I'm sorry that it's taken a while to update, I saw Taylor Swift on Wednesday 24th and I have been recovering from the best night of my life ever since Anyway, thank you for every review/favourite/follow, they make my day, now on with the chapter. Fifty Shades belongs to E.L James.

Chloe

Ana PoV

Christian. I can hear him. His voice is muffled but his tears ring out loud and clear to my ears, every sob is like a stab to my heart. My sleep ridden body refuses to escape its slumbered solitude, my eyelids force themselves closer together denying the opportunity so slip into complete consciousness.

"No, no, no. Not my Ana. Please not my Ana" His voice is thick with emotion even in a whisper, pain resonates in every word that he says, making me momentarily forget my anger from the past few days. I gasp, my body finally free from its state of lethargy but a bright light emanates from the centre of the room, piercing my vision with a slight burning sensation, gradually my eyes adjust to the pristine surroundings of the guest bathroom.

As my eyes adjust, I look up and see Christian looking down at me. His grey eyes seem to stare straight into and through me almost as if he is able to read my every thought. He is so beautiful, I think to myself. With everything that has happened and changed over the last few weeks, this is one of the few things that stays constant; his unnatural ability to make my heart leap from my chest with a single look. However, as my mind begins to catch up with the situation, I notice a wild, uncontrollable storm in his grey eyes. Oh no, I'm so in trouble with fifty, and with this thought, my subconscious drops her dog eared copy of 'Tess of the d'Urbervilles' and hides behind a sofa, this isn't going to end well, crap, what else have I done? I quickly scan through my scattered memories in my mind but the last thing I can remember is taking a bath- oh. He is so going to go thermonuclear fifty on me, my eyes widen at the prospect.

As I am about to say something to him, he stands up with me still in his arms, carries me into the bedroom and then drops me softly onto the bed. I can hear his breathing become laboured, but somehow I don't think it's because of my state of undress. He stalks out of the room and, 2 minutes later, arrives back with a pair of my pyjamas in his hands and throws them onto the bed.

"Christian…" I tentatively start to speak to him but he stops me with a raise of his arm.

"Don't speak Anastasia. Put the clothes on, now." I'm Anastasia again, his tears have evaporated and instead cold fury radiates from his stiff body. He isn't shouting at me, and that's what makes it even more frightening, his voice is low and barely controlled, his anger evident in his speech as every word he spoke seemed as if he was spitting venom. My eyes widen again, holy crap. Quickly, I throw on the pyjamas that Christian has brought in for me, I notice that they are the royal purple silk and black lace chemise and short set that I bought on our honeymoon, it almost seems as if it was eons ago that we were living on cloud nine. I finish dressing and look up at him. Oh how do I fix this Christian, tell me please, I don't think I can do this for much longer. Are we really this broken? Is this pregnancy really going to end us? The thought breaks my already fragile heart.

"What the hell were you thinking Anastasia?" His voice drags me out of my inner turmoil, I feel my eyes sting although this time it isn't because of the light. My vision becomes blurred from the tears that threaten to escape.

"Don't you dare start with the waterworks Anastasia, it isn't going to work this time. Why the fuck would you do that?" The volume of his speech increases with every word, my lips quiver, the tears that threatened to escape earlier fall down my cheeks in steady streams, but I'm too afraid to wipe them away.

"Christian, I -"

"NO, Anastasia. Don't. I don't want to hear it." He takes a deep breath and looks at me with fury in his eyes. "I understand that you're angry with me about Elena, but the fact is that I never meant to speak to her that night I've already told you the truth and you don't believe me. I also know that you're angry about my reaction to the fact that you got yourself pregnant, but I don't understand why you would find the need to hurt yourself. Is this your idea of getting back at me? Or, maybe you're trying to get a message across. But baby, this is, this is too far. Didn't you think about the baby? It isn't just fucking you anymore Ana. Don't you love me anymore?" His voice catches on his last sentence, no fifty no. He's walking away from me, the distance between us physically is frustrating, but the emotional distance is even worse.

"No, Christian listen to me. I didn't mean to fall-"

"Is this what it's going to be like Ana? Because I love you, oh god do I love you, but this…Didn't you think about me? Didn't you think about what would happen to me if you died? It would kill me Ana, kill me. I don't think you understand how much I love you, but clearly you don't feel it as much as I do because you wouldn't be messing with your life if you did!" Pain. That's all I can hear in his voice. It's all I can feel. Does he really doubt my love for him?

"Christian, you need to listen to me." He doesn't interrupt me so I walk closer to where he is stood on the other side of the room and grab hold of his hands that have formed tight fists, his knuckles have gone a pale shade of white due to the strain.

"I didn't mean to do anything, I fell asleep in the bath, that's all. I wasn't trying to hurt myself or do anything at all, that has never even crossed my mind. Do you know why" I don't give him time to answer "because I know that we can get through this Christian" he starts to interrupt me, but I continue to speak making sure that he understands my thoughts.

"I love you Christian, more than I can say. You were and are my first everything and you will only ever be the one person who knows me completely, emotionally, physically and intimately." I take a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully, I don't want to hurt him more than I already have but I need to vent my emotional state.

"You hurt me Christian, I realised the other night how you own me completely because your actions pained me to the core. To know that my husband preferred the company of the woman that I hate the most in this world because of what she did to you tore me apart, it makes me feel inadequate because it reinforces the fear that I'm not good enough for you. I understand why you are angry with me about the baby, but this baby wasn't in my immediate plans either, Christian. I feel like I've literally just graduated, do you really think that I dreamed of being pregnant at 22 years old?" I release his hands and put my head in my hands, my heart pounds almost painfully within my chest threatening to burst from the magnitude of emotions that I am feeling. "But I won't get rid of Blip. I love you with every fibre of my being, you are my husband and I want you to know that if you don't want this baby, I'll be okay. I can raise blip by myself. But I truly want us to work through this together,"

I take hold of his hands again with my own and gently move them to my stomach where a bump is yet to form. His eyes widen fractionally and the fear in his eyes grows more prominent.

"This is our baby Christian, this is something that we made together through our love for each other. Please don't shut me out, please talk to me." Please Christian.

Then, with a jolt, my poor fifty yanks his hands from my stomach and swiftly walks out of the room and down the stairs.

Rejection falls over me. I feel sick to my stomach. My belly lurches and I run back into the bathroom with my hand over my mouth.

With my head against the cool surface of the bathtub, I wipe the tears that have continued to cascade down as I emptied the contents of my stomach. A mixture of stress, anxiety and morning sickness is not a good combination. Why the hell is it called morning sickness if it can happen at any time? I huff out a sigh and move over to the sink. My god I look like hell, my hair is still wet from being submerged in the bath only half an hour ago, tear tracks are etched on my red cheeks, the remnants of my tears glimmer in the dim light. My eyes are bloodshot from endless streams of tears and my face is ghostly pale.

Let him mull it over, my subconscious says to me from her hiding spot behind the sofa, he needs time. It's been days, I think to myself. Even with his masses of success, the fact my husband is still so insecure hurts me deeply, all because of his birthmother and Mrs Robinson.

Enough is enough.