CHRISTIAN

"Wait, like…" he trailed off, his eyebrows raised high as he tried to reconcile what he thought she was telling him with the truth. Dominant and submissive… that was like… black leather kinky sex stuff, wasn't it? Is that what she meant? She was in to all that… stuff? "Like S&M?"

"Yes. BDSM, more specifically, but yes, you get the idea." She waited with baited breath while he just stared at her, a distant look in his eye while he tried to get his brain to catch up with the conversation.

He was stuck on images running through his brain of the little he knew about that sort of thing. He'd seen references toward Dominatrixes- females- in TV shows and movies, but it stood to reason there was a male version of that. Images of what he associated with the word 'Dominatrix' flooded his mind- thigh high leather boots, black corsets, whips, and a man in his underwear on his hands and knees with a collar and leash. Holy shit, did Ana walk around on her hands and knees being led on a leash?

"That's why I keep spurning your advances. Since all of this started- your attention to me- I get punished for everything you do to keep contact with me. He's monitoring my phone, he's watching everything I do. Every time we talk, the flowers you sent, talking in at my desk, the text messages," she groaned at the very fresh memory of the pain from that punishment. "Everything you're doing is making my life with him hell."

Punishment. She was getting punished because of him?

"Punishment?" he gulped.

"Yes," she said, her eyes meeting his squarely but she didn't elaborate.

"How did you get involved in… this?" he asked, waving his hand around in the air, thought he was motioning at nothing but the thoughts in his head and the ideas she was putting out there.

She made a sour face at the tone of his voice "BDSM gets a bad rap but it has done nothing but good things for me."

"Like what? Explain it to me."

"I used to be painfully shy. Awkward. I had severe social anxiety. No friends. I just read all the time. I had no one but myself and the loneliness was killing me. This lifestyle taught me control over my body and my mind. It made me more outgoing. More comfortable in my own skin. I was able to talk to people without stuttering, walk without tripping. I had confidence for the first time in my life. Once I learned control over myself, I flourished, and it was all because of what BDSM taught me."

Christian mulled over what she'd said. Social anxiety was a real thing, he knew that. The way she talked, maybe it was a little worse for her than most, but that was something therapy could have helped with. Not something that could only be helped with such severe intervention. He'd never heard of anyone using sex and punishment to learn to overcome social anxiety. It was crazy!

"See this is why I didn't want to tell you," she muttered. "I see the look in your eyes. You're judging me just like the rest of society judges this lifestyle, but you just don't understand!"

"You're right, I'm sorry. It's just a lot to process. Please, continue to explain it to me. How… how did you get into it? How was this offered as an option to you?" Because seriously—if she was too awkward to even approach someone for simple conversation, how did someone approach her with this? Oh hey, I saw you sitting here alone. You look painfully shy. Do you mind if I whip, spank and fuck you for a while? I promise it will make you more social!

"Someone I trusted saw how hard of a time I was having and offered me a way to help. I was so miserable; I was willing to do anything. He started out small and things evolved as I made progress. I was rewarded for good behavior and punished for bad. I had goals to aim for, things to achieve. And if I didn't I was disciplined. It was clear cut and simple and it helped me. It wasn't about sex, not in the beginning. It was about helping me. Step by step until I was finally living- really living my life for once."

Christian looked her over, seeing the innocence in her big eyes as she recalled the pain of the life she used to live. He could also see the conviction in her face, hear it in her voice as she spoke with a reverence about this person who 'saved' her. What steps had she taken to fix her issues before taking this one? He pictured her spending all of her teenage years with that sad, desolate, lost look in her eyes. A beautiful girl weighted down with the anxiety built from her own mind. Was she quietly tucked away in school, studying, making no friends, miserable when someone came along and offered her this chance to change? Perhaps in college? She looked so young, even now. How old was she now? How old was she then? "How old were you when you finally received this help?"

"Fifteen," she let out in a breath, like it was easy, like it was normal.

Fifteen? Shit- fifteen was nothing! She hadn't needed intervention at fucking fifteen. Plenty of kids were socially awkward at fifteen. That's what she was defending? Some stuttering and lack of friends at a time when everyone was just starting to learn how to handle all of those things? That was normal! Not cause for introducing BDSM into one's life to 'cure' it!

Christian felt his gut plummet as the real weight of her situation hit him. She was doing this kind of outrageous sex shit at fifteen. Shit. He'd done his share of kinky shit in the bedroom, but she'd been practicing BDSM when she was still a kid! At fifteen, he had no idea what BDSM was or that anyone in the world did that kind of stuff during sex. He hadn't even lost his own virginity until 16, and it sure as hell wasn't with bondage and all that shit. So how did the kid who introduced her to this lifestyle know about it? But even as Christian asked himself that very question, he knew it wasn't right. He knew that wasn't the question he should be asking. Because he knew immediately that the chances of it being another kid to introduce this to her was slim to nil. "How old was he? The person who introduced you to that stuff?"

"It doesn't matter, Christian. He was older, but he helped me, and that's all that matters. Our relationship isn't conventional to the masses, but it works for us. It works for me."

Works. Works. The sick feels grew stronger. Present tense. Not past tense.

Holy shit.

This was worse than he thought. It was Kennedy. Kennedy was the guy who introduced her to this at fifteen. And he'd had his claws in her ever since. "It was Kennedy. He… taught you that stuff, didn't he?" he asked, but it wasn't really a question.

She sighed. "Yes, but-" He knew. He already knew, but the moment she said yes, it set him the fuck. off.

"Oh my God, Ana! But nothing! How old is he? That's… that's rape, Ana! He raped you! He raped you and you thank him for it! He's a pedophile! Don't you see that?"

Her guard was back up in an instant and her whole body bristled as she snapped back at him. "Don't say those things about him! He's a good man! He's helped me so much."

"Even if that's true, and I'm not saying I believe that it is, it doesn't matter Ana! He was an adult and you were a child."

"It was consensual!"

"It can't be! It can't be consensual when you're not of the age to consent! It was rape!"

"See, this why I didn't want to tell you! You're talking about something you know nothing about. You didn't know me. You didn't know my life. Scott is the best thing that ever happened to me! He helped me," she groaned defensively, raising her hand up to flail it around absently in the air. The action caused her robe sleeve to tug down again, re-revealing the bright red marks on her wrist. He grabbed her arm again inspecting it as he only now noticed the light purpling from where it was starting to bruise.

"Let me go, Mr. Grey," she begged desperately.

"This shit is not okay! What is this from, Ana? What caused this?" he asked, raising her arms in the air in disbelief.

"It's fine. I'm fine. It's just rope burns."

"Rope burns?" he asked, feeling the bile rise in his throat. Rope burns.

"Christian, please," she said, tears coming to her eyes as she still fought to free her arm from his grasp. A voice in his head was warning him not to badger her too much, not to push her too far, or he could only end up making it worse. Calm down. She's a victim here. It's not her you are mad at. You need to control your fucking temper, Grey. But his disgust for the situation quelled the nagging thought and he continued to push. She needed to see this for what it was. He had to make her see!

"You need to stop seeing him. Don't you see how he's been manipulating you your whole life? He makes himself the sole focus on your world, Ana! He made you think he was helping you blossom, but really he was forcing you to wilt even more. He's made you depend solely on him. He's in control of your job, your home, your car, your time… everything. He holds all the power in your life so he can do what he pleases. How can you not see that?"

Ana finally yanked her arm free, from his grasp. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Grey."

"You're deflecting," he said- insisted.

"I'm not," she said, though her voice waivered slightly, just enough for him to catch it, reaffirming to him his need to keep pushing and pushing.

"You are. If what I said isn't true, then tell me- what do you do for fun?"

"I read," she said. "I told you that."

"You read. Okay. What else?"

She clenched her jaw, her eyes avoiding looking directly into his.

"What else, Ana? What else do you do that has nothing to do with Scott Kennedy? Name some places here in Seattle that you like to go by yourself- just you."

"I just moved to Seattle," she replied, bristling defensively. "I don't know the city well."

"Fine, Portland then. You started working for Kennedy in Portland three years ago. Where did you like to spend time alone there?"

"You wouldn't know them. They're not well known places," she said, the blush on her cheeks indicative that she was lying.

"Try me. I know Portland pretty well."

"I don't have to answer your questions," she spat.

"Don't have to, or can't?" he spat.

She just glared at him.

"Okay, so you refuse to name me one place where you like to spend time alone in a city you lived in for what- three years? Fine. Friends then. Tell me the names of three people you consider your friends."

He could see it. He could see her faltering now, see that he was wearing her down. She swallowed hard, her eyes coated in a sheen that was precursory to welling tears. You should stop. This is getting out of hand. But this is what she needed- to see reality.

"Come on, Ana. You said yourself that he helped you overcome your social anxieties. He allowed you to go out there and live for once. To talk to people and make friends. So if he helped you so much to do those things, surely you can name a few friends to back up that claim. Tell me all the things he pushed you to do, to go out and experience with your new found comfort in social situations. Come on. Tell me. One thing. One person, Ana, that makes up your life other than Scott fucking Kennedy!"

ANA

Ana's mind was frantic as Christian Grey stood there bellowing at her. She couldn't think straight. She was at a complete loss for words. She wanted to say something to force him to shut the hell up. He didn't know her. He didn't know her life. How dare he sit here and judge what she and Scott had.

But the truth was, she couldn't come up with one measly example to prove him wrong. She couldn't think of one thing to say to him to force him to believe that what she was saying about her and Scott's relationship was true. In the pit of her stomach, an unease started to form. Mr. Grey is right. You have no friends. You have no life outside of Scott. She dismissed the tiny voice as soon as it spoke. That was too simplistic of an explanation. Mr. Grey wasn't right. It wasn't as cut and dry as that. Scott had helped her find those things. It was just that life had gotten in the way over the years. Friends fell to the back burner. Other activities she liked to participate in became less important.

After Scott quit teaching to start GHI, they moved from Montesano to Portland. It was a better climate for his offices, as well as being away from the watchful eyes of their small town. They didn't need the added attention that a former teacher and student working so closely together would garner. The move to Portland from Montesano put distance between her and the friends she'd made in high school. She hadn't had time to make new friends in Portland, not with all the work they had to do to get GHI off the ground. GHI took up a lot of her time, and it caused Scott a lot of stress. He needed her to be available to relieve the stress of his day to day with intense sessions in his playroom. So she'd made sure that she was there for him whenever he asked. She'd owed it to him to be there to help him when he'd done so much to help her. Then time just sort of… passed. But it hadn't mattered to her. She was perfectly happy devoting her time to Scott. And if she decided to go out and make a friend, or join a book club or something, she was sure Scott would support her, just like he had in high school.

Christian Grey had no clue what he was talking about. He didn't know Scott and he didn't know her. He had some nerve coming her trying to vilify the man who had done so much for her. Dismissing the thoughts he was attempting to force into her head, she straightened her back and held her chin high. "You need to leave," she said icily.

"Ana," he tried to reason, backtracking from the brusquer attitude he'd just taken with her, purposefully softening his tone and demeanor.

"No, Mr. Grey. I said leave."

He grunted, rubbing his eyes roughly in exasperation. She could see his mind was still reeling from all the new information, and his face showed no sign that he was even entertaining the idea of leaving like she'd insisted.

But she had no doubt in her mind, that she wanted him gone—needed him gone. She felt unbelievable exposed now that he knew the truth, the harsh reality of it washing over her in waves. Her chest tightened with anxiety. She'd told him. How could she tell him? She felt her breathing increase with her anxiety, her breathing echoing the sentiment of her building panic. He needed to go. She needed him out. She was going to lose her shit in about two seconds if she had to keep looking into his shell-shocked, pitying face.

"Please go," she managed to push the words out in a staccato breath, her firmness from a moment ago suddenly gone and her desperation reeking around them.

His eyes widened, clearly perceptive of her sudden shift to angst. Reluctantly, he lifted his hands in surrender. He took in a deep breath, letting it out audibly like someone doing an often-practiced breathing exercise, nodded ever-so-slightly, and turned on his heel heading toward her apartment door.

Thank God.

But he turned back to her just as he opened the door, his eyes pinning her like they seemed to do so well. "This isn't over Ana. I'm not giving up on this until I make you see what Kennedy really is." And with those final words he was gone.