Chapter 37

How could he? Say that? Treat me like that? Be that way? Why can't he be the man I want him to be?

Am I being unfair to him, hoping to change him into my perception of what a man should be? Or are my expectations entirely reasonable? He's got my head so turned around that I truly don't know anymore. I need to talk to someone… Kate, I need her. But her relationship with Elliot precludes me from talking with her. It wouldn't be fair to Christian—if I revealed private information about him to Kate and she ever mentioned it to Elliot, it would be bad.

There's really only one person I can talk to about him, about us, without being grossly unfair to him and his privacy. I take out my phone, find the name, and tap on the number to call.

I keep moving so no one can really tell that I'm having an emotional implosion. All I really want to do is go home and cry into my pillow but I can't. For one thing, Christian can find me there—if he even chooses to come after me. Last time he let seven months go by without so much as a peep. That in and of itself proves to me how little I rate with him. Those months were akin to torture for me and I desperately wanted to see him, hear his voice, so much so that I ultimately broke down and called him.

He never called me though. He continued with the high and mighty life of Mr. Christian Grey and went to social events, functioned well at business, kept company with his family—in short, did everything he always does.

While I pined for him whenever I wasn't thoroughly distracted by Kate or Kent. A little voice at my ear suggests that maybe he was doing the same but I dismiss it.

Minx and I meet at the bar she took me to long ago when we went out with the sailors. I get there first and two men try to pick me up in rapid succession. When I turn my red, swollen eyes toward them they both back off so fast that I almost manage a weak chuckle. Almost.

I don't want to be here, in public. I want to be home, by myself, but I've already called Minx so I have to at least wait until she gets here. The thought of checking into a hotel room crosses my mind—that way I can be alone to try to purge this misery from my mind and body, and Christian won't be able to find me. If he even bothers to look, that is.

When Minx rushes through the double glass doors and sees me, she hugs me tightly. "Ana, what the hell happened? I thought everything was going well?"

"I thought so too, Minx. But then…" I launch into the tale and Minx never interrupts, letting me tell it my way. When I finish, she grasps my hand, holding it in both of hers.

"Ana, I think you're jumping the gun. You haven't even given him a chance to explain himself."

"But you heard what he said. How could there be any other explanation? It seems pretty clear to me."

"Yet he still deserves a chance to explain, regardless of what you think right now. If the situation were the other way around, you'd feel cheated if he didn't allow you a chance to justify yourself."

I wrap my arms around my shoulders, trying to hold myself together. "I can't bear to hear him say those words, Minx."

"What words, Ana?"

"That I'm not important to him… no more than any submissive, anyway."

Shaking her head, she grips my hands tighter. "You and I both know that Christian would never say that to you. Why would you even think that?"

"Because of what he told her. That he hadn't changed at all. What else could he have meant?"

"Maybe he just didn't want to hurt her feelings?"

"But what about mine? Don't I have the right for people to know I'm important to him?"

"Maybe he just needed for this one person to think otherwise? Just so she could move forward."

I rear back when she says that. "Whose side are you on anyway?"

She knocks her forehead into mine gently. "Yours, silly. Always yours. But you're upset over what might possibly come to be nothing. You need to talk to that man of yours before you start running away."

"He's not mine," I mutter, "and that's the crux of the problem. What I need to do right now is have another vodka."

"You're drinking straight-up vodka?"

"No, on ice."

"I meant with nothing mixed in."

"Well, that's not straight up. So what's the problem anyway?"

"The problem is you're going to get shitfaced. Hang on," she says, as she receives a text and pulls out her phone. I watch her frown and then her thumbs move like lightning, tapping out a response.

"Everything okay?" I ask as I attempt to get the bartender's attention.

"Everything's fine."

"What can I get you ladies?"

Mmm. Our bartender is muy guapo. I should try to pick him up—it would serve Christian right. But of course I don't. "Another vodka for me, please. Minx, what do you want?"

"I'll have a vodka and cranberry. Grey Goose, please."

I shake my head and slug the rest of my first drink down. "Why bother getting good vodka if you're just going to mix it with juice?"

Our drinks are served and we toast to friendship.

"I'm glad you called me, Ana. I'd hate to think of you like this alone. I do think you might consider seeing a therapist."

"Therapist?" I have a bit of a hard time delivering the word. My tongue is not fully cooperating and I realize I'm already drunk. "Why?" I'm genuinely confounded by Minx's suggestion.

"Because," she says, sipping her drink and grimacing, "ooh, that's strong. Because, Ana, you have severe insecurities, and therapy can help you work through them. Are your parents still together?"

What an odd question. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to figure out why Minx is asking about my parents but no go. My eyes are burning from all the crying I've done and now they feel gritty and swollen. "Yes, they are. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I guess because I've taken enough psych classes to know when I see abandonment issues. Usually it happens when in young childhood you lose a parent to either divorce or death."

"No, I didn't… though I did lose my grandpa when I was eight and I was very close to him."

"Yeah, but it's usually a primary caregiver. Anyway, I just think—"

Minx is interrupted when I'm startled by someone grasping my elbow in a firm but gentle grip. I gasp and turn my head, only to see the patient countenance of Jason Taylor. Shit.

"Hi, Taylor," I say sheepishly and even I could hear the slur in my voice. "How did you find me?"

He smiles and then his eyes dart to Minx. My head whips around to stare her in the face. "Traitor," I say in an exaggerated whisper.

Minx merely winks and smiles while Taylor encourages me off the barstool. "No, Taylor. I'm not going." And I'm not. For one thing, I don't like other people making my decisions for me.

"Ms. Steele, Mr. Grey requested I bring you back to his apartment. He's been worried about you, desperately worried."

"Why desperately?"

Taylor tilts his head. "You've met Mr. Grey, I think? He tends to be over-reactive."

"No, I'm not going to go." I cross my arms over my chest. He hurt my feelings too badly once too many times. I can't keep going back for more.

Taylor's eyes dart to Minx and then back to me. "Please," he says under his breath. "He's having a complete meltdown. Can you just talk to him at least? Just five minutes of your time?"

I glance at Minx uncertainly and she nods. "Go. Talk to him, Ana, before you make any rash decisions. It's only fair."

Taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling, I open my bag, fish a twenty and a five out of my wallet and slap the bills on the bar.

"Thanks for answering my call and running to help, Minx. Even if you did eventually sell me out." I give her a tight one-armed hug and then allow Taylor to escort me out of the bar and into the waiting sedan—currently being guarded by a pimply-faced valet from the restaurant next door.

As Taylor expertly maneuvers the car into traffic, I consider the discussion in front of me. As the luxury car merges from the on-ramp onto the Interstate that is the precise moment that it dawns on me that I'm totally screwed. In order to call out Christian for his verbal sins against me, I have to admit to my crime of eavesdropping. And not just casual eavesdropping but going-considerably-out-of-my-way-to-eavesdrop eavesdropping. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what do I do? He'll have the moral high ground right out of the gate.

I peek into the rearview mirror to check on Taylor, only to catch his eyes checking on me. "So Taylor, tell me, what constitutes a meltdown in your opinion?"

"Ms. Steele, he—"

"Ana," I correct him.

"Ana, he was distressed. After... his business was concluded, he sought to regain your company. When you weren't where you were supposed to be, he began scouring the place—we all did..." His voice tapers off.

"And?"

"And when he couldn't locate you" his eyes catch mine, "he went slightly berserk."

Somewhat mollified by his description of Christian, I sit back and try to figure out a way to avoid looking like a nosy idiot. Can I say I just tripped and fell into the room… and just happened to notice him on the monitor? That seems a little farfetched, even to me. What am I going to say?

In less than ten minutes we're back and I'm assuming Taylor will drop me off at the front while he goes to park the sedan.

No dice. He never stops, instead entering the underground garage with me in tow. My eyes rise to meet his in the mirror and he shrugs. "Mr. Grey's orders."

"Orders?"

"Not to let you out of my sight." He appears apologetic. "As I said, he was… er… somewhat ruffled by your disappearance."

He parks the car, displaying his driving skills as, in two swift movements, he expertly parks the long car in reverse so it's easy to drive out. Before I know it, he's at my door.

We ride up in the elevator in silence and as we approach the penthouse he turns the key in the panel lock to open the doors. Guess who's waiting on the other side?

He says nothing, his eyes hard and boring into me. The moment I step across the threshold into his hall he jerks his head at Taylor in acknowledgment and, grabbing my arm, leads me away at a brisk pace.

"Stop walking so fast," I say, thinking I managed the sentence rather well.

His head angles in my direction and his eyes zoom in on me. "Are you drunk?"

"No," I say indignantly, though of course I am. But what's it to him anyway?

Down the hall and to the right he drags me before he opens a door into a room I've not been in before. My hand goes to shield my open mouth as I take in the beauty of the glass-walled room, a majestic black grand piano in the center of the otherwise empty room of palatial dimensions.

"My God, this is magnificent, Christian. Why have you never shown me this room before?"

He yanks me so I'm facing him—he's obviously in no mood for anything resembling civil conversation. "Why did you leave, Ana?"

I do not appreciate the tone of voice he's using so I wrench my arm out of his grasp and step backward. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I was a prisoner in your apartment, Christian. I was under the impression that I was free to come and go."

He grits his teeth. "It's common courtesy to let your host know that you're leaving, don't you think? I asked you to wait in another room while I dealt with the matter at hand. Was that too much to ask of you?"

"Yes, I suppose it was. So… now what?"

About to say something, he stops suddenly, his eyes searching mine. "Why are you acting this way?"

I can't help it. I try so hard but the stupid tears spring to my eyes. My feelings are much too raw to be having this conversation—I'm still bleeding out. So I spin around so he can't see but I'm too late—he saw. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he turns me back to face him. "What's going on?"

I'm crying and I'm too choked up to talk about it. I shake my head, unable to answer him. Confusion begins to nudge aside his anger and he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me. I cry into his shirt.

"Ana, what is it? When I left you before you were perfectly fine. What's changed?"

I don't answer him for I can't right now, plus, it feels too good to be in his arms. Unrequited love has got to be one of the worst feelings anyone can have. It makes me feel so helpless. I know I can walk away from him—I've done it before. But the problem is that every single day without him in my life is a mountainous struggle to get through and I never stop thinking about him, whether we're apart a week or seven months. It truly sucks.

Luckily for me, he doesn't force the issue and, stroking my hair, just keeps holding me, which is what I want. But then I think of him stroking her hair and it brings me up short. That thought alone helps me collect myself.

"Good," he says, lifting my chin with his forefinger. "Now will you tell me why you're upset?"

"You're going to be mad at me."

"Probably but you're going to have to spill it sooner or later. Might as well tell me."

Sniffling, I wipe my nose with the back of my sleeve. Classy I'm not. "I went into the control room or whatever it's called." When I see his perplexed look, I elaborate. "You know, where all the security electronics are housed, including the monitors."

Enlightenment descends over his face. "Ah, so you were watching—and hearing—what went on with Cassidy then?"

I nod, averting my eyes from his intense gray ones. I can't look him in the eye, knowing I grossly invaded his privacy. I wonder how I would feel if the situation were reversed.

"All right. So what in particular upset you, Ana?"

Looking at him as if he sprouted another head, I huff my exasperation. "What do you think, Christian? All of it. The kneeling, the petting, and perhaps most especially what you said to her."

"I said a lot of things to her. We spoke for almost an hour, maybe a bit more. Can you narrow it down for me?"

"I only watched ten minutes or so. When you told her you hadn't changed at all, I'd had my fill."

His eyes darken with some emotion that I could only guess is pain or maybe remorse. He nods his head, his expression solemn. "Yes, I could see how that would have been upsetting."

Pausing, he looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself...and restarts, "Was that what sent you off the rails, Ana? Or was there more?"

"That was enough… but now that I know you were with her for an hour, there must be so much more that would have upset me had I stayed. I'm so glad I didn't."

He cups my face with both of his hands. "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping, you know. Had I known you were, I would have chosen my words more carefully."

"Well, that's nice to know, Christian. I'm sorry I couldn't warn you that you needed to keep up the pretense of giving a shit about me but you're off the hook now. I think we're done here. Every time I begin to trust you—no, not even begin, but just think about trusting you—you carve a piece of my heart out. I can't do it anymore."

Even as the words are still leaving my lips my feet are already making their way back to the elevator. Taylor told me Christian was melting down but he seems as in control of himself as ever. The cold, hard truth staring me in the face is that he really doesn't give a damn about me. I mean as much to him as any other submissive he's been interested in and that is all. Period. The big difference is that I refuse to settle for that. Maybe Cassidy can have him back after all.

"Ana. Wait. Ana! Don't go. Please," he shouts the last word loudly but I'm practically running away by now, propelled by the shred of dignity and pride he's left me with.

I reach the elevator and press the call button. I wish I could take the stairs but there's no access to them in this part of the apartment. Besides, it's thirty-nine floors down. The elevator must have been close for it almost immediately dings, alerting me to its arrival and that is when he grabs me from behind, twirls me around and slams me into the opposite wall.

"Please. Don't. Go."

I slide against the wall to extricate myself and quickly step around him to get into the elevator but he yanks me back, almost violently.

"No. Not again. I can't do it again, Ana. Please."

What? I slowly rotate to face him, look into his eyes. Gone is the calm and collected CEO of a minute or two ago, and in his place is a wild-eyed and maybe… yes, maybe even desperate man. "Do what again?" I whisper.

"Endure without you, Ana."

"What do you mean? Endure?"

He turns to pace, raking his hands through his hair, and tearing at the back of it with his fists. "Just don't go, Ana. Stay with me." He's spins back around, gritting his teeth, his eyes are trained on the floor… it's as if he is doing battle with himself.

Shaking my head I try to ward off the approaching tears—unsuccessfully. "I can't, Christian. I'm tired of getting hurt. This relationship between us is too…too one-sided. I've told you that I love you… that I'm in love with you. And you tell me I shouldn't be, that you don't even know what love is. You treat me like just another submissive in a long line of them. And I'm not one." I pause for his response but it's not forthcoming. "I have to go."

"Ana, no! Please no."

And then he does something so shocking that it paralyzes me, stopping me dead in my tracks. He drops to his knees. "I will do anything, Ana, please don't leave me again." He passes his forearm across his face, the latter cast downward so I can't see him.

"Christian… look at me, Christian."

He doesn't respond right away, just shakes his head and repeats, "Please… don't go. Please, Ana."

I'm at a loss myself and I wipe my leaky eyes with the heels of my hands, just standing there, unsure, in front of him. He finally looks up at me and tears are running down his face.

My jaw drops and I just gape at him. I've never seen him like this before. He's actually crying. Who is this man in front of me on his knees? He bears no resemblance to Christian Grey whatsoever.

"Ana, I… I love you. I do."

And there it is. He loves me.

I sink to my knees to kiss him. "Really, Christian. You do?"

Sweeping me into his arms, he squeezes me tightly against his lovely hard chest. "Yes, I really do. Ana, I think I've loved you since day one but I wasn't sure. I'm just so fucked up emotionally." He shakes his head and then rears back to look at me. "I'm sorry I hurt you, baby, I'm sorry. I'll do my best always never to hurt you again, I promise."

He's kissing me all over my face and running his fingers through my hair. The relief that sweeps over me is astonishing and welcome but there's still that niggling worry about what he said to Cassidy.

"But why, Christian? Why did you tell Cassidy you hadn't changed?"

His eyes seem to glaze over and he swallows hard. "For one, it's true: I haven't changed insofar as she's concerned. The other thing that I didn't tell you… I didn't want to worry you, Ana. But she's been stalking me for some time now. Taylor's been tracking her movements and she's followed you too. You haven't realized it, but you've been protected around the clock by your own security detail, Ana."

My mouth is hanging open. I hadn't realized it at all. She was stalking us?

He won't stop touching me: his hands are all over me, slipping through my hair, on my face, my shoulders, my hips. Anywhere he could easily reach, he touches, as if assuring himself that I'm still here.

"Yes. I thought that if I could convince her that things were the same, that I was the same man I always was, that she might calm down. I wanted to convince her to seek help but I can't force it on her and she does have a dependent child relying on her. I decided to try to talk her into leaving the child with her parents and checking into a mental health facility, assuring her that I would pay all bills associated with her care. She's pretty screwed up and if I contributed in the least to her current state, then I want to take responsibility for it."

I wipe the tears off my face with the heels of my hands and sniffle. "How did you contribute? You mean, the dominance?"

He nods. "She was a bubbly, spirited thing and I tried to change her into someone she's not. Then when she invested her heart and soul into the relationship, I essentially dumped her. Not a very nice thing to do."

No, it really wasn't. But at least he was making reparations.

"I don't want to lose you, Ana. It's just…"

It frustrates me when he stops. So I start again. "You never make even the slightest commitment to me, Christian. Ever since we met, it's been up and down, hot and cold with you. I never really know where I stand in your life. And then an ex-girlfriend pops up—and it doesn't really matter how you characterize your lovers, Christian, because they're all still exes—and you're afraid to tell her that your relationship with me is different, is more important. That you have feelings for me. Or something. Anything."

I get nothing right back so I go on. "A part of me feels like it's too late, to tell you the truth. I feel as if I'll never have faith in your ability to care about or even love me."

His eyes go stormy and he shakes me—hard. "You want a commitment, Ana? Is that what you want?"

"That's what I've been wanting. I'm not sure I want it anymore, Christian. I'm beginning to think this whole thing between us is just doomed."

"Doomed?" he asks, cocking his head in confusion. "We're not doomed, baby, we've only just begun. I'll give you a commitment, Ana. Marry me. How's that for a commitment? Is that enough of one for you?"