Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one lol.
Chapter 7
I'm surprised that I make it safely across the street without collapsing to the ground and dying right there on the spot. The pain of his rejection, its so instantaneous, so crippling. When I turn to look back at him, I see he is just standing there, his hands dangling at his sides as he watches me go, kind of dejectedly. How can he say what he said to me? How can he kiss me back even, then turn around and say all of that? Why send me that letter with the stalker anthem lyrics then, if he doesn't want me?
Confusing. Christian Confusing, mixed-messages Grey.
It's only when I reach the end of the street where he can't see me that I sag against the wall, shaking and breathing laboriously. I feel like he's stabbed me with a knife, and now he is twisting the blade, causing me anguish. I feel like he's cut out my heart and has tossed it into the middle of a freeway, tires running over it brutally, pummeling the organs of my heart into flat mince meat.
I put my head in my hands, ignoring the pedestrians walking past me. This is the worst feeling in the world. I've been so invested in all things Christian Grey for over eight months and yet, he dares to do this to me? Is this something I deserve? How could he ruin us? Then again, why am I so surprised by this outcome?
Tears pool in my eyes as the ache in my heart grows even worse. God, I'm so pathetic. Crying over someone. I must have been living deep in a deluded fantasy world all those months, with how I thought we were meant to be together. Obsessing over him, fantasizing about giving birth to his sons and daughters.
This is almost as bad as how it felt when I was little. When I was little, around seven or eight, my mother Carla divorced my stepfather Ray. I had begged and begged to come along with her, yet she didn't let me. I had to stay with my stepfather- not that he isn't the best stepfather in the world. But the rejection back then, the fact that it was my very own mother doing it to me... it had stung. I think ever since that happened, I have always had a constant fear of being rejected. I have major abandonment issues all due to what my mother did. And now it's happening again.
I just don't handle rejection and abandonment very well. Never have. It is probably why I have never had a boyfriend. I get too attached to the point where I am like an octopus, clinging and wrapping myself around the person that I'm attached to, holding on too tightly to the point of suffocation. Maybe this is for the best? I would have only done the same to Christian. I would have lost him anyway due to that. Maybe this is best?
Wiping my eyes furiously, I move them away from my face, somehow finding the strength to carry on.
Christian POV:
What the fuck have I done?
It is the only coherent thought that passes through my mind as I head back into the hotel. I feel like shit for what I've done to her. She had looked so upset, so heartbroken. People like to always joke and say that I don't have a heart, but I know I do. If I didn't, then why the fuck am I feeling so remorseful the way I am right now?
I press the elevator, waiting for it so that I can ride up to the floor of my hotel room. Once I get up there, I unlock the door, walking into my suite. I shut the door, locking it up securely, staring at the bed where she had been laying on during the photo-shoot. The bed sheets are crumpled where she was.
I was right to do it though, no matter how painful it was. I truly am not the right man for her. I mean, she studies literature for fuck sake. There's always romantic heroes in literature, and no doubt, Anastasia probably idealizes all of them. I'm so far away from Heathcliff and Mr Darcy and all that shit. I'm a billion different shades of fucked up. Red fucked up, blue fucked up. Green, grey, black.
It's for the best.
Ana POV:
By some miracle, I manage to survive through a very long, very painful week.
I feel like I'm grieving from a breakup - not that I have ever experienced a breakup before, of course. Its the way I'm assuming a painful breakup feels like, though.
I can't even eat properly. So far, I've managed to eat only three tubs of yogurt and two bananas this week. It's like I can't keep the food up, like my body is too filled with pain to digest anything. I can tell Kate is really worried about me. She just gives me this pitiful look all the time. I had told her what had happened, and she had seemed just as confused as I was over it. She had believed that he seemed really into me, and I thought so too. I mean, we're basically soul mates, meant for each other.
But apparently not. It's been a week and, still, I can't come to terms with what has happened. I'm in denial.
It didn't help that I looked him up on Google last night. The paparazzi spotted him out and about, leaving a local restaurant still in the area. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt. He must still be staying at the Heathman. Some gossiper had even spread a rumor that he must have gotten into a fight at this restaurant he was caught leaving from, because his bottom lip was swollen and bruised.
I know better though, of course. It's just my mark staining him. Even after a week, it hasn't properly healed, and that satisfies me in a deeply perverse way.
I hope that sore on your lip reminds you of me, Christian. I hope it pains you for every second you've been paining me, with what you've done to us. You've ruined us, made us not happen. It's only fair that you suffer your fair share as well.
Today is the day I have to sit for my finals. Kate does as well and, in contrast to how nervous Kate feels, I feel so numb and indifferent. Then again, I have been feeling that way all week ever since what Christian did to our relationship.
"Want some fruit salad for breakfast, Ana?" Kate asks from her spot in the kitchen, slicing fruit with a big knife. "They say fruit is brain food..."
Even the thought of eating makes me feel like vomiting. "Ugh, no thanks, Kate. I don't think I would even be able to keep it down."
"Still that bad, huh?"
"Yep. I feel like I wish someone would kill me," I admit to her. Normally, I've been trying to keep my suicidal impulses hidden from Kate, but ever since what happened, I've been experiencing them a lot this week. "I kind of wish a train would run me over."
"Ana," Kate says in disapproval. "You can't die, okay? We have our finals to get through first. Finals and graduating, then maybe after that, you can die. Okay?"
"Okay," I mutter.
"I was thinking that we should go out to celebrate tonight? You, me, and Jose? To celebrate getting through our finals today?"
"Okay," I say again.
"Ana, stop saying okay. You just need to go out tonight and have fun. It'll do you some good to keep your mind off everything that's happened."
I think Kate's right. A distraction and something good to look forward to would do me wonders.
Christian POV:
"Come on, Miss Steele," I whisper desperately to her Facebook page from where I sit at the desk near the window in the Heathman, my forehead throbbing in frustration. "Give me something. Anything. Just a sign of life is all I need at this point."
Now I think I can understand how they say social media is addictive, and I don't even have a fucking social media account. I've been hooked on staring at Miss Steele's page. So far, I've been left disappointed. It's been a little over a week and nothing. Absolutely nothing.
No Tweet. No new photos of her with her lips smeared in a coating of red lipstick. What is she doing that is so important that its keeping her away?
I haven't been able to get her out of my mind, which is a definite first for me. Usually I don't get this way about women. I don't know how that can be or what it is about her in particular, but it's as if I can think of nothing else but her this week. I just want her to write something on Facebook or on Twitter. Just a new photo, preferably another bikini shot. Now is that so much to ask?
A knock comes at the door of my suite, and I rise from the chair briskly to answer it. Room service. They wheel in my food on the cart, asking me where I want it. I just tell them to leave the cart where it is and I'll deal with it. I'll eat on my own time but, as for now, I'm too agitated to even so much as eat anything.
She's just a sheer mystery to me. The words she said to me have been haunting me. It's as if I can't make any sense of them. What did she mean when she said I should be the one steering clear of her? What did she mean when she said that she's basically similar to the character out of Fatal Attraction? I looked up YouTube videos on that movie, watching movie scenes all because of her. Sure, the woman in that film is crazy, but she's sexy crazy. If a woman went that nuts over me, that possessive... What a huge fucking turn-on.
And she bit me. She bit my lip, another first.
I got a call from my mother all because she saw a photo of me on the internet taken by a bloodthirsty pap leaving a restaurant. She was concerned that I had started participating in bar brawls again- something I did when I was younger- because of the split lip Miss Steele gave me. I just made up some shit about accidentally biting it when eating and my mother actually believed me, bless her. My brother Elliot teased me over the lip and said I have contracted herpes- his latest stupid joke. Though older than me by two years, Elliot can always be so juvenile and immature.
But back onto Anastasia Steele...
I return to the computer chair, clicking open her Facebook page again, going through her photos. I've noticed that photographer jackass, Jose Rodriguez, has been commenting on her photos a lot. It's fucking annoying. He's commented on literally every single photo, he's so hot for her.
Jose Rodriguez: Looking good and fit, ladies.
That comment was made in that bikini photo of Anastasia and her friend.
Looking HOT, Ana. Go the red lipstick!
He keeps writing on her wall, posting shit. It's so obvious he's fucking horny for her. Can she not see that?
I've been so tempted to make a fake online profile just so that I can tell him to back off, that she's mine. It was one thing, touching her ass- no, her ass which is mine- when he came in for the photo-shoot, but pestering her, being so pathetic and desperate with the comments...Jesus Christ, it makes my blood boil.
I click onto his page, judging his profile picture. He's such a douche-bag, posing for the camera with his shirt off. I bet he jacks off to Miss Steele's pictures regularly then cries afterwards, hugging his pillow because he knows, deep down inside, that he would never get a chance in hell of being with her.
He wrote a status just last night, and my curiosity getting the better of me, I click the link. A new window appears, redirecting me to a website he created.
Dreams are finally looking up. I have created a new website where you can buy prints of my photographs. Total self-promotion ha.
What a pretentious fuck. I pore through his photographs, some of lakes and houses. He isn't even that good. Then I look through a tab that he calls real-life portraits. My breath hitches in my throat as what I see confirms what I suspected.
Yeah, he's obsessed with her, all right. Fucker.
Portraits of Miss Steele are everywhere, starting from the price range of ten dollars. Pictures of her smiling, of her laughing. Walking along beaches, sitting on benches. Does she even know he's done this? That he is selling photos of her where basically any old sick fuck can purchase them and hang them in their houses?
Speaking of old sick fucks... I find my wallet, deciding to buy them all. I'll buy them all so this Jose douche runs out of stock of them so he can't sell them anymore. It isn't like I don't have the money available to me anyway, right?
Besides, Miss Steele should be thanking me. I'm just doing what her romantic heroes would do that she no doubt studies about in her English Literature class at University. I'm being the hero, the knight in shining armor. She should be getting down on her knees and thanking me. It's better me buying them all and covering the walls of my penthouse with them, rather than some sick pervert, right?
Anastasia POV:
"All right, everybody. Time's up. Pens down, please."
I place my pen down on the desk, stretching. And it's done. I got through it. I trudged through my final examination. Things are actually starting to seem to look up now. I meet Kate's gaze at the desk across from me, grinning at her. We are going out celebrating tonight and surprisingly, I find myself looking forward to it. Kate was definitely right then; I'll feel better heading out tonight to a few clubs, dancing and getting some shots into me.
We head back to the apartment together, getting ready for the night ahead of us.
I end up wearing a dress, even although I rarely like wearing them. I find it too much effort to shave my legs, so usually I limit myself to jeans, but tonight I want to put in a little more effort.
"Jose said he'll meet us there," Kate informs me while slipping in her earrings.
We squash into the small bathroom, both of us fighting to use the mirror to see our reflections. I manage to push her out of the way long enough to put on a coating of red lipstick, pursing my lips. Something about wearing it always makes me feel better, no matter what situation.
"He also said that an online buyer brought a lot of his photos today from his website."
"Wow, really?" I can't help feeling pleased for Jose. It's been his biggest aspiration, becoming a successful photographer. "Which ones?"
"The portraits. I think most of them were the ones of you, though. He said they brought over two thousand dollars worth of them in one full purchase." She smiles at me in the mirror while running her eyeliner pencil around the rims of her eyes, making them truly pop out. "I think you've got yourself a fan, Ana."
I make a face at myself in the mirror. I wasn't all that happy to learn that Jose had decided to sell some of his photos of me. It had felt like a huge invasion of my privacy at first, but then I relented, giving in. I cannot believe someone spent two thousand dollars on pictures all of me, though! Kind of... disturbing.
"That's a bit weird, someone buying heaps of pictures of just me?"
Kate shrugs, unconcerned either way. "Jose said that, seeing as you were the subject of the pictures, he's happy to give you a percentage of the money."
"Well, I'd hope so," I mutter. "I mean, I think that's only fair. I never wanted him to sell pictures of me in the first place. Does he know who brought them?"
"Well, he never really said. I think the buyer wanted it to be kept confidential. I think Jose found out his name was Paul-something-or-rather. Paul Spector or something like that..."
Now I'm worried that the person who brought them is this creepy old, morbidly obese man. Maybe some guy who wants me as his next victim, a guy who intends to cut off a lock of my hair for safekeeping, a guy who likes making skin suits out of females. God, please don't let it be some weirdo pervert that brought them.
My mind drifts off while I begin straightening my hair. I shouldn't be doing it, but I for some reason daydream that its Christian Grey that brought all of them. I imagine going into his house, seeing pictures of me hanging up on all his walls... I squirm a little, pressing my thighs tightly together as a wave of arousal courses through me. I had told myself that I would forget about him after what happened, but... apparently I can't. It's just too hard and the hole in my heart is still gaping open with unhealed bullet holes.
The club that we meet Jose at is loud and hectic. Some of the other graduate students from the university are there, celebrating as well. I congratulate Jose when I see him, and he seems really happy. We have two shots each just to get the party started, then we move onto beer.
Jose heads up to the bar to buy Kate and I a beer while we stand around, listening to the music. A live band is playing tonight, the female singer mourning over unrequited love. (Violate all the love that I'm missing, throw away all the pain I've been living... You will believe in me, and I can never be ignored...)
The lyrics in her gritty voice just ring so true. It's exactly how I feel for Christian. It makes my heart hurt and my eyes well up, because this singer, she knows exactly what I am going through. I'm not alone on this. It's as if the song she is singing has been written for me. Or, well, for Christian. (I would kill for you... I would steal for you... I'd do time for you... To be close to you... To be part of you, because I believe in you... I would die for you...)
After a few beers, I start to feel a little sick and tipsy. I haven't been eating properly all week, so I wonder if that is a main contributing factor in me getting drunk quicker. Because I'm not thinking as well as I should be of the consequences, I tell Kate I'm using the ladies bathroom, and I squeeze my way unsteadily in there. There's a long line to use the toilets and it seems like I have to wait forever to get inside one. Once I do, I slide the lock in place, fumbling for my phone out of my handbag.
I peruse through my contacts, finding Christian's number that I had saved under the name 'HUSBAND'. Would I be totally bat-shit nuts if I called him right now? At least it isn't as loud in the cubicle and I am feeling quite tipsy and daring.
I laugh to myself, pressing the dial button. Oh, boy. This is going to be hilarious. I am so going to give him a mouthful of what I think of his little 'I'm not the right man for you' speech...
He answers on the second ring, his voice floating into the cubical as I put the phone on speaker. "Anastasia? I was wondering when I would hear from you?"
Oh, wow. How did he even know it was me? How did he know my number? Unless he's... psychic?
"Um... how did you even begin to know it was me calling you? I didn't give you my number?"
He sighs loudly, sending the phone crackling. "I found out your number. It wasn't that hard, Anastasia. You'd be surprised at what possibilities open up to me because I'm loaded."
Anastasia, oh God. Screw him! Screw him for saying my name in such a sexy, effortless way!
"Um, okay then, Mr Creepy McCreeperson." A laugh tears out of my mouth at my own joke, though he doesn't reciprocate the laugh.
"Anastasia, have you been drinking?" He sounds scandalized, like I'm committing a sin or something. "You sound different, like your... slurry?"
"Well, hello. Welcome to the 21st Century, Christian. Everybody drinks nowadays." Someone flushes the toilet in the stall next to me and I cringe.
"Where are you?" he asks, sounding very annoyed. "I know you're in a toilet, because I heard it flush just then. But where?"
"You're so confusing," I gush out in my own annoyance. "First, you send me that letter, being all 'I'll be watching you' and, 'Oh, can't you see you belong to me?' Then you're like, 'Go away, Anastasia. I don't do the romance thing'. So confusing, Christian."
"Where the fuck are you?" He's panting heavily and another laugh escapes me at the harsh sound of his voice. Wow, he's enraged. Really, really enraged. How hot is that? "Where are you drinking? What club?"
"I'm somewhere far, far away from you," I taunt, being purposefully vague. There are a million bars here. There is no way in hell that he can find me easily. "How's the lip, by the way? Hope it hurts you every time you eat or drink anything, Mr Stay Clear of Me."
"Who are you with?" Christian demands. I have never heard him sound so agitated. It's kind of empowering, knowing that I am the one that is making him feel that way. "Is he there?" he asks, his voice low with suspicion. "Are you with him right now, drinking with him?"
Is he there? Who the hell? "Um, who?"
"The photographer?"
Jose? Why would he care that I'm out drinking with Jose?
Another toilet flushes again in a different stall and I grimace. Great, now he'll think that I'm stuck on the toilet with a severe case of diarrhea while talking to him...
"I'm coming to get you," he says in a foreboding voice. "And when I do find you, don't be surprised at what I'm gonna do to you. You can expect your ass to be sore for days." And then he hangs up.
Wow. Wait. What? Coming to get me?
Hope you enjoyed this one and that it isn't too ridiculous? :P
Just in response to a reviewer, I don't mean to offend. There is a good reason this story is marked in the humor category. I am trying to make people laugh, it isn't something to be taken seriously by any means. Yes, this Ana may be stalking, immature and similar to a Beiber fangirl (well, more so a Grey fangirl) but that is the point. As for Christian, yes, he may be too "classy" to like someone like her ordinarily, but in this story, he will like her. They are really two peas in a pod in this. This is written for fun, that's all. And hopefully, to make people laugh.
Just a question: Would you prefer them to start dating and their stalking gets more serious (Christian breaking into Ana's house to steal her underwear and a few trophies/Ana turning up at Grey's office for an impromptu lunch when he's busy at a meeting)? Or flirting/cat and mouse games with no dating as yet? Christian hiring a PI to follow Ana's every whereabouts? I would love to hear your suggestions.
