Thank you all for your reviews! They inspire me to keep writing!

It seems like a majority of you don't feel the need for a rewrite of the previous chapter, so I'll skip that. I might go back and write that later for those of you that wanted one, but for now – let's move on!

I apologize for the wait for this chapter. Things got in the way and real life demanded my attention and time. I'll try my very best to make sure it won't go this long between updates again.

I know this is a short chapter, but I felt I needed to post something to get back into it. I promise the next one will be longer and coming soon!

Anger Management – Chapter 9

Anastasia

After arriving at my hotel room I find myself standing in the middle of it not knowing what to do next. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? I take a deep breath and feel my shoulders sagging as I blow the breath out.

It feels like I'm missing a vital part here. I should be freaking out right now. I should be crying or screaming or anything as a reaction to all my dreams being crushed into little pieces in front of me. But I feel strangely numb.

This entire morning feels so surreal I'm not sure it really even happened at all. Maybe I'm still asleep and dreaming and any minute now I will wake up and feel Christian's warm body next to mine. The way the morning after we made love for the first time should be like.

I pinch my eyes shut and take another deep breath. This can't be real. My Christian, my sweet, smart, amazing Christian. This can't be real. I pinch my eyes so hard my face distorts into a grimace. This can't be real. This can't be real.

With one final deep breath I open my eyes again. This is real. Christian is a cheater and a sadist and last night wasn't making love – it was a mistake.

The contract he gave me and that I'm still clutching in my right hand feels like it weighs a ton. What kind of weird things is he into if a contract is required? I sigh. Do I really want to know?

No. I shake my head slowly from side to side. It can't be. The Christian I knew would never hurt anyone. Sure, there was the occasional school-yard fight when we were teenagers, but that was more a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing rather than a sadistic feature.

And cheating? That isn't him. Do they call it cheating?

What else would they call it? He slept with me even though there is another girl in his life. It doesn't matter that he calls their relation purely sexual – it's still cheating. He cheated and he made me his accomplice. I feel my stomach starting to churn and I feel nauseous.

No. I shake my head again. I can't do this. Not now. I decide that the rational thing to do is to push these thoughts aside and focus on my main reason for being in New York in the first place: job interviews. I have one more left today and it's the one I want the most. It's for The New York Times Features section.

With just the smallest hint of hesitation, I place the contract in the trash can, and instead grab my resume and the research I did about the paper as preparation from the side-table where I placed them yesterday and spread the papers out in front of me as I sit down on the bed. Although I'm pretty sure I have memorized most of the facts about the paper, I start reading through my research again hoping it will help keep my mind busy until it's time to get ready for the actual interview.

It takes about three minutes before I give up, throwing the papers aside. It's useless. I can't concentrate. Besides, I doubt I will gain any advantages at the interview only because I memorized the exact date the paper was founded or the fact that it has won no less than 112 Pulitzer prices.

As if pulled in by a magnet, my eyes wander from the papers in front of me towards the discarded contract in the trash can. How bad can it be?

I did promise him I would look through it. I sigh. I also said all I needed was some time. What amount of time would ever make this okay?

I tear my eyes away from the trashcan and its frightful contents and decide to go take a long shower to clear my mind and hopefully wash away any last trace of the past 24 hours. My interview is only two and a half hours away and if I take my time I could probably busy myself getting ready until it's time to leave.

It's almost midnight when I finally stumble back into my hotel room. The interview went well and I decided to celebrate that at the hotel bar; or rather I decided to try and avoid the elephant in my trashcan…can you change the saying like that?

I stop outside my door with my keycard in hand to think about it. The trashcan-elephant in the room. No. All while giggling to myself, I try it a few different ways until I settle for the elephant in the trashcan in the room. Yes. That's what the contract is. An elephant in a trashcan in the room. Very content with myself, I take a step towards my door and unlock it with the keycard.

Walking in, I close the door behind me and take a few steps into the room before I stop, engaging in a staring match with the trashcan-elephant. I can try and ignore it and avoid it all I want – but the attempts are futile. Christian has called three times tonight, to ask what I think about his contract, no doubt. I didn't answer any of his calls.

I sigh. What do I think about it?

I think it's weird and strange and wrong and wrong and weird and strange and wrong. My mind spins around in a loop. Cheating and sadism and rules and punishments and cheating. I feel nauseous again.

Oh, God. I cover my face with my hands to try and stop the room from spinning. It doesn't work, if anything – it makes the spinning worse. And the spinning makes the nausea worse. Why did I drink so much?

Oh, yeah. Because of the cheating and the sadism and the rules and the punishments and the cheating.

The nausea reaches a point of no return and I launch forward, grabbing onto the closest thing at hand as the drinks I've been pouring down my throat all night decides to resurface. It isn't until I'm kneeling on the floor, dry-heaving as there's isn't anything more left in my stomach that I realized I've puked all over the elephant in the trashcan.

The situation I'm in is far from funny, but I can't help it; I start giggling uncontrollably the second the dry-heaves stop. I'm laughing and giggling so hard my stomach hurts and I can't stop it. I guess my opinion about the contract has been expressed.

A/N:

I just have to add a little note based on the reviews I received when I posted this chapter:

When I start writing a story I have most of the major plot points already thought out; among others what the ending will look like and the major outline of how they will get there. I won't change the direction of my story only because someone doesn't like the turns it's taking and is threatening to stop reading if it goes in that direction or if my characters do this.

I love getting reviews and hearing your thoughts but I will continue to write this story the way I have planned it from the beginning whether I have 1 or 1000 readers by the time I reach the final chapter (of which a large part is already written) because the reason I write is because I'm excited and thrilled about the plot I came up with and want to share it with you.

I'm off the roof-tops happy if anyone at all likes my story, but if you don't – you don't have to read it. If you think my story is disgusting: stop reading it. There are plenty of other really great stories out there.

If you have questions about the plot or feel you don't want to continue reading unless the story is going in the direction you want - feel free to log in and PM me or ask in a review and I will answer, but I'm sorry – I won't change any of the major plot points.

In this story….the last chapter was actually the very first thing I wrote. The rest of the story came afterwards as I tried to pin out how to get it there.

Okay. Rant over – thanks for reading!