me anything. Although I think you'll find the interview more than explicit. Let me know if you need anything." I say as I put my coat back on and escape Kate's scrutinizing look.

I drive aimlessly until I reach a supermarket and decide I need to restock my fridge for the next week. It's crowded and some people even bump into me but I don't mind. I love to watch people as they go through their daily routine with their family or simply rush to get home and meet their significant other. Their lives make me curious and make me think of a version of me, living a life in which I'm not fighting panic attacks every time I'm left alone in a room with someone of the opposite sex.

I take my time and day dream about a life in a parallel Universe where I'm whole and there are no marks on my body for people to see and judge. It's often said that you have to fake it until it becomes a part of you so that's what I do: I always focus on the present and wheel my mind away from the past than would only bring me pain. There's no point in re-living something that would only surround me with darkness.

You cannot fight darkness with darkness, Anastasia, William's voice makes his way into my subconscious. You can only fight it with light.

He's right, you know? My subconscious asks me her rhetorical question, aware of the fact that I won't acknowledge its question or presence inside my head. Am I going insane? Maybe it's the loneliness talking. Maybe talking to William once a month about my real life is starting to wear me thin. I miss Samantha. She was my light.

Where is my light? I keep searching for it. I keep searching for a reason to look forward to my future and I always come up blank. Maybe it's because your future is supposed to be with someone, Anastasia. Maybe. Maybe not. I am not flowers and hearts kind of girl but I do want to find someone who would accept me as I am – flaws and tainted past and all that crap that I'm trying very hard not to go back to.

So, no flowers and hearts for me, thank you. Just one heart. His. But how can I ask for someone's heart when mine is in pieces? Should I expect him to piece mine back? Is that even possible? It is possible in books, in movies. In real life, not so much. My mother is living proof of that. Once she lost my father, no one could piece her heart back so she turned into this soul sucking creature that cares for nothing more than money and fame. My own mother. Should I be afraid that I'm going to turn out like that? I should be.

Sometimes, I am.

When I arrive at Kate's later in the evening, she's wearing headphones and working on her laptop.

Her nose is still pink but she has her teeth into a story so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview and the grocery shopping. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with… him. I suppress a shiver. Those eyes.

"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I hear what you mean about formal. I can't believe you spoke to him like that! Though, I have to give it to you, you've made some fair points in there and even if his tone was beyond arctic, if he didn't agree with you, he wouldn't have felt the need to be so cold towards you. Did you take any notes?" she asks.

"Um... no, I didn't."

"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. Then again, you knew that already, didn't you? Thank God I had the presence of mind to google him in the car so I wouldn't transform into a puddle of goo at his feet. Now that would have been embarrassing." I say with a chuckle at that particular visual. Truth is, I impressed myself when I was able to give him a firm handshake. That man could melt ice with those smothering gray eyes.

"Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. "So what did you really think of him?" Damn, she's inquisitive. But that's Kate for you. Inquisitive is her middle name. I should know that by now. Okay, honesty is always a good policy, right? Let's play that card and see where it takes us.

"He's very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination." I add truthfully. The fate of many people lies in his hands. If that doesn't give someone a power trip, I don't know what would. "Oh, and he wants the recording with your final draft of the article before you publish it. Don't forget to do that or you'll find out just how scary he can be." I say with a chuckle as I remember our conversation towards the end.

We talk no more of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've talked about our plans for tomorrow, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my empty apartment, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.

This is the only color my life has right now but at least it's not all gray. And that's a start in the right direction. My subconscious approves as I close my eyes and drift away to Dreamland.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my volunteer work at the local animal shelter. Kate is also busy, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. Thank God!

The same day, my mother tries to contact me but I put my phone on silent and hide it somewhere I won't be tempted to check it. What could she possibly want? Money? It's really the only thing I think she could possibly want from me now that she's no longer Stephen's wife. He dodged a bullet with his name on it!

Later that evening, I call Ray, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, still watching soccer on TV and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Of course, he doesn't miss the chance to tell me to call my mother and Stephen and stop acting like I've dropped off the face of the Earth. Knowing Stephen, he's found a way to keep tabs on me and make sure everything is OK. Knowing my mother, if she has enough money, she wouldn't even care if I dropped off the face of the Earth. We are that close.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings.

Standing on the doorstep is our good friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Jose! Fancy seeing you here!" I give him a quick hug. "Please, do come in."

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU last year, followed closely by Kate. They welcomed me with open arms into their circle of friends and gave me the strength I needed to finish my studies when it was the last thing on my mind at that particular moment. They were my rocks and they don't even know it.

Not only do Jose and I share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Of course, him being nice to me and making me feel at ease around him has helped our friendship immensely.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. He has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me – you've managed not to get kicked out for another week!" I tease and he scowls playfully at me.

"The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."

"That's amazing – congratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him too.

"Way to go Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Jose looks intently at me. I stare back, unable to answer. Do I want to raise his hopes about something that will never happen?

"Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. Sometimes, I get the same feeling with him that I had with Paul. Stop thinking about him! My subconscious screams at me and I banish the thought as soon as it settled into my mind. Jose is not Paul. Jose is not Paul. I keep repeating that sentence to myself until I can look at him again and not see Paul's face staring back at me. See? Progress!

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Jose's pretty hot, but I think he's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop and he looks up and smiles. I wheel myself to smile back and stop thinking about my past. I have to fight the darkness with light. With the light from my friends. And that's exactly what I do that evening. No more darkness! First, I have to find my way into the light and only then can I expect to find someone that I can consider more than a friend. Yes, that's a good plan, my subconscious replies.

Saturday at the shelter is a nightmare. There are lots of families that came to pick up pets for their children and as a result, the animals are restless. I do my best to keep calm so that the animals can pick up on my demeanor and react accordingly but it's not really working when you're sitting next to a child who's bouncing out of his skin when faced with the prospect of a cute pet he can cuddle with.

By the time the shelter is no longer so crowded, it's almost 3 pm and I still haven't eaten anything other than a cup of Greek yogurt and a banana. I let Rob, my supervisor, know I'm going on my lunch break and grab my satchel in a hurry to put something in my stomach and stop the growling. You'd think I have a rabid dog inside me with all the noise.

I greet Maddy and get my usual lunch: a few muffins and an English Breakfast Tea. The inside of the coffee shop is warm and I take my gray sweater off as soon as I take a seat in a more reclusive spot so I don't feel self-conscious about my arms. Crap, I forgot my leather cuffs today! Stupid, stupid! Why don't you pay attention, Anastasia? Why?

I'm moments away from putting back my sweater when I glance up... and find myself locked in the bold gray gaze of Christian Grey who's standing near me, staring at me intently.

"Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise." His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap! What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open and I can't locate my brain or my voice. This is bad!

"Mr. Grey," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he's enjoying some private joke. It makes me feel uncomfortable, like the joke is on me. Maybe it is.

"I was in the area," he says by way of explanation. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele." His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something. But there's also darkness in those gray eyes.

I struggle to hide my arms. From the look on his face, it's too late, he's already seen them. His jaw flexes and his eyes are filled with unknown emotions that I can't read. I put my hands back on the table and bend my elbows to put some shadows in an effort to hide the track marks. However, there's nothing that I can do about my wrists. Stupid!

I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He's not merely good-looking – he's the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he's here. In this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. What are the odds? Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Anastasia. My name is Anastasia." I mutter and look away from him in an effort to shift my attention to something else, someone else. No such luck! The coffee shop is empty. Crap!

Christian Grey takes a seat and puts his cup of coffee down, continuing to analyze me as if I'm on display. It makes my skin crawl. I'm so embarrassed and so ashamed that I forgot my armor at home and anyone can see my past, etched upon my skin. Is he repulsed just like Stephen was? Does he feel the need to throw up – like Stephen did – but has a better poker face? It doesn't matter, Anastasia. It's not like you could ever explain what really happened. You owe Stephen that much. My subconscious reminds me with pity coating her words. I mentally agree with her.

"Are you in Portland on business?" I ask, and my voice is too high, like I've got my finger trapped in a door or something. Fuck! Try to be cool, Ana! And find a way out of this mess!

"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based at Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science." Gray says matter-of-factly. I can't stop staring at his lips. I clear my throat awkwardly and smile.

"All part of your feed-the-world plan?" I tease.

"Something like that," he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile.

He gazes at my arms for a fraction of a second before snapping his eyes back at mine as if he doesn't want me to know that he had been looking. Suddenly, I'm no longer hungry and the thought of finishing my lunch is making me want to throw up the little that I did manage to eat before he sat at my table. I want to leave, get up and simply run away from this man and everything he stands up for. But that would make me look as if I have absolutely no manners.

"How's the article coming along?" he suddenly asks, breaking the tension that seems to surround our table.

"I'm not writing it, Katherine is. She's very happy with it… or so she claims." I say and shrug.

"I see… is that your only tattoo?" he asks, gesturing towards the tattoo on the inside of my left arm where a quote from Le petit prince is written in elegant letters. 'On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.'

"Yes." I reply but make no move to talk about it further. Talking would only extend my staying here, with him.

"What does it stand for?"

And there goes my plan! Is he a mind reader?

"A reminder to look deeper and not judge a book by its cover. It's meant to remind me that underneath a hard exterior, there's always a lost soul that is meant to love and be loved, to grow and learn as many things about the surrounding world as it possibly can. It's meant to remind me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel." Can I go now? I silently add as I look everywhere and anywhere except at him.

My words, and the feelings behind them, shock Christian Grey. He looks at me, lost and undecided, as if he's trying to piece together a very intricate puzzle. He blinks and breaks away from the spell he was under.

"It's a lovely quote." He whispers, sounding a little lost for words.

"Thank you. It was the first book I ever read." I say in spite of my nerves.

"I'm sorry." He blurts and my eyebrows raise in wonder. The arrogant man who acted a few days ago like he owned the Earth is apologizing! I'm seconds away from pinching myself. What is he sorry for anyway? The way he treated me at the end of the interview? The way he keeps on staring at my scars and track marks? For invading my privacy today of all days when I'm not wearing accessories to cover them up?

"What for?" I ask softly, curious to hear what will come out of his mouth next.

"I know it's rude to stare but for someone who had an addict as a parent, I can't really look away." Grey replies and I'm momentarily stunned. His mother or father was an addict? It would explain why he was adopted at such a young age. But the word addict makes my grind my teeth and my defensive walls are up in full force.

"I'm not an addict!" I hiss and stare him squarely in the eyes.

There's nothing more that I hate other than people making assumptions about me as if they knew everyone's story like the back of their own hand. Everyone's different. Everyone has a story. And even if I would be an addict, it would be my business, not his.

He has the decency to look apologetic.

"I know. Your skin has a healthy, natural glow and your hair is shiny. There are no scabs on your arms, not any other marks that would indicate that you've... used sometime in the near past. Your eyes are bright and clear as they were on Monday. For someone with the marks like the ones you have, you'd have used at least a dozen times since the interview. You're clean."

Words evade me. I'm probably gaping at him while he's gotten his hands on one of my muffins and is expertly peeling the wrapping away as if we're discussing the weather. When he's done, he puts it back on my plate.

"Eat. Your late lunch is growing cold."

With his gray eyes watching me, I do as I'm told, eating with mechanical and precise movements of my jaw and take a few sips of my lukewarm tea. All the while, my brain is in overdrive. Did he just compliment my complexion, eyes and hair while sounding so... I think calculating would be the proper word?

He watches me carefully, as if I'm going to disappear into thin air any moment. The intensity in his eyes is so compelling... and odd.

"Tell me about your family."

Wow! Talk about whiplash!

"Um... it's really a long story and my break is kind of over so I have to get back, Mr. Grey."

Standing up, I pull over my sweater and grab my bag. Grey also stands up and watches me get dressed with a small smile playing on his lips. I can't help but wonder what's going through that odd brain of his.

We say our goodbyes but I get the feeling we'll be bumping into each other sooner rather than later. After all, he'll present me with my degree. Crap! I had almost forgotten about that!

My thoughts keep going round in circles as I cross the street and narrowly avoid a cyclist that whips past me, heading the wrong way up this one-way street. What is it with these people that don't bother to follow rules and etiquette? I want to turn around and cuss the idiot for almost slamming into me but I know my anger wouldn't be directed at the person it's supposed to be directed at. Namely, myself. I'm getting caught up in Grey's eyes and confusing attitude and I'm not liking it one bit.

And that night, I dream of gray eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I'm running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don't know if I'm running toward something or away from it… it's just not clear.


There it is. Let me know what you think.

Also, who else would want to read Christian's POV? Should I just leave it at APOV? Would anyone else be interested in a CPOV other than the person who asked about it? Let the voting begin. I'm keeping count ;)

As for the next update... probably Wednesday? Should we make this a regular date? Let me know.

Have a nice weekend!