Greetings, dear readers! How are you all? I hope you are well.

No words on the chapter. Just... read.

On with the tale!


Ana's POV:

Three days pass.

In that time, I attend my job interviews. All go smoothly, and while I am hoping to get an offer from any one of them, I am exceptionally excited about one company, Seattle Independent Publishing. It seems to be a comfortable, jovial workplace.

The plane ticket for my annual trip to Texas has been purchased. It now sits on the desk in my bedroom, taunting me mercilessly.

I have not received word from Christian in any form. At first it concerns me, but I remind myself that he has an empire to run. He has more important things to do than talk to me.

Kate never shuts up about Elliot, but I let her ramble on to her heart's content. Her joy fills the apartment and my lonely hours.

On the fourth day since speaking to Christian, I get a phone call.


I'm sitting in my bed, reading an old novel, when my cell phone buzzes. I take it from the bedside table. Who is calling at damn near midnight?

"Hello?"

"Ana!" Christian gasps. "Ana, h-help m-me." he stutters, the fear in his tone stopping my heart.

Don't freak out. Stay calm.

"Christian, tell me what's going on." I say softly, getting up from my bed and grabbing jeans from my closet. I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear as I tug on the pants. I step into black flats.

"Ana," he whimpers. "Are you at home, Christian?" He mumbles in the affirmative. "I'm coming, Christian. Stay right where you are and wait for me, okay?" "Okay." he whispers, his voice trembling." "I'm coming, sweetheart, I promise." I hang up, stuffing the phone into my pocket.

Grabbing a backpack, I stuff a couple of shirts and pairs of jeans inside, then zip it up. I yank on a jacket as I walk to the kitchen. I grab the dry-erase marker hanging on the fridge next to the small whiteboard and scribble a sloppy note to Kate that I've gone to Christian's.

Snatching up my keys from the table in the entry, I run outside and jump into my car. I break the speed limit to get to Christian as quickly as I can.

I park in an open space in front of Escala. Taylor is waiting by the elevator when I get in the building, and he only nods in acknowledgment as he presses the button. We step into the elevator car, and he punches in the code.

"What happened, Taylor? Is he hurt?" I ask, looking to the bear of a man beside me. Taylor looks uncomfortable for a moment, then says, "He has nightmares, and a particularly gruesome dream must have come to him tonight. He was screaming and thrashing. I tried to restrain him so he wouldn't hurt himself, and he panicked."

The doors open, and I hurry into the apartment. Through the glass wall, I can see him sitting on the balcony overlooking the city. I run to the door and open it, stepping out into the cold air. He's sitting on the ground, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

"Christian," I breathe, dropping my backpack. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and scared.

I kneel next to him and reach out to touch his hand. He flinches at first, then relaxes. His fingers are icy cold. "Christian, you need to come inside." I tell him gently.

"She hates me." he whispers, staring off into the distance. Who? "Her pimp hates me." Oh, the crack-whore. "He hurts me." He blinks, and looks up at me. "I'm scared." Seeing the mighty and powerful Christian Grey curled up and frightened breaks my heart. "He's going to hurt me."

My hands cup his cheeks, drawing him to me. "No one can hurt you. You're safe, sweetheart. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you." I say softly. He looks up at me, doubt in his eyes. "I promise, Christian.

"Now, you have to come inside. You'll get sick sitting out here." I stand and pull him to his feet. Picking up my backpack, I lead Christian inside and take him to his bedroom. I feel a warm fluid on my palms and look at the crimson pooling there. "Christian..." I turn his hands over, examining. Several cuts of varying length and depth litter the soft skin of his palms. "What happened, Christian?" "I broke a glass in my hand." he mumbles.

"Taylor!" I shout, and he comes running into the room a second later. "First aid kit, please." I request as I drag Christian to the bathroom. I run his hands under warm, gently flowing warm, then dab the wounds dry. Taylor hands me the box, and I thank him as I set it on the counter.

"I don't think you need stitches." I murmur. I remove the antibiotic cream and bandage wrap. I dab on the cream over his cuts and wrap the bandages around his hands, taping them securely. "Take these," I say, handing him pain pills and a cup of water. He obeys and drinks all the water.

"Good. Bed." I usher him out into the bedroom.

"Ana, no." he mumbles, grabbing me. "I can't sleep. He'll come back..." "Shh, Christian, I'll be right here. He won't hurt you." He nods slowly.

I draw back the covers on the bed, and he lies down. I remove my jacket and jeans, setting them with my backpack on the lone chair in the room. I climb into the bed next to him, and he immediately curls up against me. He rests his head on my chest and holds me tightly in his arms. I drape one arm across his back and cradle his head in my other.

"Thank you, Ana." he whispers, closing his eyes. "I'm just taking care of you, Christian. Go to sleep, and I'll be here when you wake up." "Okay, Ana." And he's asleep.


Not once that night did I doze off. My concern for the man in my arms has been unlike anything that I had ever felt for someone else before since I received his phone call. I have been anxiously combing his crazy, copper hair with my fingers and humming occasionally all night to keep him sleeping soundly.

The dawn is just peeking through the massive windows when his eyes flutter open.

Groggily, he looks up at me and blinks. "Ana?" he murmurs, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you remember last night, Christian?" I cup his cheek in my hand, stroking my thumb over his cheekbone. He shakes his head, scowling in confusion. "You called me just before midnight in a panic. I came here as fast as I could, and you were sitting outside. Taylor told me you had had a nightmare. You had been drinking, and you broke a glass, which is why your hands are bandaged."

"I remember my nightmare, but nothing after it." He looks at me with something akin to awe in his gaze. "You came here in the middle of the night." It's a statement, but I nod anyway.

I disentangle myself from his hold and slide out of the massive bed. "If you're okay now, I need to be going." I approach my backpack and take out a pair of black skinny jeans, sliding them on.

"Where are you going?" Christian is sitting up, watching me. "Home." I say curtly. I remove a black t-shirt. "May I use your bathroom?" He nods slowly, pointing to the door. "Thank you."

My reflection is a disturbing sight. I seem to be even more pale than usual. Dark circles hang under my eyes. Thin blue lines form a grotesque map under the skin of my arms and hands. Without my shirt, I can make out some of my ribs.

"Ugly lil bitch," Demon slurs. He hurls the beer bottle at my head. I duck, and it shatters on the wall behind me. Smack! My cheek stings.

I gasp, collapsing on the floor and hugging myself.

"Ana?!"

Get up!

I quickly stand, grabbing my shirt and tugging it on. In the doorway, Christian is staring at me in horror. Fuck. He saw.

He steps to the side as I storm out of the bathroom. I snatch up my backpack and jacket and put on my shoes. "Ana," I turn, meeting his disturbed gaze with a hard look. "Do you have to go?" His words and voice are so different from what I thought I was going to hear that I'm thrown. For a moment, I just stare, then respond with a mumbled, "What?" "Do you have to go home?" he asks. "Yes, Christian."

When I leave the bedroom, he follows me. "Stay for breakfast." he insists. "Mrs. Jones!" The woman appears instantly, looking at Christian expectantly. "I would like an omelet and toast, and Miss Steele will have pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and sausage." "Yes, sir." "No!" I glare at Grey, and he narrows his eyes at me. "I won't be having anything, Mrs. Jones. I'm going home, Grey."

I walk to the elevator, and a hand grabs my shoulder, yanking me backwards. Instinctively, I shove my elbow up under his ribs, knocking the air out of him. His hand loosens, and I whirl around. "Don't. Touch. Me." I hiss. His hands rest over the spot where I jabbed him, and he sucks in gulps of air. He's trying to glare at me, but all he can manage is stunned wonder and inquisitiveness.

"Ana," he says, breathy, "you need to eat." He straightens, his breathing regulated. "I'm not hungry." "Ana-" he growls, scowling, and is suddenly in my face, towering over me, and I have to tilt my head back. "You're too skinny." he mutters through clenched teeth. "You're not in charge of me." "Anastasia, you will sit down and eat!" he commands, yelling.

"I am not your dog. I am not your child. I am not yours. Get that through your thick skull." His eyes widen. Of course, because no one ever dares to insult the Great Grey. "I do not care how much money you have or how beautiful you are or how bad your psychological issues are, you cannot throw a temper tantrum when things don't go your way."

Our gazes are locked, both of us practically breathing fire.

Then he snatches me against him, slamming his lips on mine and shoving his tongue into my mouth.

WHAT THE HELL?!

I ram my knee into his groin, and he gasps, releasing me and falling to his knees. His hands cup his genitals as he groans. "Eat a bag of dicks, fuckball." I spit.

Across the room, Taylor and Gail are staring in bewildered horror. I look at them, composing my expression. "Please accept my sincerest of apologies for my foul language. Have a nice day." I say calmly, then turn and call the elevator.


"Steele! Explanation, now." Kate demands as I walk in the door.

"Grey was upset because of reasons I am not going to share and called me, so I went over to help him."

"And?" "This morning he was an extremely controlling asshole, I became pissed, and he kissed me."

Kate's eyes almost pop out of her head. "He what?!" "Kissed me. Of course, my automatic response was to knee him in the balls, tell him to eat a bag of dicks, and call him a fuckball." Kate can do nothing but stare. "What the hell is a fuckball?" she mutters. "I don't know!" I throw my hands in the air, confused by my own terminology. "After that, I apologized to his staff for using foul language, then left."

"Well that's... um... that's..." "Yeah. I'm going to pack." As I start walking toward my bedroom, Kate calls me.

Her expression has softened into something much more gentle and emotional than the Katherine Kavanagh most people know. "We've been roommates for four years, and every year you've taken this trip. You never tell anyone where you're going. Do you know how scary that is? To not know where your best friend is, or what's happening to them?" "Kate, I have to take this trip. It's important to me. I know it's terrifying for you, but I've been taking this trip for years, and I've always came back just fine. This year will be no different." Looking doubtful, she nods.

I walk back to my bedroom and fold and pack a change of clothes into my backpack. I put my toiletries, my phone, and a few books in with the clothes. With a hair elastic, I secure my hand into a ponytail, then I grab my plane ticket and go out into the living room.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kate." I hug her quickly, then leave the apartment and drive to the airport.