Thank you so much! Craziness here, hope you enjoy lol.
All is revealed lol.
Chapter 25
It wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to find my Christian Grey folder collection at all. We weren't ready for this yet. I was going to show him eventually, of course I would, but... maybe once we were married and I'd already had him bound to me legally by matrimony. But oh, no! No, no, no!
If I were truly crazy, I would probably be the one feeling upset and betrayed that he apparently snooped under my bed, grabbing my folder. I mean, what an invasion! What an invasion of my privacy!
Yet, here I stand, utterly helpless and emotionless as his gaze alternates from me, to my collection, then back to me again. My hands begin to shake as I hold the plate of our burnt toast and peanut butter for breakfast, my body feeling numb. Is this definitely the part where he leaves me?
Idiot, my inner Gollum chastises me. Silly, silly, silly. We should have hid it better from Master! Master does not have the strength for this right now, our precious Master needs to rest! I shut that inner voice up by shaking my head several times.
"Christian," I manage. It comes out a sob.
"Anastasia, what is this?" he tries again, and then my heart is crushed viciously when he sits the folder on the bed, abruptly getting to his feet. "Are you even going to answer me?" He snatches up my folder, waving it around at me. "Ana, what is this?"
He's breathing loudly in a panicked, frightened way, staring at me as though I'm a rottweiler, a rabid Cujo about to strike and bite him. Or a crazy disgusting Mega-Beast even. I'm none of those things, truly. Of course I'm not. I'm so utterly devoted to him, we're a match made in Heaven. I'm his perfect girl, his wife. So why is he looking at me in that way? Like I'm coo-coo crazy?
No! No! He wasn't supposed to react this way at all! I mean, he called me his wife a few minutes ago for goodness sake! It may have been unintentional and playful when he said it, but... still! His reaction isn't supposed to be like this!
"How long have you been doing this? I mean..." He pauses, glancing down at the folder again. Then he lays it on the bed, rifling through the plastic pockets, going through my stash of articles, of interviews and pictures. In another circumstance, I would have found it sexy, him naked, rifling through my folder, his Little Christian erect. But not now, not in this circumstance. "The first one is dated last year, Anastasia? The interview I did last year for GQ magazine when I was rated Sexiest Man of the Year? Nearly eight months ago?"
"I told you, Christian."
I'm surprised I can even manage to find my voice, I'm that lightheaded and shaky. I accidentally drop our breakfast because my fingers feel weak. It clatters to the floor, burnt toast and peanut butter smearing all over at my feet. Crumbs, too. I don't even care. Right now doesn't seem like an eating sort of time, even although we should be celebrating after he incidentally called me his wife.
"I... I've been fairly honest with you up to this point. I told you I liked you ever since that interview I saw of you on NBC over eight months ago!"
"And you've been doing this ever since? You've been collecting shit about me?" I feel like he's quivering at me, he's literally quivering with fear, with disgust. His upper body is shaking. "All of the interviews I did and the... the photo-shoots?"
"Yes, that's right," I whisper quietly. I can feel tears gathering in my eyes. This just wasn't supposed to happen at all!
"And what the fuck is this then, Anastasia?" he demands, and he brandishes the little pocket with the piece of his chest hair that I stuck in there for safekeeping. "Is that my... my pubic hair?"
"God no." I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to stop from shivering. My nips are standing erect, though I hardly think that's due to Christian. It's chilly in here, and the situation sort of gives you a frosty feeling. "I would never be so gross as to collect your pubic hair, Christian!"
"Then where? Where's it from?" I really wish he would stop raising his voice at me. He makes it sound like I'm a monster, a despicable person.
"F-f-from your chest, that's all. It's just from your chest, from... from that first night we made love at your apartment. You were sleeping, and you..." Despite the tears trailing down my cheeks, I can't help smiling weakly at the memory. "You were sleeping so peacefully. I don't think you even noticed. I mean, clearly you didn't."
He gazes at me warily at my confession, then he moves, grabbing his clothes. Shit, fuckity fuck. No, no. He's leaving! No! Master can't leave us! Master needs us!
"Christian," I plead hopelessly when he starts stepping into his trousers. "Christian, please. You don't need to-"
"-Yes, I do," he snaps, and I notice he won't look at me. He buttons his trousers, searching for his shirt from around the bed on the floor.
He's leaving me, and funnily enough, a part of me always suspected he would once he truly knew the extent of my devotion, of my loyalty and my love. It didn't matter what he said, how we spoke so much, how he confessed his childhood and listened to mine, accepting my abandonment issues due to my mother. It's not enough. He's leaving.
"You're such a hypocrite!" I scream out through my mouth, and I think it's finally my inner Alex Forrest speaking, going into damage control mode. "What about you, Christian!"
"What about me?"
"What about your collection, huh?" I cry, my voice a wail. I step forward a few paces, treading over crumbs and peanut butter, watching miserably as he throws on his jacket. "What about that night when we first made love and you took me back to your penthouse, how you... you had my lipstick which you'd stolen from breaking into here! My favorite lipstick, Christian!"
Finally, he looks at me as he steps forward, running a hand through his hair. He's still breathing shallowly, like he's in shock, but at least he isn't staring at me in that disgusted way anymore. What is he thinking?
"Oh, and let's not forget my hair, Christian! My hair that you stole from my hairbrush! You act so offended and all Mr Innocent that I took a piece of your chest hair when you took some of my hair, too!"
"Eight months," he mutters, and there's a strange gleam to his eyes that I cannot work out. I hate that I can't. "This has been going on for eight months, Anastasia. Now how am I meant to compete with that?"
What? Compete with that?
"What? What are you... what are you saying, Christian?"
"I'm leaving. I've got some work to do." It's worse than I could ever have imagined.
He moves past me, careful not to touch me. I tighten my arms over my chest, wishing that somehow I could reach straight in to squish my aching insides as my knees buckle beneath the enormity of the pain when I hear him reach the front door of my apartment. My inner Gollum is shrieking, and he wants to run after Master, begging, pleading. I do, too.
Without thought, I storm out, rushing towards the door. Christian's bending down, lacing up his shoes.
"You can't leave me, Christian," I mutter desperately. "You're being like her. You said you wouldn't be like her."
"Like who, Anastasia?" He glances up at me, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "I don't remember saying anything like that?"
Maybe I'm getting my thoughts all jumbled? To be honest, I can't even remember any previous conversations we had all that well, because I am so in the moment, so wrapped up in the fact that he is leaving me and how unbearable it feels. "I...I assured you that I wouldn't be like her, that I... I wouldn't be like how your mother was, how Grace was whenever she'd go into the shop for milk and you were always petrified she'd leave you."
My legs give out then, and I fall to the ground, sobbing hysterically. Here goes my Alex Forrest.
"Now you're here leaving me," I mumble through sobs.
I hear him sigh loudly. "Anastasia, I got a call from work." No, he didn't. I can tell he didn't. I didn't hear his phone go off. "There's some... stuff I need to do."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I croak out, and cave into myself against the wall, tucking my knees in, covering my face with my hands. "Work didn't call you, Christian! Your... your phone didn't ring! You're lying to me because you're running due to my folder collection! You think I can't see that?"
God, I always thought I would never be like this, that I could control myself. I would never let him see this side of me, the obsessed, broken, clingy side of me. But it's too late now.
"Anastasia, get up. You don't belong on your knees, on the floor."
"What?" I dash my tears away quickly, uncovering my face to peer up at him from where he's standing by the door. I probably look a mess, all snotty and teary and puffy-eyed. "Please, Christian," I beg, trying to peer into his eyes desperately. He glances away from me, down at the floor with another loud, pained sigh. "Please, don't leave me. I know it... it looks bad, the folder and the, um, the chest hair, but I-"
"- It is bad," he argues over me, his voice rising. He leans against the door, breathing loudly, burying both hands in his hair. "It's very... bad, Anastasia."
"I... I thought you understood? I... I thought I was being honest with you all those times when I told you about how I saw you on TV? I mean, there's a poster on my bedroom ceiling, for goodness sake, Christian! I told you how I use my Rabbit vibrator while looking up into your eyes!" Getting up onto my knees, I start slithering towards him, pleading, begging. I'm willing to even lick his shoes- that's how deep my devotion rests. "How could you not know?"
Reaching his shoes and his legs, I lean in, brushing the side of my face up into his crotch, wiping away my tears on the fabric.
"Ana," he breathes, and there's so much pain in his voice, so much desperation. "I told you-" He begins, then he stops. He reaches down, stroking my hair gently, the top of my head. "Get up. I told you... you don't belong on your knees in front of me. If anything, I should be on my knees, worshiping you."
He should be on his knees worshiping me? Mmm.
I ignore him, sobbing again, nuzzling around his crotch. My precious baby Christian. MY Christian, mine, mine, mine.
This is me, all of me. The clingy, creepy ugly Alex Forrest Fatal Attraction me. I'm baring it all, leaving it all at his feet, his knees. He just can't leave me like this. Can't he see that?
"I just... ever since I saw that interview of you, I knew," I wail into his trousers. He fists my hair, stroking gently. "And then when I met you, I... I knew even more, Christian. It's just this feeling that you get. You know?" I can feel the delicious heat of him through the material. It's soothing. Addictive. "Like you meet someone or you... you see someone, and you know."
"Know what?"
"I knew that you..." I hesitate, lifting up to glance up at him through my wet eyelashes. He peers down at me, slipping his hands over my face, stroking me with his thumbs. Ooh, my precious. "I knew that we belonged together, that we were... meant to be. Even just seeing you, far away, on that interview on NBC, I knew, Christian. I knew what we were meant to be."
I think my words, freaky as they, are affecting him. He stares down at me, sadly, helplessly, breathing rapidly. I feel a tent rise in the crotch of his trousers. Its so beautiful, that demonstration alone. It lifts my heart, makes me sing. But that's us. We're kinky freaky, and that's what makes us perfect together. He loves my freaky, and I love his freaky too. All of him.
I can tell he finds it so hot, what I'm saying, how I'm laying all the cards out onto the table. A groan leaves his throat as he leans his head back against the wall, his eyes clenching closed like my words are his lifeline, his bliss; his hands tight on my face. Just like that, I'm reassured. He isn't leaving me anymore.
He's seen this side of me- ugly, pathetic, desperate as it is- and he's aroused by it. My freaky doesn't scare him because his own freaky matches mine, too. And it's kinky and its ours.
"I am obsessively, passionately, murderously in love with you, Christian." It tears out of my mouth shakily before I can stop myself. Oh, shit. No, no! I wasn't meant to say that! That's going too far!
"You're what?" He swallows as his eyes pop open, his gaze falling down on me. His eyes are wide, panicked and fearful.
Since I figure I can't dig my own hole any deeper, I say it again, trying to muster all my emotion, all my heart into it. "I'm obsessively, passionately... murderously in love with you, Christian. Can't you see that?"
I was going to wait until he said it first. Or at the very least, on our wedding day. But it's too late now, and I can't suck it back in.
He shuts his eyes, exhaling deeply. "No, Ana. No, you..."
No, Ana? What?
"No, that's..." When he opens his eyes slowly, glancing back down at me, stroking my face, that fear is there in his eyes again. "But you can't love me."
I can't love him? What the fudge? The hell I can!
"But I am in love with you," I say vehemently, keeping my eyes on his, my vision blurring with tears. He makes a deep, revolted noise at my words, shaking his head. Like he's in denial. "I am, and I... I do, Christian."
"You won't," he says, and he makes a noise again. "Once you see, you won't anymore, Anastasia. You won't want to, once you truly... see." Silly Billy Chrissy.
"Oh, but I do see." Ungracefully, I get to my knees, then stand, running my hands up along his legs as I go. "I see, and I... I love every part of you, Christian."
"No, Ana, you... you don't. You won't once you... see what I want to show you."
Oh, my god. Are we really going to fight over this right now?
"Then take me," I demand, glancing up at his face desperately. "Take me and show me whatever it is that you damn well need to show me, Christian." Sliding my hands up around his broad shoulders, caressing him, I go to touch his face, to hold that precious skull of his like he's doing mine. But he catches my hands in his, holding them tightly, his eyes searching my face as he breathes shakily. There's still so much fear in his eyes, so much nerves. "Show me whatever it is that you need to show me, and then, I'll show you."
It feels so good when we walk hand in hand towards wherever it is that he wants to show me in his penthouse. I feel so much better now that I've practically bared my soul to him, now that I have gotten everything off my chest.
I've told him everything, and yet, what's so difficult to believe is that Christian is still here. I was ugly, and Alex Forrest disturbingly obsessive to him, confessing and admitting to my fixation with him the past eight months since his NBC interview aired and yet, he didn't even flinch. He accepted my twisted love, my collection.
He's still here, holding onto my hand, clinging like I imagine he would have done to Grace as a baby boy Christian, paranoid she'll leave, and it's so wonderful. It feels so good. I cannot believe he didn't react badly.
"Now, you've got your phone on you, right?" he mutters anxiously once he leads the way upstairs, beckoning me down along the hallway. We stop at a door- one I haven't paid much attention to in his penthouse before, and he looks at me, breathing deeply before releasing my hand. "You've got your phone ready to call the police?"
"Yes, it's right here, Christian." I show him my phone, and I start feeling sickly nervous myself. It's him. He just looks so petrified, like he's any second away from pooping himself. It's weirdly endearing. I'm sure he's overreacting. Whatever it is, it will play no bearing on my devotion to him whatsoever.
He pulls a key out of his pocket, turning it around with trembling fingers. "Now, it's like I said. It's fifty shades of sheer fuckedup-ness, all right?"
"Christian," I murmur impatiently. He's really starting to annoy me. "What can I do to make you see I'm never going to call the police or leave? What can I even begin to say to convince you?"
"Well, either way, I'll try not to stop you. But if you try to leave, there's no... guarantees that I won't chase after you, screaming at the top of my lungs for you to stop." Surprising me, he searches my face again, then he leans down, putting his nose inches from my hairline. Mr Thin Man from Charlies Angels again, like he's having his last parting sniff, inhaling me in. "Just in case it's the last time," he mutters unevenly, and he breathes me in like nicotine before moving back. "Anastasia, if I get violent or cry, just... knee me in the groin, all right?"
"Just open the damn door and show me already, Christian."
Inserting the key in the door, he unlocks it, taking in a deep breath.
"Fifty shades of fucked up," he reminds me one last time, his voice tight, hoarse.
Then finally, he opens the door, gauging my reaction, standing back to let me in. I so want to know what's in here. I so want to see what has him worried, but he assured me it wasn't something like a dead corpse. Well, I hope not anyway.
Clenching onto my phone, I step slowly into the room. And... I gasp, my eyes widening.
Holy cheese-balls. This gives new meaning to the term 'Stalker shrine'.
The first thing I notice, is that he lied to me. He hadn't wanted pairs of my underwear just so that he could make a quilt with them. No, he wanted them for an entirely different reason altogether; He's hung red rope or cable tie or something from one corner of the ceiling to another, attached by hooks at both ends. Dangling on the rope, like a homemade indoor washing line, are pairs of my underwear, my unwashed panties.
There is a mannequin like the ones from a clothes shop sitting on an old antique leather armchair. He's dressed her up in a light brown haired wig (oddly enough, a wig matching the color of my hair strikingly well) and she's wearing... hey, are they my clothes?
He must have stolen some clothes from my house, ones he wouldn't think I'd notice were missing. Well, he succeeded obviously because I hadn't known those clothes were even gone from my apartment wardrobe.
The outline of her lips are coated with what looks like my favorite red lipstick that I know he stole when he broke into my bedroom that time. Did he put lipstick on her, my lipstick? Has he been kissing the mannequin, pretending she's me? My inner Gollum is not too pleased by the idea of that.
But what gets to me, most of all, is what I see on every corner of every wall that I turn.
It's everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. Me. Pictures. Pictures that Jose Rodriguez took of me, I'm pretty sure. Which means...
"Oh my God," I mutter in shock, in fear. "This... this is huge, Christian?"
I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle down the urge to gag, wandering around, staring up at the pictures on the canvases, at my face that peers back at me in various expressions; Smiling, laughing. Pouting.
As the realization dawns onto me, I dart around to look at Christian. He won't meet my gaze, but he's lurking behind me, skulking in case I probably try to do a runner. "You're him? You're Paul Spector, the... the guy that purchased all the canvases of me for over two thousand dollars, Christian?"
"Fifty shades of fucked-up," he mutters by way of explanation.
I watch him as he stares at all the canvases on the walls, his expression softening, something bright and burning in his eyes as he stares at me on the canvases. Whoa, is that his look of infatuation? Admiration? My inner Gollum loves that, a lot.
"Oh my," I whisper nervously, covering my mouth as I walk to where a glass covered cabinet is. There's that hair in there, those strands that I noticed he'd taken from my house. My lipstick down on another boxed see-through shelf. And... "Jesus," I mutter, not sure whether to feel disgusted or truly humbled or not. "Remember how I called you a hypocrite earlier on today when you tried to leave all because I collected your chest hair? Well, double that!"
There's a tampon in there. My used tampon, because Kate definitely doesn't get her periods anymore now that she takes the pill to stop it.
"This is bad, Christian," I scold him, moving closer. The hairs stick up eerily on the nape of my neck when I feel him behind me, looking himself. "This is really, really bad. A used tampon? When did you get that from my apartment?"
"Remember when I slept over that night and you caught me going through your trash at three am in the morning?"
Holy crap, and there I had been, thinking he was simply looking through my bin for food scraps because he was hungry. How naive I was.
I begin to feel a little ill as I turn to face him, finding him standing closer than I anticipated. "I don't even want to begin to know what you do with that, Christian?"
"It's in plastic," he says defensively. "It's not like I-"
"-Well, you keep warning me that you're fifty shades of fucked-up, Christian. In my definition, doing something with my used tampon is fifty shades of fucked-up?"
"What? No!" His eyes widen as he glances down at the tampon himself, all neat and wrapped in its glass cabinet. "I just... I wanted something to do with you. I... I needed it for this."
"What do you mean 'you wanted something to do with me', Christian?"
He grimaces as he meets my gaze, almost apologetic. "It's my Anabilia, that's all."
His what? "Your what?" I probe in disbelief.
"My Anabilia. It... it's extremely precious to me."
"Your Ana-bab-"
"- Ana-bilia," he explains slowly, exaggerating the two words so I can understand. "That's Ana with memorabilia, sort of a mix between the two." He's suddenly like a nerd, gushing enthusiastically about his car or figurine collection, "Because, as you can see, this room is filled with Ana, and you're Ana, but... all of this is memorabilia, like a collection of objects that are associated with you, things that are strictly you and things that you've... touched." He speaks about it all with so much intensity, so much passion, like he's really dedicated to this. Wow.
Holy fuck. How am I supposed to react to this? This is too much.
While it's sort of sweet and romantic, him dedicating an entire room to all things me, it's... nerve-wracking. Slightly overwhelming. "Does anyone else know about this?" I ask, shocked. "I mean, has anyone else seen all of this?"
"Of course not. No one else is even allowed in here, Anastasia, hence why I keep it locked. Only I have the key."
I scratch my head as I stare up at an obnoxiously huge picture of me grinning, feeling so, so overwhelmed. God, there's so much stuff. I wasn't expecting this at all. It's so... hardcore compared to my collection of him. The only mainly gross thing that I did was collect his chest hair, whereas he has a used tampon, my hair. I don't even know what to think right now.
There are so many questions on my mind right now. I've since accepted that we are kinky freaky, but... is this too kinky freaky to me? Can I handle it, the room and all the canvases and the... the used tampon? Can I look past this- what's he called it, his Anabilia?
"Say something," Christian commands, his voice soft, pleading. When I glance over at him again, he looks so worried, so on-guard, like he's bracing himself for me to run for the hills screaming.
"What do you want me to say, Christian? I mean... what can I possibly say right now?
"Just give me a brief overview," he mutters urgently. "Just let me know what you're thinking, where your heads at."
What am I thinking, other than freaking the eff out while being weirdly flattered by this? "Okay. Well, I'm thinking that... this is scary, Christian."
"Scary?"
"Yep." My eyes drift over to that lone tampon again. I shiver. "That tampon is actually a huge issue for me."
"Then I'll get rid of it, I swear. Anything for you." My heart races a little at the declaration, at how heated and sincere he sounds. "Anything else you wish to tell me, in regards to your feelings right now?"
I may be kinky freaky, but apparently that doesn't overcloud my judgment badly. I feel the urge to leave, to get out of this room. It's too much. Overwhelming. Romantically, perversely overwhelming. "I feel a little... sick actually," I admit slowly, and I press my fingers against my lips, holding them shut as I turn to meet him again.
Christian's entire face falls as he scrutinizes me. "Sick?" he repeats, and he starts panting. "Anastasia, I'll get rid of the tampon, I swear. Just please don't-"
"- I... I need to be alone, Christian. I need to... to process this."
"In here?"
"No, out of here. Like far, far away from you." I turn to leave, my head jumbled. God, what to think? How to feel? "I need to be alone for a while. I just... this is huge, Christian."
"You're leaving me, aren't you?" How funny. It's like me this morning, but the roles are well in reverse. Am I going to leave him now that I've discovered this?
"Of course not, Christian." I can't even bring myself to face him. "I just... I need to go home right now."
This is huge! That room was huge, and he even had a new name created up for it, a combination of my name along with memorabilia! How do I process that level of admiration, that level of devotion that he's showing me?
I press the button, calling the elevator up. It's only when the doors open and I'm safely inside it that I find the strength to face him. He stares back at me, that serial-killer serious look on his face, fear and something similar to warmth shining in his eyes.
"Why do I get the feeling that you're running away from me? Like I'm... too many shades of fucked up for you?" he asks me, concern in his voice. "Look, Anastasia, I meant what I said. I'll get rid of the tampon, I just... you can't leave me."
As the elevator doors begin to slide closed, his face vanishing, I whisper it beneath my breath while my inner Gollum mourns the loss of his precious, beautiful face; a shocked murmur-gasp at the revelation.
"Holy fuck. He's passionately, obsessively, murderously in love with me too."
What did you think? Hope it wasn't a disappointment. Lol, hope I made you laugh somewhat anyway, and I know it's overboard and unrealistic but it's fun trying to imagine what would happen if two people were extremely obsessed with each other lol. Would love to know your feelings anyway :) I know some of you are disappointed Ana just got in the elevator, but poor girl is in a state of shock. She'll come around. If you have anything you'd like to see happen as far as plotwise, etc, feel free to let me know as its appreciated and most welcome.