"Change, like healing, takes time."
― Veronica Roth

CH 10

"Tell me what you're feeling, Christian." John urges me as he looks up from his notebook, abandoning it on the table between us. I eye it like it's a ticking bomb.

"I don't know, okay? I'm feeling too much, all of a sudden. I can't just say I'm angry while at the same time I'm sad and I'd do just about fucking anything to get out of this... state. It's more than just a feeling. It's all consuming, burning me from the inside out. I feel disgusted, I feel enraged, I fell like I could wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze the shit out of her." I hiss as I close my eyes and try to keep the images of Anastasia chocking her out of my head. They're only fueling my rage.

"Would you do that because that's what Anastasia did or would you do it because it would be the right thing to do from your perspective?"

"It would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it? I'd pay her back for her kindness."

"Are you asking me what you should think?"

His question throws me off a little. Is that what I'm doing here?

"So you'd hurt those who have hurt you. That's your solution? That would make everything better?"

"I don't know. Aren't you the one I'm paying to give me solutions?"

The fucker has the gal to smirk.

"Up until now, you paid me to get your kicks out of dominating me. But I think we both know you're paying me to help you find the solution. Merely offering it on a plate doesn't seem like a good deal."

"I'm not asking you to give it to me on a plate. I'm asking you to point me in the fucking direction!" I hiss and hold eye contact. It doesn't bother John. Nothing does anymore. I'm not sure it ever did.

"That is why I am here, Christian. I am here so you can hear yourself, so you can let your thoughts free and gain insight from them. I am your mirror."

I bite my tongue. If it were me, I'd get rid of this mirror which only makes me go back to every horrific event in my life. But I need John to show me the flaws in my thinking. Elena's been in my head for too long and her poisonous seeds have been planted deep within my head. I can't fucking trust my own judgment!

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know how I'm supposed to react. I'm just angry and bitter, betrayed and stabbed in the fucking back by the one person I thought I could trust with my darkness. Now all I can think about is that maybe she's the one that made the darkness grow. I'm second-guessing my involvement with the BDSM community, all my past relationships, all my decisions when it came down to my subs... She was never my Domme. She was just another person who took advantage of me and pushed everyone away, maybe fearing that they could get me out of her claws. I let that happen. I allowed her to drag me deeper, just because what she was telling me was what the pimp had told me many times before. I am a monster. Monsters should stay away and never seek redemption."

"Monsters are not real. Monsters are only inside our heads, not under our beds, lurking in the darkness, ready to pluck us from the light. It's our choice to stay away from the light."

"Thanks for reminding me that, John! I had forgotten I got myself in this shit."

"You didn't get yourself here, Christian. You've had help. But you've decided to put an end to that so there is no need to get angry. The past cannot hurt you anymore, unless you give it permission to do so."

"Yeah well it's still here, isn't it?" I shout and grip my hair for what must be the millionth time. "The past is staring at me each morning in the fucking mirror. I can't make it go away. You wanna know what I see every morning? I see a fucking bastard who no matter how much greatness he achieves, will never get rid of the emotional and physical scars that mar him." I roar as I get up from the fucking couch and start pacing the room.

"Yet that doesn't stop you from hoping that, in spite of what you see in the mirror each day, someone will look past that. That's what it boils down to. Doesn't it Christian?"

John's words make me freeze.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the walls you keep building, all the while hoping that someone will learn to climb them. I'm talking about both your personal and professional life. You strive for perfection as though you're the perfect man. As Anastasia so eloquently put it, you're setting yourself up for failure. You know no one will ever be good enough so you will always have to punish them, show them they could never reach your standard."

"I'm not doing that." I hear myself say but my head is a million miles away, thinking and over thinking each thing I've ever said, each thing I've ever done.

"Really? Isn't that what's happening with Grace? You looked up at her like an angel sent to save you. But she couldn't save you from what was inside, the demons that ate away at you. You considered yourself a monster, unworthy of love, but you also wanted her to show you differently. When it was clear to you that she wouldn't be able to do it, you looked for another idol and pushed her away.

"Fate made you cross paths with Elena and, well... we both know that sordid tale. She is too far off from the angel able to give you your redemption. Yet, you held on to that for quite some time. Hope kept you there. Hope in the mask of complete control. You set up contracts, limits and rules. Rules are meant to be broken and so punishment followed.

"But your false idol couldn't keep you entertained forever so fate put you face to face with your biggest challenge yet: Anastasia Rose Steele."

"Don't drag her into this, John." I hiss. She shouldn't be in this conversation. She's too pure for this shit!

"You've already done that, Christian."

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! You're wrong! You're wrong about all of it!" I say as I grip my hair and start pulling at it. The sharp pain keeps me grounded.

"I have done that for many years and it brought you nothing. Time to change tactics."

"So telling me this... is going to bring me something?"

"Christian, for such a successful businessman, you're incredibly obtuse. That or you're just too blinded by your self loathing to see things clearly. I dare say both."

"I thought we were talking about my emotions." I mumble and look away from his face.

"That we were. But emotions are a complex aspect of our intellect. Your emotions have never matured. If we were to be honest, your emotional intelligence is one of a teenager. Which isn't so bad... if we were to dismiss the fact that you are 28 years old."

"And we're back to insulting me."

"We're back to speaking the truth. And speaking of truth, tell me the truth about Anastasia."

His words confuse me. The truth? I've told him the truth, more than I've done in the last few years of therapy with him.

"Were are you going with this? You probably know more than I'll ever know."

"This isn't a competition. Tell me about her. Have a seat and tell me all there is to know about Anastasia through your eyes."

With narrowed eyes, I do as he asks.

"Anastasia is a fascinating creature. She's a woman who has been through a lot of challenges: her relationship with her mother could definitely use some improvement and she's trying. She's been kidnapped, held against her will for almost 3 months, drugged out of her mind. In spite of all this, she's managed to get off the ground and get her life back."

"The picture of a true hero."

I can't tell if he's being ironic or just pointing out something but I don't like it.

"What do you want me to say, John? That she's beautiful and I have a raging boner each time I'm around her? I can also say that. I'm not ashamed of that. But that's not what draws me in."

"What draws you in, Christian?"

"She's a fighter. She's not a quitter. And that's something I've never been. Sure, in the business world, I'm a fucking shark. But in my personal one? I'm fifty shades of fucked-up and I've never tried to shrink the number."

"Do you see yourself becoming the fighter or making her kneel?"

His question drains the blood from my head. I feel lightheaded.

"What?"

"Each person in your life has a purpose, Christian. Your birth mother had a role to fulfill. She failed. Grace had one. She failed. Elena had one. She failed. Your fifteen submissives also had a role. They all failed. Each and every one of them. Now, Anastasia has taken her place, ready to try and fulfill her own role. I have to ask myself: are you even sure what that role is? What do you want from this fighter? You want to be like her or to make her a spitting image of yourself?"

The darkness is wrapping itself around my neck as I think about John's question. I can feel it working its way through each cell, conquering everything in its path.

"I don't want her to become like me." I whisper, my throat suddenly dry.

"Does that mean you want to become like her?"

"You make it sound like it's my only option." I accuse, my eyes narrowed and my fists clenched. What the fuck is he playing at?

"That's because you seem convinced she's your savior. You make it seem like all this is just for her. What if you realize she's not as perfect as you believed? What if she lets you down? What if she doesn't measure up to your expectations? What will you do then, Christian? She's not your submissive, therefore there will be no punishment."

"I can live with that."

"Forgive me for not believing that. Punishment is all you've ever known. In the brief time you've spent without it, you've yearned for it. You've pushed boundaries and acted like a spoiled brat but all you got was a slap on the wrist. It wasn't enough."

"So I've been asking for Elena to take advantage of me? Is that what you're trying to say? Make up your fucking mind, John! Either I was a victim or a willing participant. You can't have both."

"The fact that you've been trained in a certain way doesn't mean you asked for it. In all honesty, Elena simply gathered the information and made her move, completely aware of what she had been doing. She had the best source, after all: Grace. Unwillingly, your mother has given her all the tools and information she could ever need. It was only a matter of time until you would fall."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you have been in a vicious circle all your life. Pain has been your guide for a long time. Are you sure you want to break the circle?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Breaking the circle would mean you don't have the safety net you've always had."

"Just like Anastasia, you don't trust me."

"I trust history, Christian. But, I do believe that, in spite of all recent and old research, people are individuals and should be treated as such. I believe that you can break the circle. My question is: is your motivation strong enough? Is it well directed?"

With John's words ringing in my head, I leave his office and stare out the window as Taylor brings me back to Escala.

Our entire session goes round and round through my head as I look around the penthouse. Though my submissives had a limited space where they could spend their free time, I can't stop myself from seeing them around the penthouse. In the kitchen – on the breakfast bar, with my mouth between their legs. In the office – kneeling and sucking me off. In the hallways – walking around naked, wearing only high heels. On the piano – my cock down their throats.

Bile rises to my throat.

"With your track record, it would be stupid not to."

Her ethereal voice surrounds me.

I replay our conversation as I do my best to gulp down a glass of water. She knows about them but she didn't run away. There's still hope she'll want something to do with me later on. All is not lost... yet.

But she doesn't know all the gory details, does she? She doesn't know all the things you've made them do. She doesn't know all the things you've done to them. She's been keeping you away for almost a week.

My feet carry me to the Playroom. The key, already waiting in the lock, twists almost soundlessly. I push the door open and stay on the threshold, like I'm afraid I'll enter another Universe. I feel like I'm glued to the spot, unable to move in either direction. In or out, Grey? Which way is it gonna be?

A full minute later, I manage to summon the courage to step inside. As soon as I step inside, the smell and feel of the room get me in full Dom character. Except it wasn't a character, was it? It was the sick part of me, the monster, the rage, the victim lashing out. All of it, mixed into a deadly concoction that no submissive has survived. I've gone through them like butter. The more they resisted, the more I pushed until I broke them completely. Once I had that, there was no excitement left so I tossed them aside like rag dolls.

The thought makes me skin crawl.

"What makes me so different?"

Her question has me looking around the room, trying to picture her tied and at my whim. What makes her so different? Is it the fact that I know for sure she could never be with me in this room? Is it the fact that I could never dominate her? I have no fucking idea.

"You've had fifteen chances to open your eyes."

She's right. I've had so many chances of opening my eyes, so many chances to see how Elena manipulated me. I've wasted each and every fucking one of them. Just thinking about it makes the rage come back. This room is the result of her manipulation. This lifestyle is the result of her manipulation. The man staring back at me each morning is the result of her manipulation.

I'm fucking alone and it's all her fault. She's taken me away from the only people I can call my own. She's pushed everyone away with her fucking lies and manipulative behavior. I ate right out of her fucking palm, like a fucking dog!

This room is the result of her training. The past 12 years are nothing but 12 years of being a victim. The worst part is that I've also hurt other people. I've hurt those who have tried to get me out of the darkness. I've hurt those who have joined me in darkness. 'Cause, let's be fucking honest: I'm not a Dom. I'm a fucking monster. A Dom who is the male version of Elena can only be a fucking monster! And that's what I have been: a soulless, emotionless monster!

I can feel the anger running through my veins and for the first time in over 22 years, I welcome it with open arms. I welcome the fucking burn as my hands grip furniture and throw it into walls, plaster flying everywhere. Once I start, it's like a dam breaks and everything just pours out. The hate for everything that has happened to me, the pain for what I had to go through because my bitch of a mother, the chances I've wasted to get back on track and heal because of Elena, the women I've hurt by breaking their hearts and pushing them away. Each and every shit I've done because I couldn't face my fucking past and just fucking move on!

So I scream and shout and push and throw until I feel my throat raw from all the screaming and the water on my cheeks as everything is purged.

"Sir."

Taylor's voice vaguely registers but I only scream at him to get the fuck out and leave me alone. This was my sanctuary, the place where I thought I could be myself. It's only fair that I destroy whatever meaning it held to me, without anyone's interference.

"Christian."

Her voice makes me freeze and I drop whatever I'm holding.

"Oh, Christian!" Two seconds later, I'm wrapped in her arms. She's squeezing me so hard, like she's trying to piece together the parts of me that this last session has broken. "Hush now. I'm here! Just you and me here." She continues to hold me, rocking me back and forth, squeezing the air out of my fucking lungs. For a second, I imagine how it must have felt to squeeze Elena's throat with these same hands.

"It's gone now. It's all gone. I'm here. I'm here."

It probably takes for-fucking-ever but I calm down. Once that happens, my thoughts are much more clearer than I would have thought. The physical exhaustion has my mind too spent to think about destroying anything.

"Will this pain ever go away?" I whisper, unable to help myself. She has to know the answer to this question. She's been here, right? She's come out on the other side after walking through her. If there's anyone who could give me hope, it's her.

"Yes... eventually."

Her fingers feel magic as she combs them through my hair. Her voice, though, gives her away. There's uncertainty there.

"Was it hard for you?"

Please say yes so I don't feel like a fucking pussy for letting this get the better of me.

"Yes." Her voice sounds so far away. I look at her but her eyes don't see me. She's looking right through me, lost in memories that still mark her. "I craved the drugs. My own body and part of my mind were fighting against my reason. I was at war with myself." I watch as she closes her eyes tightly and a lone tear slides down her porcelain skin. Her words, though, make me pause.

"How is that even possible? You didn't openly chose to use."

"It doesn't matter. Heroin is one of the most addictive substances, if not the most addictive. It enters into your bloodstream instantly and conquers each and every cell in its path. My body was hooked. My mind was craving it. The very little presence of spirit I had was raging against me."

The way she depicts it has my skin breaking out in goose bumps. I can almost see the crack whore begging for her next dose from my abuser, without thinking about me and the situation she was putting me in. To be honest, it's just my imagination making it up. I was too young to remember shit like that but I have seen her blank stare and it's stuck with me for the better part of my adolescent years.

There's something else Anastasia said that stuck a chord inside me: her mind was raging against her. Why would that happen?

"Why?"

The look in her eyes when they meet mine is enough to let me know some dark shit went down during her kidnapping and it still lingers at the edge of her mind.

Sound similar, Grey?

"We shall talk about this some other time, alright?" Anastasia says, her voice light but distant.

Translation: This is a topic I don't wanna discuss with you.

I've been trying to get her to talk to me about that period of her life but she keeps pushing me away and starts to ask about my therapy. I know first hand how to turn the tables on those around me and steer them away from the topics I want to stay away and on a level, I can understand her attitude. That doesn't mean it's not killing me. It's the one part of her that she keeps hidden. It's the only part of her where I don't have access. Maybe I'd be okay with that if it didn't leave its mark on her the way it has. But it has and it's starting to show. Or maybe her control is starting to slip through her fingertips.

Oh, baby! That makes two of us.

"Tell me about today. Why did you do this?"

How was it?