CHAPTER 25 – SHOCKWAVES
This is a story that I have never told
I gotta get this off my chest to let it go
I need to take back the light inside you stole
You're a criminal
And you steal like you're a pro
All the pain and the truth
I wear like a battle wound
So ashamed, so confused
I was broken and bruised
-Warrior (Demi Lovato)-
(APOV – Flashback)
Surprisingly, I had forgotten how much this place intimidates me. Stepping through the glass doors of Christian's building, across the marbled floors and towards the reflective elevators, I keep my head down feeling self-conscious around the beautiful models my boyfriend has a penchant for employing, all who either look past me or dismissively at me. I feel a little ridiculous now that I'm here, carrying my stupid basket that holds my surprise lunch for Christian.
He had called me first thing in the morning wishing me good luck, and apologized for not being able to meet for lunch like we had talked about. He was more upset than I that he couldn't be with me on my first day of work, something that makes my insides melt just a little bit more for him. To lift my mood, I quickly made lunch for the both of us in hopes of surprising Christian and sneaking a few minutes of alone time with him. It's barely been a day since we've seen each other, but already it feels too long. The yearning in the pit of my belly to be with him makes my heart quiver shyly, overwhelmed by what I feel for him. It's startling and exciting all at once, and in my heart I'm certain these feelings will only deepen as we get to know each other. I ache for him whenever we're apart.
Nervously fiddling my fingers, I try to calm my breathing. Suddenly this feels like a very bad idea as I take each measured step towards his office. What if he's too busy? Of course he is, that's why we couldn't have lunch. What if he thinks this is a stupid idea? Did I really think my billionaire boyfriend would find it cute to eat on a worn blanket on the floor?
Helplessly watching as the executive elevator carries me to the top, I try to push the buttons for the lower floors to make this journey revert itself. It doesn't.
The ping sounds, and I step off feeling frumpy and far too casual in my cream colored sleeveless wrap dress and skinny gold belt. I take a quick inventory of everyone around me – their sharp designer suits and perfectly coifed tresses, mine a loose wave of… brown. I tug at the ruffle at the front of my $60 designer sale dress; it looked cute and professional at the time, but now I feel I might as well be wearing Wal-Mart or some bottom of the bin 'Last Chance' clearance item.
"May I help you?" The blonde robot asks politely from the front desk. Her perfectly veneered teeth and smoky eyes study me and my poor attempts at looking professional. Yeah, yeah, my entire outfit probably cost less than your manicure. I get it.
"I'm just here to see Chr- er, Mr. Grey." I say softly.
"Mr. Grey does not take walk-ins." She continues to smile benignly; I imagine her reaching somewhere behind the desk for some sort of emergency panic button signalling a trollop in the building. Said trollop is me, basket and all.
"Um, yes, sorry I'm aware. May I just speak with his assistant Andrea for a moment? She'll understand." I lie through my teeth. I doubt Andrea even remembers who I am.
She grits, her mediocre farce slipping. "One moment." She picks up the phone. "Andrea, there's a Miss-" She waits for my name. I give it. "Miss Steele here to speak with you? She's aware Mr. Grey does not see anyone without an appointment-"
I'll never know the end of that sentence as Andrea, with her red-soled heels clacking briskly into the main reception area, personally greets me.
"Miss Steele, so sorry about all of this. Please, come in. Can I get you a tea or something else to drink? Again I'm so sorry for this, Mr. Grey is just finishing up a meeting at the moment but I can let him know you're here." Andrea chatters about, cool and efficient. She escorts me through the foyer which branches out into several corridors towards conference rooms, managerial offices, and of course, Christian's home away from home. Everything is luxurious and top of the line, more so than the rest of the building if that were at all possible. Here is where some of the top players in Christian's company reside, and I feel almost sacrilege in being here, sneaking my way past the heavily guarded gates.
"It was no problem at all, Andrea. And please, call me Ana. I was just hoping Mr. Grey would be available for a quick lunch, he said he wouldn't be able to step out today since he has back-to-back meetings." I mumble.
"That's very kind of you. He was just finishing up when I last spoke with him, but please just go right in."
"Oh no, that's okay. I can wait."
"Please, Miss Steele, Ana. I've been given direct instructions from Mr. Grey himself that you are not to wait, and to alert him immediately of your presence whenever you visit. Emergency or not."
He did? I smile.
"Um, if you're sure it's okay? You said he was finished his meeting?" I feel the slightest bump in my confidence knowing of this VIP status my dear boyfriend has appointed me with.
She nods assertively. I kindly thank her as I stand before walking towards his door. Opening it, my cheeks flame instantly as I realize he's not alone. In my mind I was thinking it was a conference call of sorts.
Christian is sat casually on the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled up and blazer off, with an older man in the seat across from him. They both look up when they hear the door open and I stop immediately, my heels firmly planted on the ground to silence their clicking.
"I'm so sorry!" I apologize, my head falling in embarrassment. "I- your assistant said that it was okay if I just came in, she said you were finished your meeting… I should've called or knocked… I'm so sorry Christian. Oh gosh… please, I'll just go." I go to turn only to feel his familiar hand gently grab mine. I look up shyly to see his smiling face, pulling me back into the room. "I'm sorry." I murmur.
"What a lovely surprise." He whispers back, smiling. "Stay."
"I should go, you're busy."
"I'm not." He grins.
"Christian-"
He doesn't let me finish as me closes the door behind me, pulling me further into the room. "Dad, I'd like you to meet Anastasia. Ana, this is my dad Carrick Grey."
Oh!
"Hello, nice to meet you." I splutter. "I'm so sorry for rudely barging in here like that."
"That won't be necessary. Pleasure to meet you." He says as he stands, shaking my hand firmly. "I was just on my way out in fact."
"Please don't let me interrupt. I can just go Christian, we can talk later." I make to leave once more but this time it's the older Mr. Grey's voice that halts me.
"Ana, please, take a seat. Son, thank you for squeezing me in today, and sorry for taking up all of your time, which could have been spent with this lovely young lady. We'll talk again tonight."
"Not a problem dad, thanks. We'll talk tonight."
I watch as they shake hands, his dad smiling politely as he bids his goodbyes. The door clicks and I give Christian a nervous smile. I'm such a bonehead! Who in their right mind just saunters into CEO offices? I'm really not used to this. I think I need to revisit Decorum 101.
"I'm an idiot." I blurt in order to fill the silence. Christian sits back down on the edge of his desk, a grin on his face.
"Have you gone picking fruit?" He teases. "Or are you on your way to grandma's house? Careful, I hear there are wolves in those woods."
My body tingles from his playfulness and the fact that he's referencing children's tales. I was sure he'd be all kinds of pissed at my rude interruption; Christian takes his work very seriously I was certain he wouldn't take all that well to my poor behaviour.
"I'm sorry. I just thought you'd like some lunch. You said your day was really busy and I didn't want you to be hungry." I tell him softly as he takes the basket and sets it on his desk.
"That was very sweet of you." He smiles. "Thank you."
"You sure you're not upset?"
"Not in the least, baby. I've missed you; I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all morning. Tell me how your day's been."
After setting the blanket on the floor, pillows from the couch used as our cushions, I give him a brief rundown of my morning. I feel shy and giddy all at once, an adrenaline high whirring through me from my first day of work. The sweetest of smiles he affords me as I continue to babble on about my day makes my palms sweat, amongst other things. His attention is focused strictly on me, and as uncomfortable as I can be with that kind of attention, it makes me feel special nonetheless knowing that it's his. His genuine interest in my day makes me feel cherished and important, things I'm not used to feeling.
Finishing our lunch, we treat ourselves to a few minutes of tender kissing on his couch. Sitting across his lap, in the middle of his workday, he kisses me softly and playfully, his wandering hands needing gentle reminders of where we are and that I should be getting back to the office. He caresses my ankle with his hand, his nose sweeping across my cheek, ignoring me.
"Or we could just call it a day and head home and finish this?" He croons temptingly. Those soft lips tickle my collarbone, enticing me to cave.
"You need to behave yourself, Mr. Grey. You can't be caught with your pants down to your ankles, what would your employees think?" I tease.
"That I just tapped this fine specimen." He grabs a handful of my bottom. Mmmm. "And that they're all fucking jealous." He chuffs smugly.
"Ah, Mr. Grey, you give me far too much credit. Alas, I'm just a homely girl, who must get back to work. Perhaps tonight we can finish what we started?" I begin to stand, peppering his face with kisses.
"Oh trust me, you can count on it." He promises, walking me to the elevators. Just as the doors are closing, he takes one last glimpse over his shoulder, his sexy smirk in place and a wink to send me over the edge. I nearly press the emergency button to get the doors to re-open but at the last second I reign in my raging libido and bid him goodbye.
Tonight. Yes, definitely looking forward to tonight.
(APOV - Present)
When I wake up from my sudden departure from consciousness, I find myself lying on an uncomfortable yellow stretcher in the emergency room. Paper thin curtains surround me, a futile attempt at privacy. I sit alone, as obnoxious beeping of monitors and the tart scent of antiseptics and body fluids coalesce around me. Busy voices fill the air on the other side of the curtains, pieces of conversations passing by and hurried steps all around me.
With a heavy sigh I lean back on the firm mattress. How am I supposed to get home? I need to call my dad, and Kate to let her know where I am.
And Christian!
The thought resonates loudly in my head.
Christian.
I search around me, a table or chair, anything that might have my purse on it. I come up empty, my belongings nowhere to be seen. I concede my search vaguely wondering if I lost it in the scuffle – The Trampling of Ana Steele.
Story of my life.
Minutes… hours… I can't tell anymore but time blurs together as I lie on my back and pull on the blanket waiting for something to give. Does anyone know I'm here? Does anyone even care? Surely Christian must know; that man probably called him. I miss him, but I'm terrified to know how he'll react to all of this. He's so protective of me, protective by nature I don't want him to know because he'll worry. Why can't I be the one protecting? He shouldn't have to see me like this.
A doctor assesses me, ruling out any major head trauma other than a mild concussion. A nurse takes over for the doctor, her kind smile not in the least bit reassuring as she cleans the scratches and scrapes disfiguring my body.
It's just as well, hideous is as hideous was.
I sharply shake my head at the rogue thought.
The nurse with the pale blue scrubs tends to the two large scrapes on each elbow and one knee, and the road rash scrape across my right cheek and above my right eye. No amount of make-up in the world will be enough to cover this mess I think forlornly. The bump and bruise on the side of my head continues to throb and I nearly strike the nurse as she wipes some antiseptic on my lip, attempting to soften the blow by telling me I won't need stitches. Like I care about that now; all I can feel at the moment is the pulse living inside of my lip. Bitch.
Afterwards she delivers the good news that I haven't broken anything, though a few bruised ribs are going to make it difficult to do anything let alone breathe. Good, because I didn't want to breathe anyways. Once she's done poking and prodding at me and asking if it hurts – of course it fucking hurts – she leaves me be, alone and frightened I almost wish for her to come back.
Now that the blood has dried, and the cuts wiped clean with antiseptics, I try to come up with a plan as I look at the gauzy patches peppering my body hiding the nastier disfigurements. How do I get out of here? How do I get home? My car is still at work, and I'm not even sure how far away this hospital is from where I live. I hope I don't have to stay overnight, what if they make me stay? The thought makes me shudder, an uncomfortable reminder of all the nights I've already spent in a place like this. The nights were long and restless, a scary place to be when your mind is unable to keep dangerous thoughts at bay. This isn't like that, I try to remind myself. I hope it doesn't become like that.
I don't know if it's from exhaustion, shock, or the medications but the next thing I know I'm waking up in a private room. I'm no longer in the emergency room; actual walls surround me this time, a somewhat more comfortable bed underneath me. Slowly blinking the one eye that hasn't started to swell, I take stock of my surroundings. Its dark, the shades drawn though slivers of light peak through the slits. A nearby table with a glass of water and tissue box are next in my sights; though the simple act of raising my hand to get it proves far too exhaustive. Pathetic gasps leave my lips as I try to put my hand back down, forgoing trying to move onto my side as I continue to fully wake, my body deciding to really let me know how much it's hurting.
I'm able to tilt my head to the side enough so that I can see through the tiny door window and the man in the suit pacing about, every few seconds his silhouette appearing before disappearing once more. At one point his gaze catches mine, a curt nod sent my way, his phone never leaving his ear.
The overall fatigue prevents my memory from remembering too much at once, but I find myself trying to piece together parts from earlier today anyway. How long have I been here? What happened? Why does it hurt everywhere? And why is it so fucking dark in here? It's still daytime, right?
I groan thinking of having to move to open the shades to try and get a better read of what time it is. There's no nearby clock, the one on the wall too dark to read. I can barely lift my hand without sending painful spurts of evil pulsing in my bones, the idea of having to look for my phone to check the time or my messages quickly becomes a distant after-thought. Looking down I realize I'm no longer wearing my dress, my ripped dress; instead seeing it sitting on a nearby chair tattered and dirty and no longer wearable. Instead, I'm in a flimsy hospital gown with odd shapes on it, the ties on my back not tied tight enough as I feel the contrast between the gown and the sheets.
Looking back at the dress, I shudder as the memories start to conjoin before me, pieces coming together in a punishing mirage. I change my mind, I don't want to remember.
The flash of the cameras. The loud voices screaming in my face. Pushed to the ground and stepped on, feeling very much like a spectacle on display for their predatory glares. Staring with unforgiving eyes into the dark space in front of me, the memories flip through like a spinning rolodex and image after image start to hastily display before me.
I see the street for the restaurant, a man with dark clothes and a heavy camera around his neck. Another man has a recording device in hand, and another with a scraggly beard and sunglasses as he steps closer towards me. They shout questions at me, sneering out other ones as they multiply – doubling, tripling before me.
I see myself – an odd out of body visual: cowering and pale, shaking so severely I thought my bones would grind to dust. Black-streaked tears trickled down my face helplessly; I can still feel their burning journey down my cheeks and the hoarseness in my throat as my wretched cries begged them to leave me alone.
And if that wasn't dreadful enough, the visuals begin to blur with my past nightmares and Marley and her gang of haters join the crowd and suddenly everyone is present in their I-Hate-Ana Campaign. I'm hiding, running, ducking for cover as her shrill voice cackles telling the others what to do: kick her, spit on her, pull her hair, look at that bitch cry – fucking whore, and the cameras go off flashing and burning, emblazing the room and blinding me I don't even realize I'm screaming out loud.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I wail as I hear hurried, clipped shoes marching towards my room, a herd of people increasing my anxiety with each step. A blood-curdling scream flies out of my mouth as I realize I have no place to run nor the strength to move out of their line of fire. It doesn't stop me, as I try to climb out of the bed, tangled up in sheets and monitor cords. Panicked, I continue to scream for whoever is coming for me to leave me alone, please don't hurt me I haven't done anything, and that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I've done to make them want to hurt me, to make them feel that I deserve this.
When the clipping noises stop, all I hear are my own sobs and heavy breathing.
Slowly I turn my head towards the door only to see Christian, face ashened and eyes wide as he stands at the door. His hair is mussed in disarray; jaw set firmly, his eyes dart around to see who is causing me to scream. But when he realizes it's only me, it only causes the crease in his forehead to deepen.
"Jesus, Ana." He exhales, slowly walking into the room. He regards me carefully, but all I can do is continue to cry, my eyes red and puffy, cheeks caked with dried and fresh tears. I shake my head furiously as he continues to close the distance between us.
Once at my bedside, he slowly reaches for me and immediately I crawl out and pull him tightly to me, the fear overtaking the pain so much so I just need to feel him. My entire body clings onto him as he sits on the edge of the bed in order to carry my weight, my arms and legs wrapped around him trying to breathe through the physical and emotional agony rippling through me. "Are you okay?" His voice shudders, seeking his own comfort from me.
I shake my head, unable to offer anything else. His tight hold on me is nearly suffocating, but the contact of his comforting warmth keeps my body from trembling uncontrollably. His lips on my skin as he offers gentle kisses in my hair and forehead are soothing, but it's not enough. It's a start, but not enough.
"Baby, everything will be okay. I promise you."
"It won't." I sob. "It'll never be okay. This will keep happening to me no matter what. People are always after me, trying to hurt me." I blubber, my fingers digging deep into his flesh. "I just don't understand why everyone hates me. What is it about me that makes people just hate me? I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for whatever it is that I've done."
Christian sharply pulls away from me, his eyes darkening to the point it makes me shiver.
"Who's hurt you?"
"What?"
"Who's hurt you? You said people are always after you. This isn't the first time this has happened?"
I scoff. I know what he's asking, but I can't stop my snide self. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me anymore; perhaps something has finally snapped. "Have I ever been chased by photographers wanting to know who I'm fucking? Yeah, all the time." I hiss sarcastically. I push him away climbing back onto the bed. I've had enough shit for one day.
My tremulous and shaky hands pull the blankets up over me, trying to lie in a position that will place the least amount of pressure on my bruises. Once settled, I sigh in relief. I'm still uncomfortable, but this will have to do.
The bed dips as it accommodates Christian's weight, his face appearing above mine instantly. Gone are the darkened greys, cold from earlier; nowhere to be found are the soft warm greys I've come to see when I close my eyes either. This time, they swirl a cloudy hue: confused and chaotic, his mind working double-time to figure me out. Truthfully, I can't even help him on that one; the defeat I feel is debilitating. I can't keep a hold on my emotions – the overwhelming fear, the humiliation, and the frustration that something like this has happened to me again.
"I get that you're scared." He whispers gently, his genial fingers timidly sweeping over my cheek. "You have every right to be, and I promise to be here for you every goddamn second to make you feel safe again. But Ana, please, please, don't make me the bad guy here." He kisses my cheek. "I suspected the press would be eager for information at some point, but I never thought this would happen. I was taking precautions to protect you, but I never thought these pathetic excuses for grown men and women would trample you to get a goddamn picture!" I sniffle as he studies me with concerned eyes. "Please don't run, I'll do whatever it takes to make you not want to run away from me after this."
I don't know whether or not to laugh or be affronted. In my muddled brain, or perhaps it's the concussion that goes along with hitting your head on the concrete, but I'm having trouble keeping up with him. The fact that he thinks I'm upset because he's Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous personified, and the guilt that he's feeling for dragging me into his exclusive world, is merely laughable. In my sick head at least. No, sweet boyfriend of mine, that's not it at all. In reality, my mind is unable to rid itself of traumatizing flashbacks to my childhood where gangs of my peers plotted to beat the shit out of me every day, circling me like prey. The photographer debacle almost seems mediocre in comparison; but he thinks I'm upset because my face is going to be splashed across a few rag mags in the morning.
Because he doesn't know. He doesn't know how much worse this really is.
In his mind he feels guilty, responsible even, because the public has taken a gross interest in me due to my relationship with him. He's a public figure, a well-known name in this city and it's their arbitrary fascination in him that has made me collateral in the scrutiny of his life. I've suddenly become someone they need to know.
I scoff knowing my life's goal to be someone… has finally arrived. And this is what it'll be like. Fucking great.
My eyes close on their own, a concession as I know that I have to tell him everything – Marley, LA, moving back home with Ray. With Christian I don't want to have any secrets; no matter how difficult this may be for me, he was able to be open and honest with his dark past, and I owe it to him and to our relationship that I do the same. I only wish that that part of my life didn't continue to possess this ominous hold over me, lamenting the fact that I'm not in control as much as I'd like to think that I am. Mark another one off for the bad guys.
I keep my eyes tightly closed, slowly inching my hand closer to his as time passes with him surrounding me. I feel the bed shift once more, our hands finally making contact before he presses a soft kiss to my lips, his weight lifting off the bed as he takes a seat in the chair next to me.
"I will always be here for you." He murmurs quietly, his velvety lips brushing across my knuckles repeatedly. "Whether you want me here or not, I'll always be here."
I fight the urge to pull my hand away, his promises running too deeply for me in this moment. I'm afraid to want him, and even more afraid he won't want me once he knows.
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