Chapter 36: "Stand"

Disclaimer: FSOG belongs to EL James

A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing and following. Please enjoy

CPOV

In a mad rush to get away from me, Anastasia floors her car and the tires spin out slightly on some loose gravel on the pavement. Human nature being what it is, a spontaneous signal is sent and my reflexes make me lurch in response. I want to run after her and make sure she isn't injured, but I stop myself. Instead helplessly, I watch as she motors down the driveway; my concerns ebbs only when the bucket of bolt slows to a more reasonable speed.

Grappling with the badly worn box, I switch it to my left hand freeing up my right to run it through my hair in vexation. I'm so out of my depth with the young Miss Steele. She zigs when I think she's going to zag. Her beguiling innocence is only outdone by her vitriolic scorn; add in her youthful exuberance and Anastasia Steele is a heady mix. So intoxicating, it makes me want to put her over my knees; at the same time it threatens to bring me down on them.

Recalling her anguish, makes me recoil at the memory of what I had done to cause it. I want nothing more than to permanently remove the torment from her face. From her eyes. Then I'd work on erasing the impression from my mind. Inspite of everything we've been through and done to each other, I still feel like her protector, but the question becomes, how do I go about protecting her from the guilty party when it is me. Plunging into deep contemplation, I fight the echo of her engulfing me even in the wide open space.

Clenching, a fist full of my hair, I pull on it yanking it to the point of pain. I needed to feel the sensation to ground myself, it doesn't matter that it's a band-aid; the minor discomfort is the only fix available to me in this moment. "Fuck!" Exasperated, I swear out loud as I release the hold on my hair, bringing my hand forward.

"Christian!" My mother's castigating voice cuts through the haze. Closing my eyes, I squeeze the box tightly, trying to sink my fingers into the worn cardboard attempting to rid myself of the malaise, before facing Grace.

Plastering on an impassive mask, I open my eyes wide and pivoting I make eye contact with my mother. Her expression, however, is anything but unreadable. She's disgusted. "Sorry, mom. But you gotta give me a F..." I catch myself, as my mother glares at me warningly. "A break." Sheepishly, I say recovering from my partial slip of the tongue. "Look, mom, I was out here alone with no expectation of anyone joining me, especially you so I let out some frustration- the only way I know how." I defend my actions, being cautious not to sound too defensive.

It worked, her frown lines soften. "Sweetie relax, just stop swearing so much." Leaning in she gives my arm a gentle rub. "What has you so upset? I came out here because I thought I heard raised voices, but I find only you, which is peculiar because I could have sworn I'd heard two distinctive voices. One a male and one a female." Keenly, she stares at me with probing eyes the way she did when I was a teenager, beseeching me to come clean. Sometimes I think, my parents are in the wrong profession and should switch with each other. A novel idea, except Carrick, lacks compassion. We're alike in that way, so much so, when I'm in a vulnerable state, I let myself believe that there might be a grain of truth in the crack whore's lying words.

"You might have; Anastasia and I were having a spirited discussion," I say, giving my mother a very watered down version of the truth.

"Now, that makes sense," she says. "Since I don't see Ana or her car, I take it you two worked everything out before she left."

Resting my thumb and forefinger above my eyes, I stretch them over my brows. "Mom…" She cuts me off.

"Sorry Christian, but what's in your hand?"

Cool, calm, and collected, my head droops as I casually glance at the box. "This?" Posturing. Blasé, I lift it slightly." Nodding, her head, mom takes it from me. "It belongs to Anastasia," I say nonchalantly, as her eyes flicker quickly perusing the dilapidated container.

"Then why do you have it and not her?" She says, as she carefully opens it.

Snidely, I snort. "Good question."

Mom holds up the contents. "What are these?"

Maddeningly, I run both hands through my hair. This is the last thing I need or want, discussing this shit with my mother. Especially, when I'm still reeling from Anastasia's rejection of the damn box, practically spurning me. It's official, I'm definitely in need of something stronger than hair tugging. A turn in my playroom would do the trick, but instead of punishing my sub; I'm the one in need of the bite of the belt. If I could stomach Elena, I'd answer her prayers.

I replace the image of me tied to a St. Andrew's cross where the tip of a cracking whip lightly grazes my genitals, as it lands on my thighs with that of my sub bent over my bench and me landing blow after blow after blow on her reddening ass. And just as quickly I erase it putting my focus back on my mother. "I'm not sure, but I think they are mementos Anastasia saved from that first Gala she'd attended."

Mom smiles. "From that night? How cute, she was just a little girl," she coos."Mmm, interesting though I don't recognize any of these things; except for the rose maybe. I don't recall the band playing this song at the event; we'd stuck to the classics. Sara McClauglin is more of a popular artist," mom says daintily handling the dried flower, as her eyes scan the computer printout that has yellowed over time. She then sets the items back inside and picks up the unidentified piece of metal. Curiously, she scrunches up her face. "Okay, what's this?"

Taking it from her hand, I inspect the entity as if it's my first time seeing it. "I don't know," I say giving it back to her.

Immediately, she places it with the rest of the mementos. "I understand saving a flower, that's very common for young girls; your sister certainly has her fair share of dried and pressed ones squirreled away upstairs. But I don't get the song, what's the significance?"

Before I can think about it, my mouth opens and the truth unfurls from my tongue. "Anastasia was crying so to calm her, I sang it to her." Peering up at me, my mother's lips start quivering.

Her eyes well up. "You sang to her," she says her voice cracking, "I've never heard you sing." Her whisper is airy and ethereal.

Reaching, I wipe the moisture from her cheeks. "Before that night, I never had," I whisper. Smiling at her, my fingers gingerly sweep the side of her face. "Not in public anyway."

Sighing, my mother closes the box and I watch as her manner changes- she appears conflicted. "It's so clear now. She has a crush on you, doesn't she? It's why you two were having your Spirited Discussion." She's sardonic, but her expression remains solemn.

"No."

"Don't lie to me Christian," she warns. "I should've seen it." Softly, she mumbles. "Of course she would have a crush on you. Every woman and some of the men have a crush on you so why not an impressionable young girl?" Peeking at the box one more time, she hands it to me.

Clutching it, I smirk. "Mom, I think you're over-exaggerating. Not every woman, just 3 out of 5." I joke, in an effort to put the twinkle back in her eyes.

She swats me on the hand. "Christian stop. It's not funny. I should've seen it." I see tears about to fall and this time I step in closer pulling her to me. Since she's wearing flats, her height falls way short of mine and I can easily rest my chin on top of her head.

"You know mom, you are too hard on yourself," I say gently rocking her from side to side.

She removes her arms, pulling out of our embrace. "I know, but that kid has had a tough life; she deserves to have someone look after her. A mother figure. I get why the lines are blurred for her; the connection between you two is complicated. I just have a bevy of emotions surging through me; mainly guilt that I'd missed so much of her past, and now that she's back in my life I'm missing what's right in front of me."

My adrenaline is pulsating through every vein in my body. It's official, I need an outlet. "You know what mom, I'm going to pass on breakfast and head back to Escala," I say taking a step back.

"Not so fast, Christian. What's going on? First Anastasia leaves unexpectantly and now you're trying to weasel your way out. There's more to this story than you're telling me. You two had more than a spirited discussion." She puts air quotes around spirited discussion." You were arguing?" She says suspiciously. "If not the crush, did it have anything to do with why I found you propped up against her bedroom door asleep, early this morning?

Shoving the box under my arm, I reach in the front pocket of my jeans for my iPhone and right in front of my mother, I text my Sub an emergency message to meet me at Escala immediately.

Monday:

"Anastasia, I'm curious, when referring to your dead fetus." I wince at the term; I hate it when she refers to my baby in that way. But Dr. Ryan insists, it's for my own good. "You weave between the possessive pronouns, using our and my so interchangeably I can't keep up. So, which is it?"

Derisively, I grunt. "After what he'd pulled; MY," I say passionately, demonstratively pointing a finger back at my chest.

Dr. Ryan eyes me speculatively. "Okay then." Her mouth twitches in response to my impassioned plea. "Now that we have that settled, please continue," she says lowering the tone of her voice and I recognize the tactic, she wants me to mirror it.

It works. When I speak again, I match her mild tone. "When he'd ripped the sonogram, it was like he was ripping my heart out. It transpired the way my dream unfolds, in slow motion then at warped speed. I didn't know what was happening until it had happened. The sequence was indicative of our brief relationship; when I'm least expected, Christian pulls the rug out from underneath me. And like a simpleton, I keep going back for more. Well, this time I'm done. I can never forgive him for tearing up that sonogram. I will no longer put myself in a position where I can be hurt by him; there's no way I can love a man who could be so cold and insensitive as to tear up the sonogram of a dead baby...his or not," I whimper.

Dr. Ryan sighs. "Look at me," she implores and slowly I rotate my head forward until my eyes meet hers. "Is that your head talking or your heart?"

Snarkily, I laugh. "Both. To be honest, my heart is filled with so much disdain for him, I doubt it has the capacity to love him," I say.

"That sounds like your head, what is your heart telling you?"

Aggravated, I glower at Dr. Ryan. "I just told you. I'm at a loss. I don't know what else you want from me."

"Anastasia, remember our long discussion on forgiveness. Well, you're being reactive; taking the easy way out. Hate is easy. I want to know what your heart is telling you, not what your head is telling you, you should feel. The heart doesn't lie…" Huffing, I rudely interrupt her.

"I know. The heart wants what it wants blah, blah, blah," I say, mockingly nodding my head after each annoying blah, "well mine is all over the place," I say exasperatingly.

She leans back in her chair. "I've had the same housekeeper since I'd been able to afford one," Dr. Ryan says. Dumbfounded, I stare at her; I have no clue where she's going with this. "Stay with me, there's a purpose to the story" She winks. "From day one Cecilia has been singing the same song. Every day, for 10 years I'd heard that song, but never paid much attention to it; gospel wasn't my type of music. Then on Saturday, for some inexplicable reason, I'd listen intently of which I blame you."

I grimace. "Me," I whine.

"Yes, you and your ideal that people should pick a song, so they can create a soundtrack for their life," she says.

'Hee hee," I giggle, "okay, I'm guilty; I'm glad to see you've finally come over to my side." I laugh.

Wistfully, she smiles. "This is the youthful, carefree, and vibrant Anastasia I want to see, not the forlorn, young woman before me."

"I want that too, but of late true happiness has been fleeting and doesn't seem like it's in the cards for me."

"A great segue." Her eyes flicker with delight. "Well, the song in question, I found out from Cecilia is called, "Stand", by some gospel artist named Donnie McClurkin. Anyway, upon finally hearing the lyrics, straightaway I thought of you and listening to you just now, reminds me of why they resonated with me.

"Are you going to sing?"

Playfully, she scowls. "No, I'm not much of a singer but I will share the lyrics. The pertinent part at least; the song is fairly long so I'll spare you the whole of it."

I sit up straighter. "Alright, I'm all ears."

Removing her glasses, Dr. Ryan begins. "Cause when push comes to shove*You taste what you're made of *You might bend till you break*'Cause it's all you can take* on your knees, you look up*Decide you've had enough*You get mad, you get strong* Wipe your hands, shake it off * Then you stand, then you Stand." Unbeknownst to her, the delivery is in the tradition of a Poetry Slam so Dr. Ryan's rendition of the song ended up being melodic anyway.

"That's nice; gospel isn't my thing either, but maybe I should start listening to it. The song is very inspirational, but I have to admit I'm not sure how it applies to me?"

Standing up Dr. Ryan walks to her desk and sitting down in the chair behind it, she rolls up closer to it. "To my housekeeper, the sentiment of the song is purely religious; to let go and let God. However, for me the message is more secular with overtones of spirituality. Standing is simply a euphemism for being still and quiet enough for your spirit to speak to your heart. So you can then receive your heart's message."

Embarrassed, timidly I hold up my hand. "You just got too metaphysical for me so, at the risk of sounding dense, I'm going to need you to break it down to me in layman's term."

Chuckling, Dr. Ryan throws her head back, "Anastasia, you are so endearing," she says as her head comes forward, "now I understand your charm. You are devilishly smart. Cleverly, you know just when to innocently play unwise," she says sarcastically.

Sheepishly, I shrug my shoulders. "Um, it's not play; I'm really lost," I confess.

"Okay, let's get serious. You young lady need to find that inner- voice that has gotten lost in the noise." She pauses. "Your instinct," she says answering my unasked question.

"What instinct?" Mockingly, I challenge. "The one that got me into this predicament in the first place?"

"Anastasia, you're looking for perfection, you already know in life it does not exist. Still in here you'd have me dissect you're every move, choreographing the steps of your life trying to achieve it. In the meantime, you're forgetting to be present and truly live. It is my professional opinion that from therapy you're hoping to get what life does not offer you- a guarantee. No amount of baseline questions, in-depth probing, or thought provoking at home assignments is going to give you the surety you're seeking. You and Christian Grey could end up having the greatest love affair of all time. Or he could end up being your heart's forever desire and you'll ache for him for a lifetime instead. But you'll never find that out in here. You need to explore this truth on your own," she says averting her gaze from me, focusing on her desktop computer. Then she starts manipulating the mouse as she fixes on the screen. And when she's done, she pushes back her rolling chair and comes to her feet making her way back to her original seat. "I just canceled your next few appointments.

Lurching, anxiously I sit up on the edge of the sofa."What." I gasp. "You're breaking up with me?" I whimper.

She laughs. "Relax Anastasia, I'm not breaking up with you." She chuckles. "However, I did warn you that this wasn't going to be easily resolved. You want instant gratification. But that's not how love works; falling in or falling out. Trying to discern if you love him or not, can't be resolved in 50-minute increments, twice a week."

"Are you going to give me your speech again, I know it well," I say snidely.

"No. I was going to say you needed time. Therapy is a very useful tool when there is something to be fixed; ala your depression after your miscarriage, your unresolved issues with your mother, and the relationship with Luke. But it's not designed to figure out the heart of an 18-year-old girl. You're using it and me as a crutch. Anastasia, let life unfold without turning every slip up into a colossal mistake that requires a discussion. I don't want to create an environment for you where you have to seek counsel before you see your own shadow. You're too young, too smart, and too capable for that," she says. You've come through the thick of it, sweat the small stuff."

"I'm not ready." My lips quiver.

"You're scared, that's different and that confirms for me that I've made the right decision."

I wipe away the one tear that is making its way down my face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Heal. You need time to heal, time to grow, and time to be present in your own life instead of talking about it," she says. Then reflectively, she leans forward getting closer to me. "I was hired to help you with your emotional distress after your miscarriage and in the process we'd unearthed some of your underlying issues. Well, we got through most of them and you'd even managed to resolve some of the lesser personal ones on your own. Time can be a healer, or it can be the opposite; either way, it's what you need not me."

I tilt my head back and try to make out what's happening. "Grrr," I growl in aggravation.

"Anastasia, can you look at me?" Dr. Ryan says condescendingly. So I take my time bringing my head forward.

"Better?" I snap.

"Yes, thank you. Now let's get back to what brought us to this point, getting in touch with your spirit. To do so, you can try some things as cosmopolitan as yoga and chanting, or as mundane as sitting alone in a quiet place. No noise; that includes no phone, no music, and talking out loud. Simply you and your thoughts."

I let go of my tantrum. "What about running? It's what I do now, to think."

"It's certainly an option, but I'm going to take "Standing", literally – meaning I want you to be still."

I shrug. "Finding a quiet room, shouldn't be a problem."

Dr. Ryan smiles cheekily. "I glad to see that your 12-year-old self-has left the building."

I resist rolling my eyes. "Yeah, sorry about that," I say contritely. Closing, my eyes I let her words sink in. "Time." Whispering, I parrot Dr. Ryan and I slump back on the sofa.

"Anastasia, the nature of therapy is to pick you apart until you're raw then build you back up. Well, I'm done with the picking, let's be about the business of building you up. That's what's I'm give you the freedom to do. Behave like a lovesick college student; eat too much ice cream, commiserate with girlfriends, pluck a four leaf clover…" My giggling stops her and I sit up.

"Four leaf clover. Where are you from little house on the prairie." I chortle.

Apprehensively, she smiles. "Okay, you got me. I'm too far removed from college life, but there's one thing that girls do today that girls did yesterday to get over a boy?"

"I'll bite, what is it.?

"They date… A lot."

I walked right into that trap. "Are you inferring that I should go on a date?

"I'm not inferring, I'm encouraging it," she says.

Audibly, I sigh. "You're the doctor, you know best."

"Anastasia this is your life, I want you to be in control of every aspect of it no matter how minute. So if you're going to make this about me, you'll just derail it."

"I'm not going to sabotage myself to get back at you if that's what you're worried about. I'm not that calculating."

"Good, by the way I didn't think you were; you are one determined young lady and once you get in touch with your spirit, you will be invincible. I've given you all the tools you need. In you I see strength, you just need to harness. Now I just need you to find it so you can nourish it; if I bestow it upon you, you'll let it wither and die." she says. "I like to call it the teaching the man to fish principle." She adds.

I slump back on the sofa and pop right back up. "I don't know what you see because I don't feel strong. I haven't for a long time. Not since one Christian Grey re-entered my life."

"That's why you need to get centered. And I also recommend that you finally have a sit down with him. Put everything out on the table so you know what you're working with. Knowledge is power."

"Surely, you jest. We're like oil and water under pressure; we don't talk, we explode."

"Luckily, when oil and water are at room temperature they are perfectly fine. So have the discussion on your timetable, when you're self-contained and not so emotionally charged."

"Ha ha ha," sardonically I laugh. "Simple, says the woman who has never witnessed one of our epic fights."

"I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," she says.

"I wish it were joke," I say

"Well, just trust your gut," she says.

"You better come up with something better than that because my guts have gotten me into loads of trouble – a one night stand, pregnant, and ill-advised relationships." I sigh. "The list is endless."

"You run off your indiscretions like it's a grocery list, and you do the same for his. We've already discussed how you're both flawed. So what; find your truth and flourish. Rejoice in your greatest triumphs, learn from your most devastating defeats, but whatever you do, don't settle for the middle. I'm a Therapist, not a Soothsayer, I can't tell you what you want me to tell you…how things will end, it's a discovery I'm pushing you to make on your own and oh yeah...along the way have some fun doing it."

"So you want me to go on a date?" I confirm as I warm up to the idea.

"Yes, more than one actually. I know dating is a foreign concept for you, seeing that the only 3 men to ever approach you turned into relationships." She puts air quotes around the number 3 and I laugh.

"Why the air quotes?"

"Because I consider Mr. Rodriguez to be an asterisk; at 14, 15 you were way too young and broken to make any rational decisions about being in a serious relationship. I only included him to bolster my point," she says

"By the way I sent him a letter," I blurt out.

Her expression is hard to read, I can't tell if she's stunned or stupefied. "Really?"

I defend my actions, I feel like I'm being judged. "He was the only person on my truth list, I hadn't been able to speak with, since he goes to great lengths to avoid me. Which I find ironic seeing that he's the guilty party. Anyway, I had to resort to a letter. I didn't use electronic means, because I didn't want to leave a digital footprint where the email could be used against him in the rare case our systems were hacked... ala Sony."

Dr. Ryan wiggles her brows. "Okay, understandable. Did it provide you the closure you wanted?"

"Yeah I think so. Mainly, I wanted to let him know I'd forgiven him but our friendship was irrevocably damaged."

"Great. Is your list now completed?"

"Pretty much, some nitpicky stuff is lingering. But, since you said sweat the small stuff; I'm going to let it drop."

"Yes, very good- you were listening. There's no need to manufacture a crisis where there is none." She winks. "I know you're trying to distract me, but I haven't forgotten."

"Oh joy," I say flatly.

"With the amount of time you have left in college, I want you to get the experience of really dating in college. Go out with a boy, with expectations of nothing but fun. Accepting a date from a boy, doesn't have to lead to a lifelong union. You need to get a taste of going out with boys closer to your own age and income level," she says sarcastically, but I'm offended.

"I didn't go after Christian or Luke for their money," I say.

"Settle down, that's not what I was implying if anything I was going for humor. But I was making a point; most women don't get a Luke Sawyer or a Christian Grey in a lifetime, never mind both at such a young age. So, you need a dose of reality."

"Sorry. I'm just edgy. The thought of dating gives me a headache."

"Look at this way, you've got a head start. You mentioned that a young man had asked you out."

I run my hand over my ponytail. "Yeah, but I wasn't seriously thinking about taking him up on it."

"Well get serious and go out with him. In fact, I'd like for you to go on at least 3 dates with 3 different guys before our next visit. You like a goal, so there's one for you."

"What about Christian?"

"What about him, we've been over it and over it. You're more than capable of handling him. You're survivor. Look at all you've survived, so an emotional tug of war with Christian Grey is nothing. You proved it over the weekend; you stood up for yourself. Not how I'd like, but on your own terms. So now, you just need to be still, and be quiet so your spirit can guide you."

I give up on trying to prolong the session. "Going on these dates, what are the rules?"

"Anastasia there are no rules; just go on some dates."

Closing the door to Dr. Ryan's office, I fish around in my bag for my phone. Pulling it out, I scroll through the contacts, finding the number he'd just entered. Closing my eyes, and scrunching up my face, I press the little phone next to his name.

"You called." He answers the phone on the first ring, before I can say anything. Still, he doesn't sound overly anxious, he's cool. Too cool for me probably.

I walk as I talk. "Yes, I did. I'm calling to take you up on your offer."

He chuckles. "You sound like I left you with a buying contract instead of an ask out on a date," he says.

"Sorry, this is new for me."

"I'm not sure what that means, but I can hear the nervousness in your voice so I won't toy with you anymore. What about coffee tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that works."

"Good, I'll text you the time and place."

"Okay, I'll look for your text. By Sean," I say.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I don't say goodby."

I smirk. "I don't know what that means, but I hear the nervousness in your voice so I want ask." He laughs heartily.

"Good one, you got me. See you tomorrow," he says and the end of the call marks the beginning of my dating experience.

With the letter from Dr. Grace in my hand, I get comfortable on the sofa, pulling my legs up underneath my body.

I handle the beautifully crafted card stock with care, as I loosen the seal on the envelope. Pulling out the elegant stationary, I feel something hard remaining inside the envelope. But I decide to first read the note, before checking it out.

Sweetheart,

I wish I could do more to help alleviate the pain of your loss. I know what you're going through, since I'd suffered multiple miscarriages of my own before my heart found the three loves of my life…my children. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but someday you will be a mother- the options are varied. In the meantime, I wanted to do something special for you. Since you couldn't stay for the day at the spa, I'm bringing the spa to you in Portland. I've included a $1,500 gift card so you can get all the spa treatments you want. I love you and call me if you ever need to talk.

P.S.: Mia is horrified that, I didn't send the gift card and note electronically.

Lovingly,

Dr. Grace

Friday

Kate has left for an early dinner with her newest conquest, a much older handsome and wealthy visiting professor, so I'm alone with my mound of books. Propping my bum on the sofa, I get ready to tackle my work assignment before Seans show up for our second date. The first went well and after talking on the phone a few times we'd decided a second was due. Cognizant, of Dr. Ryan's concerns, I'm not getting too invested in Sean, but I enjoy his company. He brings an attitude, I can use right about now. Affectionately, I like to think of him as the darker version of Luke. A real homeboy, with all the swagger to match the attitude, but he's more than his slightly baggy jeans, oversized shirt, and dreads. Sean is super sharp, cultured, and a deep thinker, but in the short time I've known him, I notice that he likes to test society's perception of him. He tries to hide it, but he has a chip on his shoulder, put there by the struggles of a people he's only read about in books or heard about through oral history. We're different, but at the same time we're kindred spirits. Though, I'm going to make a conscious effort to go on a date with someone new next week, for now I'll enjoy Sean's company.

Opening the books, one by one I sprawl them out for easy access. Coding isn't my strongest subject so I checked out some supporting text books to help me. Picking up my pad and the book from class, I stretch my legs out, and get to work. Unfortunately, the coding book isn't corporating with me, it all looks like gibberish to me. So I know I'm in for a long few hours. Glancing at my pad, I try to make sense of the notes, I'd taken in lecture; they too are unreadable. In frustration, I snatch off my glasses and sitting forward I scope out the other books for further assistance.

Rolling my neck from side to side, I try to get some of the kinks out. It's getting stiff, from hunching over my books. After a rough start, I'd finally conquered coding and got so caught up in it, I forgot to stretch. Peeking at my phone, I see that I also lost track of time; however, I'm still in good shape, but I should start getting ready. Since we're only going out for burgers, what I'm wearing will do, I just need to freshen up.

One by one, I slam the books closed and on the coffee table I start stacking them on top of each other. Then startled by a knock on the door, I nearly drop the last one just as I'm about to set it on top of the pile. Standing upright disconcertedly I glare at it; after all, it's too early for Sean. As I think, the knocks become more urgent and I panic when I come to the conclusion that it can only be Sean. Discombobulated, I fly to my bedroom; just because I'm wearing what I have on, doesn't mean I have to look disheveled. Slip sliding into the room, balancing on one foot, I race to the bathroom. Yanking the band down my hair, I run my fingers through it combing it. Then I gargle with some mouthwash and finally I slap my cheeks to bring some color to my face. Hanging with Sean, has made it painfully obvious, how pale I really am. One last fluffing of my hair and I'm ready. Rushing, I make it back to the living room in a matter of seconds, but the banging outside door is gone.

My touch up, took only a few seconds, but it must have felt longer to Sean so disappointed I theorize that he must have left; then the loud knock is back. Walking fast, I pull up short at the door to compose myself. I didn't want to appear too anxious. As the butterflies flap about in my stomach, I smirk thinking about Dr. Ryan. This is the exact feeling she wanted me to experience, well she'll be happy... her wish has come true.

One final time, I run my hand down my front getting out any wrinkles. Then I lick my lips to add moisture and some sheen and putting my hand on the knob, I yank the door back.

"H…" I get stuck on the H when my blue eyes, meet determined gray ones.

Christian's mouth is in a firm line. "Your fucking hair," he barks and looking him squarely in the eyes, I let the door slide from my hand slamming shut in his face. I'd like to say it was an accident, but I'd never been surer of anything; it was intentional. I do not want to see Christian. I don't want to talk to him. The reasons he's here matters not and Dr. Ryan's words are falling flat too. None of it matters, in the end it's about me. Things will only end one way; me a weeping mess and him walking away unscathed. I know full well, that I'm supposed to be proactive and not reactive; but how can I be when he keeps sneaking up on me.

Resting my back against the door, I absorb the pounding Christian is putting on it. He's relentless, the shear force of his fist hammering it is making my body vibrate against the stricture. "Christian stop!"

"I'll stop when you open the fucking door," Christians screams. His booming voice is so loud and clear, he sounds as though he's standing right in front of me instead of on the other side of the door on the outside.

I rotate my head so my mouth is at the door. "Go away Christian. I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you," I yell and facing forward again I bury the back of my head against the door. My palms splayed, I hold myself steady as he unleashes a flurry of rapid fire knocks against the already battered door.

"I'm not going any fucking place until you open the fucking door." Christian roars.

I close my eyes. Opening them, I turn my head to the door again. "Christian Stop! You're going to alert the neighbors."

"I don't give a shit." His breathing is so hard I can hear it through the door. "You know what Anastasia, I'm going to put you across my knee; it'll make you feel better and me," he bellows. I don't know what the heck he's talking about, so I conclude that he's losing his mind.

"Christian you can't say things like that to me. What if someone hears you."

"I don't give a fuck." He pounds. "Open the fucking door!"

Staring into the room, my phone mocks me from the sofa tempting me. An idea pops into my head, as the mad man continues beating up the door with such brute force, I'm afraid it won't stay on it's hinges much longer. Using my foot, I propel myself off of it, and my resolve picks up as I confidently I walk to the sofa to booming and yelling reverberating in the living room.

Reaching the sofa, bending down I pick up the phone and entering in my code I gain access to the dial pad. Intently, I stare at the keys committing every symbol to memory and then unwavering I dial the three little numbers. Now the only thing left to do is sit and wait.

The pounding ceases and I hear a second voice. So I know Portland's finest is here. Running to the door, I put my ears to it and listen to the exchange between Christian and the Policeman. However, the conversation with just the two of them doesn't last long, before I hear a third voice, I recognize as Mr. Taylor's. The discussion is short - Mr. Taylor wisely convinces Christian that it was best for him to leave.

Thank goodness for Mr. Taylor. "Miss. Steele, it's Officer Brown, all is clear you can open the door now."

Resting one hand on the door, I use the other to slowly peel it back. When I see that the officer is indeed alone, I open it wider. "Thank you," I say.

The Policeman looks at me pensively. "Ma'am do you know who was just at your door. Mr. Christian Grey, the businessman. He's a far cry from a raging lunatic," he says.

His dismissive statement raises my ire. " Tell me Officer Brown do you have a daughter?"

Not picking up on the edge in my voice, he smiles. "As, a matter of fact I do," he responds.

"Let's say she reported a man at her door that was scaring her and similarly, you found a Mr. Grey type at her door. Would you feel the same way?" I'm not afraid of Christian. I know physically he won't harm me, I'm protecting my mental state. But right now I'm trying to make a point.

His smile fades fast. "No, Ma'am. Sorry," he says apologetically. "But you should know you're safe. He assured me or should I say his security personnel assured me he wouldn't be back so it's up to you. Do you want to press charges?"

"No, I don't. I just wanted him escorted off my property," I say.

"Okay then, ma'am you take care and let us know if he shows up again."

As the Policeman turns to leave, I see Sean approaching the door. I don't know why, but seeing him makes what just happened feel real and sad. I want to run to him. I needed to be held.

Sean eyes me speculatively. "Is everything alright?" He says softly.

I nod my head. "Yes." My voice quivers.

He pulls out a strand of my hair. "Blonde," he says rubbing the strand between his fingers. "I like it." He smiles and I fling myself at him.

He stammers back from the shock, but he catches me. He's too tall for arms to reach his neck, so they encircle his upper torso. I rest the side of my face against his chest."Thank you," I whimper. His long dreads hanging in his back tickles my arms

Tentatively, he brings his arms around my body enveloping me. "For what?" He whispers.

"For this," I say and I rotate my face to the other cheek. "Just holding me." Resting my face on his chest, the staccato beating of his heart makes me feel still and calm. This isn't what Dr. Ryan had in mind, but it's working for me.