Ethan and Morgan are taking off to Morgan's apartment for the evening. They want some privacy which I think is something they aren't feeling with Ryan leaning on the living room wall, eyes blank as he watches them canoodling on the couch. I understand because it's taken me weeks to just feel like I don't have to watch myself with security in attendance – they just are, like air or sunshine. Charlie has texted and she will be picking me up at 7:30 to go to a dance club she "loves." Dress code is jeans and t-shirts … she emphasizes this is not the kind of place that does wet t-shirt contests. Considering I hadn't even thought of that, I am relieved.
I let Ryan know my schedule then go to my room for a nap. For some reasons, although I'm still teary, everything feels better. I have ditched the whole craziness that is Christian Grey. I have given him my terms and by God I showed more sensibility and maturity with that little piece of computer paperwork than in our whole time together. I'm not a whore … whoa! Is that it? Is Christian, besides getting his sexual jollies, getting off on recreating how he perceived his mother's life as a prostitute using crack cocaine? Maybe he'd seen her and her customers and pimp doing this bizarre shit … but not all of it. But I'd bet he saw her beaten, a lot of the time with belts. What else did a man use when he wanted to turn himself on with a prostitute, if he wanted to make it very aggressive? He took off his belt and beat the woman's ass.
I turn over and look at the ceiling over my bed. That was it. Christian was selecting women who looked like his mother and abusing and abasing them just as he'd seen from when he was born to when the cops took him away from that apartment with his mother's dead body. He hadn't made it one step past what he had experienced as child. Not when it came to relationships with women, loving ones, that is. He couldn't. Despite being raised in that wealthy home with Grace and Carrick who obviously loved and cared for him, Christian hadn't been moved from psychologically from his youngest years.
Wow. I had gone into the completely wrong major. I should have done social work or something. I let the sarcasm of my thoughts go, settled down, and napped. When I woke up I dressed in skinny black jeans and a matching t-shirt with a ruffle of pink lace at the sleeves, added ballet flats. Cute. I redid my ponytail, added some makeup … basic eye stuff and lip-gloss. And I was ready.
Not in the mood for food, I sat on the couch and grilled Ryan on his opinions involving the Seattle Seahawks. I'd spent enough years at Clayton's Hardware that I could talk like an expert about football, basketball, hockey, soccer … you name a mostly male-enjoyed sport, I could probably hit you with a few sentences to impress. Ryan was enthusiastically discussing training camp activities when Charlie arrived. I did a vague introduction and Ryan listed the facts of life.
As long as Miss Steele had security assigned to her – and I was pretty sure that should be ending soon – I would be under watch to ensure my safety and well-being at all times. He used his phone, a quick text, and a minute later as Charlie finished signing the NDA Ryan had produced – surprised the hell out of me – two men walked through my front door. Ryan quickly introduced them as Katts and Bron, and stated they would be following us to the club.
Charlie gave them her best Southern belle smile, linked arms with me, and we were off. Charlie had an older-model Oldsmobile that had plenty of room. Ryan suggested he drive and we slid into the back seat. Charlie was laughing and excited, joking that she felt like a VIP. She had a hundred questions about the NDA and demanded to know the name of this ex-boyfriend. She must have been busy in some other part of the party last night when Christian arrived and then carried me out. So I just keep my lip zipped about Christian's name, but answer questions otherwise.
We make it to the club. It's called Neighbours and the line hasn't even started because we are so early. Suits me, and we spend the first hour getting some food – which was surprisingly good – and Charlie shows me around. She's a frequent flyer here and I am impressed by how two of the DJs know her name, as well as bartenders and even one of the "hosts." Charlie grabs security and introduces Ryan. They sort things out while we go to the second level dance floor and get things started.
The music here is what I'd label Club Favorite. Kate has spent four years practicing dance moves to the music frequently played, so I can list you about the current top twenty. Charlie hears the opening tracks of "Next To Me by Emeli Sandi" and drags me onto the floor. The music blasts out, the spot lights and rotating color wheels fill the cavernous are, other patrons, some already under the influence, crush the floor. And our night begins. By midnight I'm having a great time, fueled by beer – which I dutifully only drink from the bottles Ryan brings me. Charlie and I have figured out signals as old as time. If she wants to dance with one of the men surrounding us, she wrinkles her nose. If she's not interested, she blinks once. If she wants me to intervene between her and the blink, she touches her chin. It's hilarious! She's leaving a pile behind her as we move around the floor. I head for the bathroom line and listen as Next To Me gets another run:
You won't find him drinking under tables
Rolling dice and staying out 'til three
You won't ever find him be unfaithful
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
You won't find him tryna chase the devil
For money, fame, for power, out of greed
You won't ever find him where the rest go
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
When the money's spent and all my friends have vanished
And I can't seem to find no help or love for free
I know there's no need for me to panic
Cos I'll find him, I'll find him next to me
When the skies are grey and all the doors are closing
And the rising pressure makes it hard to breathe
When all I need is a hand to stop the tears from falling
I will find him, I'll find him next to me
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
I will find him, I'll find him next to me
When the end has come and buildings falling down fast
When we've spoilt the land and dried up all the sea
When everyone has lost their heads around us
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
Next to me ' wooh hooo
You will find him, you'll find him next to me
Ryan keeps his back to the wall and watches all the people coming and going like they are potential serial killers. Bron positions himself at the emergency exit. Lord, these guys are just wasted on watching me. The President of the United States needs these guys. I think the country would be better served with them at the White House!
I make it home a little after four in the morning and fall into bed. My last thought is that I miss Christian.
Sunday I make my day. By noon I am up and ready for an angst-free afternoon. I pack what I need into a backpack, check out the transit map, then organize Cottie and we are off to Bradners Garden Park off 29th Street. It has beautiful landscaped gardens by college students. And with it being a beautiful day, there are plenty of people. I select a nice patch of grass, spread my blanket and get to reading. I've brought with me Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson. The author's name reminds me to text Kate, asking how she's doing.
To my surprise, she texts back that she and Elliot Grey are flying back to Barbados for the last week of her vacation and wanting to know why Christian and I hadn't shown up for the Coping Together Fundraising thing last night. She would have texted me or called last night, but she'd left her phone at The Heathman hotel.
Ok … I hadn't known I was invited, first off. I mean, Christian had been very clear that his Submissives were not seen socially with him. Perhaps Grace had invited me, she probably did all his Subs, and this may have been the first time there was a crossover with Elliot and Kate knowing me and being involved. What a pain in the neck! I text her saying that Christian and I aren't together, I just went over to help them get ready for the party.
It takes Kate all of one minute to call me. "What the hell, Steele? I'm not a dweeb!"
I sigh. "I never thought you were."
"Then why were you with Christian, Mia says he was all over you, on Saturday afternoon, then no one can find either one of you last night?" Kate sounds pissed. "They kept asking me all night long, like I'm your owner or something!" So that was her problem … she wasn't the center of attention. Kate Kavanaugh is wonderful, but she is spoiled and expects to be number one. She usually is number one in most situations, after all she's smart and is definitely an Alpha Female.
"Look, Christian and I aren't seeing each other."
"You had a fight," Kate interprets.
"No. I just deserve someone who doesn't -" have written The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities that are outlined in hard limits – "yell so much."
"Oh. Okay." Kate obviously doesn't know how to take that. "People yell, Steele."
"He's got the gold medal in yelling. So tell me all about the thing." I know how to lead Kate to her favorite topic = Kate.
For the next half hour I listen to all the details. Elliot bought her first dance for twenty thousand dollars and Kate thought that was terribly romantic. I can't believe that people are still being sold in these days and times. It's what Ray always says, "Rich people play a different game than the rest of us, kiddo." After she hangs up as they prepare for takeoff, I open my book and get to reading.
Five hours later I am utterly replete with the words of someone else filling my mind. Sawyer and Cottie are providing a pleasant wall between me and the normal flying objects that come at me when I am out at parks or on the university lawns. I suspect it's my klutzy nature that makes guys misthrow footballs, baseballs, Frisbees, and whatever else at me. I used to try and throw that stuff back to them until I realized that sports wasn't my thing and just waited for them to come and get their toys. They usually wanted to apologize and talk for a few minutes. But I'm good at being disinterested, so they depart within a few minutes. But after Cottie had gotten tired of playing catch, she'd muttered something about "get a grip" and Sawyer had arrived a little later. After that only the guys that feel really guilty for accidentally throwing something near my blanket come over. And Sawyer gives them a look that suggests they find a different outdoor activity.
See? There are some benefits to security.
Back at home, to thank them, I make another two pans of lasagna. By the time Ethan returns to the apartment we all four sit down to a peaceful dinner. Ethan's the type that puts people at their ease instantly and within fifteen minutes he has everyone chatting. After the dishes are done I curl up on the couch and finish reading. For the second night in a row I have a peaceful sleep.