Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this story are those in E L James's Fifty Shades Trilogy, therefore they remain her property. The plot and themes in this story are those of the author. The author is in no way affiliated with James. No copyright infringement intended.
Big mahoosive apologies for the lack of updates! I've had to have my computer sent off for repairs, which *fingers crossed* is sorted now! :)
I have the next couple of chapters planned out, so depending on how long they take to word and shuffle about I should have more for you guys soon! If not tonight, then definitly tomorrow! I'm gonna make up the lack of replies to you lovely people!
Much love and looking forward to hearing from you, as ever! :) I hope you enjoy! x
I have a reoccurring stabbing pain slashing through my ribs. It feels like I've been punched square on in the chest, a pain I have felt quite a few times and every time is because of hearing something that, yet again, threatens to cause more shit for us. For me.
Over the past several weeks I've started questioning whether there will ever be a time when there is nothing hovering around us; a time when that fucking bitch will no longer be a threat. Or is this what I've got to adjust to? Is this all part of the package that I have to deal with?
I can't hear anything.
Chris Martin drones something about Jerusalem bells over the stereo, but I don't hear it. It's all a blur of noise warbling through the car. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing and my heart pounding against my chest, but in a slow and panicked rhythm and not its typical racing, frantic mess. The voice in my head is noticeably absent, no doubt hanging from the roof screaming out for a break while pounding on her chest like King Kong.
I'm in a black hole; a whirling cataclysm with seemingly no way out. Christian is silent beside me, the only movements he makes are with the steering wheel, switching lanes and finding the quickest route along the interstate.
My window is pulled down ajar so the light breeze from the car throttling forward filters through and flicks strands of hair across my face. My cheeks feel cold but I like the feeling; I like the light stinging sensation hitting my usually flushed skin. The small whooshing noise from gaining speed is loud to my ears, though usually insignificant and unnoticed.
I stare absentmindedly as we pass the various road signs and other drivers, watching as some of them flip us off for overtaking them, while others stare open-mouthed. I can't judge their expressions completely due to the lightning speed he's forcing the car to. My car stands out: a shiny, new, brilliant white Audi R8. It's exactly what I asked for, and exactly what he wanted – he wanted me to stand out, to pass people and be noticed and easily picked out from the crowd. I'd much rather slip through the net and be a stranger in the night, or to at least have the opportunity to drive the car I've owned for a few months and have sat behind the wheel a handful of times.
What the hell?
Coming back to my senses I twist my body, tugging at my seatbelt and pulling it from me to give me more room to manoeuvre, so I can glare out of the back windscreen. I alter my vision between the back of the car and Christian, his face unchanged and hard.
"Christian."
I speak out, breaking the silence that was growing between us while Coldplay warbled and whined.
I wait to see if he'll say anything but he blanks me. It's as if I'm not here.
"Christian, you're going the wrong way!"
I snap at him, more aggressive than intended, as he swings past the car in front, gaining yet more distance. I press my eyes together for a second, waiting for the fall back that doesn't arrive. I expected him to snap but he's motionless, cold and statuesque.
I frantically wave my arms through the back of the car, pointing eagerly to the exit he completely bypassed. Examining his face shows me nothing – grey eyes fixed to the road, lowering briefly to check the dash, and a jaw twitching from gritting his teeth.
I stare as he ignores me, growing more agitated after every beat goes by.
"Christian!" I snap again, this time triggering a response.
Sitting up straighter in his chair he rolls his head towards me.
"What?!"
His tone is whiny like a petulant teenager being nagged at to tidy his room, eat his greens or do homework. I have a fleeting vision of our little boy standing at the top of the staircase screaming at me until he's blue in the face.
I swear to God Blip, if you're like him I will scream!
"You're going the wrong way." I repeat to him, slower than usual in hopes that he will hear me this time. Though, part of me knows that he heard me previously and chose to ignore it.
"No."
"No? No what?"
Has he lost all means of communication? Is this all I'll get, just one word answers and grunts?
"No, I am not going the wrong way."
Pressing his lips hard against each other they turn white from the pressure, mimicking his knuckles that are translucent from gripping the wheel hard.
"Yes you are."
"With all due respect, how long have you lived in Seattle?"
For the first time I catch him acknowledging me properly, cocking his head to the side and examining my face. A hint of disgust lingers in his eyes, causing me to squirm and want to climb out through the window. I feel small and insignificant, ready to curl up in a ball from the callous and hurtful look in his face, but I stand my ground.
"How is that relevant?"
"You've lived here for what, six or seven months? I've lived here for the majority of my life, excluding the brief stints in Detroit and Massachusetts. My knowledge of the streets and sense of direction, in and around Seattle, is considerably superior to yours." Moving his eyes back the road he continues, hesitating for a millisecond. "Please, do not try to suggest I have no idea where we are going."
"I wasn't suggesting anything. I was just pointing out that you had missed the exit!"
Is this what it's always going to be like? Five minutes of nice Christian – the Christian that holds you and tells you he'd walk on water for you – to then switch to hard, cold and callous Mr Grey – the no-nonsense CEO who will have your head on a silver platter if you cross him, or catch him in a bad mood.
I seriously can't keep up with his violent mood-swings, and try to deal with my own at the same time!
"And I told you, I haven't. Do you really think I've lost all memory of where we live?"
"Home?" I question him. We're going home?
"Yes. You know that place I brought a while back. The place we moved into a few weeks ago?" His voice is irritating me, like fingernails screeching down a chalk board as he addresses me in a condescending manner. "A big house near water…"
"Stop it!"
I slam back into my chair, throwing my arms around my chest and tugging at my jacket. My knuckles match his, my skin turning white as I grip on to the material.
"Stop what?"
"Stop being such an ass!"
"I'm being an ass?"
"Yes, you're talking down to me like I'm a fucking child!" With every reply my voice is going up an octave, growing more and more frustrated.
"Stop questioning me then. You know I hate it."
Rolling my head against the back of my chair I scowl at him, my sight blurred partially from anger. "I wasn't. I was pointing out that you took the wrong exit, but evidently we're not heading that way."
"Where else would we be heading, besides home?"
"I thought you'd take me back to work."
"Why?" He exhales, pushing out his exasperation in one hefty breath.
"Have I entered the Bermuda triangle or something?" I fling my arms out, waving them towards his phone hooked up to the sound system. "You did just hear what Welch told you, right?"
"Of course I did. Questioning my hearing now as well?"
"Yes, there seems to be a problem with it seeing as you've ignored me for the most part of this journey."
"So now concentrating on the road and trying to get us home safely is ignoring you? Would you rather I sit here and contemplate the state of the US economy, driving without a care in the world and put both of you in danger?"
He lifts his hand from the wheel for a second, gesturing to my stomach without removing his eyes from the dash. Clocking the speed he's rocketed us to he slows, dropping by at least twenty.
"A little communication wouldn't go a miss."
"More to the point, why would you think we would head back to your office? You've finished for the day and it's almost closing."
"Well, because Welch has just presented some information that I need to act on. Seriously, what planet are you on right now?"
"Cut the fucking attitude. Now!"
I huff loudly, slamming into my chair again and lifting one leg to cross over the other. I wrap my arms around me, protecting me and creating a barrier. I count to ten before letting out another breath.
"Why aren't you taking me back to work? I need to deal with this and I need to be at my office to do that."
"You think you're going to deal with this?"
Jerking his head towards me I refuse to shift mine, instead looking at him through my peripheral vision. Like I really need to look at him to know what sort of death stare he's delivering to me!
"Are you going to deal with it like you did last time?"
"Huh?"
"I gave you the benefit of the doubt last time, allowing you to deal with this. I made it perfectly clear that I wanted that fucking bitch out, but you insisted on keeping her. Clearly Anastasia knew best! 'Let's give her a chance!'"
I sit still as he tries to imitate me, flaying his arm around in a wavy, feminine motion. It's almost laughable if I didn't want to kick open my door and roll out onto the interstate while he's doing seventy!
"Well, look what happened. You kept her on and she still screwed us over, for the second fucking time!"
"Is it wrong to try and give someone a second chance, to have a little faith?"
"Face it, if they've fucked it up once, they will do it again. Why wait around twiddling your thumbs until someone screws you over again?"
"I gave you a second chance. Is that what I'm doing, waiting for you to fuck me over again?"
Am I?
"Ana –"
"Don't bother. Just take me back to work." I whisper to him, unable to excel any more energy into this.
"We are going home. I'm dealing with it this time."
"As you so frequently remind me, I'm in charge of Grey Publishing. I'm the one who's supposed to deal with these issues."
"My name is still on the papers. It's still in my name, and while it is I'm calling the shots."
"Keep it then! Keep your fucking company."
"It's still yours Ana, but while I'm in charge I will deal with any issues that arise. You've still got a lot to learn in the world of business."
"I don't want to learn any of it. I wanted to be an assistant, work for my title and not have it thrust on me. I hate the fact that everything I have is because of you. None of it is down to me!"
Silence separates us for a moment, neither of us willing to add anything, on my behalf for not wanting to argue anymore. I hate arguing with him, he always makes me feel about two feet tall. The music is the only noise that infiltrates the barrier.
We're engulfed for the rest of the ride home, ignoring each other and both of us standing hard. I thought I heard him mutter something just before he pulled into the drive, but I pushed it out – if he can't say it out loud then it sure as hell isn't worth it.
I jumped from the car no soon as he pulled up in front of the house, next to the SUV always parked up. I suspect Taylor tries to have it on hand just in case he needs to go somewhere, always on Christian's beck and call. He works his ass off for Christian but I can probably guess the amount of times he has been thanked for the work he does. I thank Sawyer every day for driving me to and from work; a little gratitude goes a long way.
Storming into the house I throw my purse down and kick off my heels, leaving the hallway when I heard the door open behind me. I wasn't planning on heading to the kitchen, instead my feet taking me there without my brain registering anything – my brain is still sat in the car, halfway down the interstate when it blew up, unable to cope with the latest Christian Grey drama. I had to get away from him, having to look him in the face and acknowledge him seems impossible right this second, though I'm glad I've ended up in the kitchen – I sure as hell wasn't going to end up in the bathroom like I normally do!
It smells phenomenal in here. Mrs Jones has evidently been cooking some meals for us, no doubt to store in the fridge for whenever we fancy, though the kitchen shows no signs of life. Everything is clean and sharp, untouched and like a showroom. Before I know it my face is in the refrigerator, downing some Orange juice straight from the bottle and greedily finishing it all. Disappointed that the thirst quenching liquid is gone I throw it to one side, slamming the fridge door shut as I feel him invading my space. I can feel him standing right behind me, the shadow trapping me and his breath warm against my neck. I turn slowly, maintaining what distance there is between us and meet him straight in the eye.
"Please make sure that you eat something, and don't stay up late. I'm going to deal with all this shit and I have no idea how long it's going to take." His eyes flicker from mine, breaking first and showing signs of being uncomfortable.
"I'll deal with it. I said I would." I press him again, forcing my hands to my hips and subconsciously pushing my stomach forward. I feel it gently press into his, one of the buttons of his shirt poking at my bulge. I shiver as he steps back slightly, resuming the distance.
"No. I've said I will deal with it. It's not something for you to concern yourself with anymore."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're taking Grey Publishing off me? Or is it that you don't trust me? You don't think I can handle this?"
"Stop pushing me Ana. I don't want to argue with you on this."
Pushing his hair back and stepping away from me he mumbles under his breath. Turning around again and facing me I can see where this is going. On his face is the fight or flight response I'm accustomed to.
"I need to use the fucking gym!"
"Why?"
"Would you rather I take my anger over this out on the fucking furniture, or you for that matter?"
"I would rather you talk to me, but I'm pretty sure there are a thousand windows around here that you can put your fist through!"
"I give up!"
Throwing both of his hands up in the air, surrendering to me, he pounds up the staircase and disappears into our bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I slam my head into my hands and try to think. Words of advice from my Mom pop into my mind, but it's easier said than done. Just give them some time, baby girl. If you argue, take a step back and breathe. Let them calm down and take a chill, before you know he'll be crawling at your feet. I can't imagine him giving in on this. He doesn't trust me to handle this because I made the decision to give her another chance.
You can handle this. He knows you can but he's too far up his own arse to allow you the chance. He has to have control.
I don't know whether the voice in my mind is my own, my subconscious or Kate. All three a likely possibility right this second.
I stand there for a little while, concentrating on what to do. Do I go up there and confront him - scream and shout until he realises that I'm an adult? Do I go up there and apologise – curl around his chest and kiss it better?
Making my decision I'm halted, hearing Christian storming down the stairs. For someone so graceful and light on his toes, when he's pissed off he can pound around like an elephant! I move over to the staircase, meeting the bottom just as he's landing on the wooden floors beneath me. He's changed into his workout sweats and a vest; his dress shoes exchanged for sneakers.
He ignores me as he swings around my figure, moving past and jogging off down the hall towards our home gym. I've yet to step inside the gym since moving in, clearly showing my level of interest in the idea of working out. I prefer to work out with him – working up a sweat between the sheets, or wherever I can get him.
Calling after him is pointless, hearing the gym door slam shut just before I reach him. I slide my hand over the handle, taking a breath before opening it.
Everything in here is brand new – the equipment is gleaming and blinding from the sharp, brilliant white lights overhead. The halls are pristine in the purest and coldest white, completely opposite from the black tiles that make up the floor. All of the machines – treadmills, rowers and weights – face the big screen on the far wall. It's already on some news channel, blasting out loud from the surround sound speakers on both end walls. After taking it in I move to find Christian taking out a towel from the hidden storage unit and a water bottle. He keeps his back to me as he bolts over to one of the treadmills, throwing his towel over the front and setting it to quick pace. I walk to stand in front of him, trying to get him to look at me but he doesn't; his eyes fixed on the screen behind me.
"Ana, just go."
"Why?"
"Because I need some fucking space and I need to clear my mind. I can't do that if you're standing there."
I remain where I am; persistent and unyielding.
"Ana. I've got a lot to sort out, what with trying to run my own fucking company and taking care of the shit at yours. Please, leave me alone."
"I've already told you that I will deal with it. Why won't you let me?"
"You've already shown your expert skills at dealing with problems. I don't exactly relish the idea of one of my companies, housing my surname, going down the fucking toilet."
I stumble on my feet, his words knocking me for six. I drop my head, looking down at my fingers knotting together in front of me. How does he have this effect on me? How can he take me from ecstatic and reaching for the heavens, to then discarding me and telling me that I'm not up to standard?
I nod my head gently, looking up at him and quietly leaving the room. I pull the door to close behind me, waiting until its shut completely before allowing the few tears threatening to make an appearance to fall down my face. I'm silent, mute even, as I leave the hallway.
I can do this. I don't care what he says, I can do this.
I will prove him wrong.
Reaching the far end of the hall I scoop up my heels, ready to take them upstairs when I saw them – like a moth to a flame; like a shiny new toy for a child: my car keys.
Fight or flight.
Throwing my heels back to the floor I slip my feet into them, making a quick grab for my purse and the keys on the side board, glowing like a beacon.
I'm out of the door in seconds, running over to my car and slipping into the driver's side for a change. It roars to life as I push the key hastily into the ignition. For a second I panicked; can I do this?
Come on! It's like riding a bike: you never forget!
Nodding my head and reassuring myself I pull out of the drive, slamming on the brakes as I swung around the SUV, moments away from smacking into it. Jeez, take it down a notch! You'll end up in the ER at this rate!
I'm out of the gates in seconds, grateful that I've managed to escape before they locked down in front of me – someone finding out and putting a stop to my last ditch attempt at proving myself.
I'll show you Grey.
