I had forgotten I had written this chapter so I decided to post it because I'm trying to avoid college's homework. Shhhh, don't say a word!

You have been so kind with your comments but, for that guest who said he/she should have been nicer, you weren't bad at all! This was my decision, it was no one's fault and you have a right to say what you think, don't ever be afraid of doing so.

"Christian." A low whisper woke me up, if only for a second before I sank my face deeper into the pillow. The bed felt so good, and the pillow smelt like her, like that floral perfume she loves so much.

"Christian!" The voice returned, more urgent now, and a small hand shook my arm.

"Ana?" Just ten more minutes I murmured, not ready to wake up just yet. I lifted my arm to try and lay her against me, just for a little while at least, but she dodged it.

"My mom is up. You gotta go."

That woke me up.

"What time is it?" I jerked up on the bed only to found Ana already dressed in her usual light-blue jeans and pink, heavy sweater. How long had I been asleep? Usually I left at six, half an hour before her mom woke up.

"Late," she replied simply. "Come, move! Move!" She pulled the blankets off me and handed me my clothes already bundled in a ball. I could hear movement on the other side of the house, the noise of casseroles and water running. At least her mom wouldn't come here in a while but I still hurried up, not bothering in tying my shoes too well nor putting on underwear.

A knock on the door startles me and I see Ana's head snapping in its direction only to look back at me and mouth hurry, then rushing to the door and disappearing outside. I don't bother to try and see if her mom has spotted me, instead I pick the rest of my stuff and try to silently open her window and slid outside.

There is instantly something wrong when I feel the floor too soon but looking down I see a thick layer of snow covering the side garden, reaching up to my knees. I take a few steps before I realize I'm leaving a very noticeable path of where I came and where I'm going. I could already picture Ana trying to explain to her mom what those tracks outside were all about and went back to save her the trouble, using my jacket to spread the snow a little more evenly so nobody could tell I had been there. Thank God none of her neighbors could see me from this place, her window led to a makeshift hall between her home and another neighbor.

It was a slow pace, trying to walk and delete my steps as I moved but once I got to the shoveled sidewalk it was over and I ran the three blocks from Ana's home to the grocery store I always parked my motorbike.

There were no problems, as usual, nobody really seemed to pay too much attention to people in this neighborhood unless they meant trouble, and a guy going around doing his own business was not something to notice here.

The grocery was one of those places that didn't seem to mind a bike or a car parked indefinitely on its lot, the clients and owners were probably used to it considering how there was the always present yellow beetle, with its chipped paint and tires so deflated and old they had to be part of the ground itself. A few bikes were tied with thick chains on the metal railing near the end of the place and there were days when they stood there, unmoved despite the heavy traffic of people until one day they weren't there anymore.

Today, with the snow falling steadily from the sky making the streets slippery and my hands go numb with the cold, was a crappy day, and that led to a crappy mood that got even crappier when I remembered I couldn't miss today's class, at least the first three hours. Dad had, for some inexplicable reason, the idea that I was somehow, someday going to be the heir to his shipping empire, and for that I needed a University degree, which required for me to attend stupid High School. He had never really cared that I didn't like school or even that I never passed any subjects, something hard to achieve when you were never in class. But when I failed the year and had to do it all over again his attention spiked, probably because he realized his son would be a useless moron that couldn't do shit, and for many dreams dad had of keeping up "his legacy" he was smart enough to realize that it wouldn't last for too long if he left it in the hands of his illiterate son, so we had made a deal. I could do whatever I wanted, including putting my hands on the family's money, as long as I graduated this year and went to university after.

I had tried to reason with him, long ago, that I could never be the man he wanted me to be but there was no such thing as reason with Christian Grey Senior, you either did it his way, or... there was no or.

After driving what felt like an hour against the cold wind, I finally entered my house's ground. Instead of being a part of the community like any regular folk, dad had insisted on building a new house on the outsides of town. Not even a select neighborhood like mom had begged, no we were in complete isolation as the house's ground extended far and beyond. Creepy little place it was.

I left the motorbike on the outside garden, not even bothering to park it right and went inside the ridiculously big mansion. That was another thing dad had, he liked everything big and no, I won't make a dirty joke about that. He had the stupid idea that bigger was always better, whether that was his empire, his home or the amount of stuff he collected.

I had twenty minutes for a shower before having to go and complete the necessary hours of assistance I needed for graduating, so I ran all the way up to the main doors.

Tomson wasn't on the hall, probably been yelled by dad again. He had been in a crappy mood lately and always took it out on whoever was near, Tomson the poor guy was always the punching bag.

I was a few steps from my bedroom when Natasha appeared from the adjacent hall and my stomach turns. Dressed in her usual Barbie doll gown, mom looks the same as always, at least were it not for the bruise on her left cheek. Last week was, what? Oh right, the choking strains on her neck. I fist my hands to stop myself from punching something, or yelling at her.

"Morning honey." She smiles softly and comes to kiss my cheek but I dodge her before she reaches me.

"I'm late." Is my sort of apology, something so that she won't make me stop and talk to her. I slam the door shut and start taking my clothes off, trying to ignore the nausea forming.

I can't remember a time when I was a kid when I didn't wonder what happened to mom, why she could be so happy and so sad at the same time, why she sometimes came home crying with bruises on her body, and why during those times she barely seemed able to look dad in the eye while he did his best to never let his eyes off of her.

I must have been eleven or twelve when one night dad was drunk and called Natasha a whore.

I had asked, and asked, and asked until he one day confessed how they weren't getting along and were getting some time off, because mom didn't want to be at home anymore. As a kid at that age, I simply could not understand it. Sure, mom had always had her strange moods but they ahd always seemed normal to me. I did not understand why dad had called her that nasty word, or why she would not want to be at home anymore, was it just home or did she just want to get away from me? I had already problems at school and, while dad had always ignored me, mom was the one who took care of me, went to the stupid parent meetings when she could do better thing with her time, took me out for ice cream when I was down because dad had yelled at me.

If she left, was it because she had gotten tired of me?

She never left but I soon found out that my dad's story had not been the truth; it turned out mom had gotten tired of her marriage but wouldn't divorce due to the legal aspects of their matrimony that somehow tied it back to dad's company. So mom, unable to leave, would go out and find another guy, any guy that gave her the slightest bit of attention and be with them until she got tired or they beat her almost to death. It was always the lowest assholes she went after, apparently, and being a low piece of shit, you do fucked up stuff.

I had always kept quiet, ashamed and at the same time scared she would leave if I said something, but when I saw her the first time of her "rough times" when she could barely walk and speak from her jaw being broken I had cried and begged mom to stop but she wouldn't listen. Mom would just smile and pat my hair and leave it at that, it wasn't long before she had something in her body broken again.

Dad had tried talking with her too, but after some time he gave up, and instead focused on making sure nobody knew about mom's dirty business. If anybody saw her, they always had an excuse set up and whenever they had to go out in public the make-up did wonders to hide the black marks.

After sometime, I got tired too. She didn't care about what happened to her, she didn't care about what she did to this family, so why should I? At one point I stopped caring, I stopped trying and instead mom and I had settled in a sick game of pretending everything was fine; when I saw her with a bruise, cut or crying I would pretend I didn't see her, and she would pretend she didn't see me be affected by it. Or perhaps, perhaps she didn't care at all.

Who cared about me anyway? As if there was something to care about.

I took my shirt off and tossed it on the bed but instead it landed on the floor, next to Ana's gift. Reluctantly I walked around the bed and picked up the decorated package from the stash of magazines and weight it in my hands, trying to decide what to do with it once and for all.

It had been one night when Ana, asking what one of the phrases on my t-shirt meant, had started a two hour long conversation. I smiled in spite of myself as I remembered her eyes light up when she told me about one of her favorite books, at least for now, since she said she could never pick one for too long. She had read it and loved it, but had never had the time or money to buy the next two books in the series. She had fallen asleep in my arms that night, a satisfied smile on her lips.

It had been the best night of my life.

I had ran the next day to purchase the three books but, for some reason, I had never given them to her.

It felt too personal and something she wouldn't like. I sighed and left the package on my bed, promising myself I would give it to her one of these days, regardless of what that could do.

The thing about Ana was I could never figure her out, just when I thought I understood her, when I thought I could grasp a shred of her thinking, she did or said something that baffled me and a whole new level of her would emerge. There were nights when we talked and she looked at me smiling as if she couldn't be happier. Nights when she would kiss my neck and draw circles on my hand as I babbled something probably incoherent, way too happy to form anything rational. But she never minded, instead she would lie against me and breathe deeply and I could believe for a moment, for an hour that she could love me.

But there were other times when she put a wall between us and no matter how much I kissed her, how strong I held her I could never break it. The sex was great, amazing but it was just that, no stars in her eyes, no happiness. I was nothing but a break from study.

During those days I convinced myself I had imagined the whole thing up, that the relationship was waaay one sided and I had made a little fantasy for myself with a girl that would never see me as more than the slow, rich kid who never had to work for anything in his entire life. Ana was strong and smart, she would do something with her life not because she was born into a wealthy family or because they had great hopes in her, she would succeed for herself, because she wanted that life for her and she would work until she made it happen. How could I believe she could something for me that wasn't pity or even disgust?

But despite all of that, I can't ignore the fact that, as much as I hate school I won't skip a day of school in the hopes I might see her again in the halls.