THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS AND ALERTS, I AM REALLY SURPRISED AND GRATEFUL. SORRY IF ITS BORING, HOPEFULLY THIS ONE WILL BE A BIT MORE EXCITING.

IN TOO DEEP

Chapter 4

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

It's just nearing midnight when I decide to call it a night. I click off the lamp in my study, heading to my bedroom. On the way there, I check and make sure Kate's still asleep and in bed. I open the door to her room, listening to the faint heavy breathing noises she makes. Everything seems fine there, so I close the door carefully as not to wake her, then make my way upstairs.

It still feels so fucking weird sleeping alone. Even after 3 years since the divorce, I don't think I've really gotten over it. Hell, there is a lot of things I haven't gotten used to.

Shoving my phone into its charger near my bedside table, I unbuckle my belt, then unbutton my shorts, sliding out of them. I fold them neatly before removing my shirt, folding that too, then I place them back neatly in my wardrobe. My empty bed calls to me, and as I step towards it while slipping off my socks, my phone goes off with a vibration.

I rub my eyes and around my face, sighing heavily as I sit on the mattress, reaching for my phone. My phone tells me I've got a text, and at this hour. This is unusual. Usually I don't receive texts at this time of the night, unless my assistant is working late hours and she urgently needs something from me. Yanking back the sheets, I slide my legs and feet beneath them, making myself comfortable, propping myself up with an elbow while I rest on my side to read it, thumbing it open.

I hope this isn't too weird, me texting you, but it's Ana, Kate's friend. Remember me? ;) Anyway, I guess I just wanted to thank you again. Both for you allowing me to sleep over for so many weekends as well as the books you lent me. I've already read straight through Gatsby, and am now onto chapter one of Revolutionary Road. Thank you.

How bizarre. Kate's best and closest friend Anastasia is texting me at midnight. I don't even know how she got my phone number in the first place, unless Kate gave it to her? Either way, it's unexpected. And surprisingly, not at all unwelcome, although I don't know why she would want to text me, dirty old man that I probably am to her.

I press down on the 'Reply' button, still feeling shocked. This hasn't happened to me before, obviously. With one of Kate's friends writing to me. Then again, Kate hasn't had many friends throughout the years. Anastasia has really only been the first she's bothered to bring home.

In all the times I've met and spoken to her while she's slept over, Anastasia has seemed like a good, polite young girl. Sometimes, oddly enough, she seems almost older than Kate is. Sometimes it's easy to forget she's 17, just like my daughter. She's been well-spoken and polite, albeit shy and reserved in all the times I've spoken to her. Her interest and taste is books is something I hadn't been expecting for a girl her age. Kate certainly couldn't care less about reading.

Hello Anastasia,

As I said earlier on today, the books were just sitting there, gathering dust. Kate isn't interested in reading them, so I'm pleased you are finding use for them. Please, there is no need to thank me. You're very welcome.

I hesitate, wondering whether I should initiate more texting from her. Would that be inappropriate? I peer up at the small digits on the corner of the phone screen that tell the time. Surprisingly, the fatigue and tiredness has immediately seemed to leech out of my body, all due to receiving the text from Anastasia. Now, I feel wide-awake, curious and interested. What harm would there be in responding to her texts?

I add before sending, How did you find The Great Gatsby after finishing it? What's your thoughts?

I hit send, lounging back against the pillow, waiting for her to reply. My phone vibrates in my hand barely two minutes later. This girl is impressively fast with using her phone to text.

I found it incredibly sad. I saw the latest movie adaptation and thought that was great, but the book was even sadder, especially Jay Gatsby's character and background into how he became what he was. I also thought the character Daisy was more loathsome in the book. She truly didn't deserve him.

My phone goes off seconds later with little faces, one that looks as though it's crying. Then another face with devil horns. How good and quick she is with using technology in comparison to me is embarrassing. I don't even know how to use the face symbols, even although Kate tried to unsuccessfully instruct me on how to do it several times.

I lick my lips and rub my sore eyes with my fingertips, wondering what to say in response. Then it hits me.

Of course, naturally you would focus on the romantic element of the novel while completely dismissing what the author truly intended to say.

I can't figure out or remember how to do a winking face to show I'm teasing her, but I hope she gets it.

She replies thirty seconds later.

Well, as I said, I love the classics. Romance always is an extremely important plot element to me. ;) What do you think the author was intending to say between the lines?

I sit up, pressing 'Reply'. Strange thing is, I realize I'm smiling. She's got me smiling while reading her texts, something I usually rarely experience lately. This is rather enjoyable, writing to her. Even more enjoyable than I first thought it would be.

The theme of The Great Gatsby was more important than the plot element of romance, I think. It was used as a metaphor for the Great American Dream during the 1920's, the entire story.

If it were Kate I were saying this out loud to, she'd roll her eyes and ignore me, accusing me of lecturing her. Usually Kate finds the things I wish to speak in depth about boring. I can't tell if I'm boring Anastasia at all.

Her response comes a minute later: I thought Gatsby's ultimate dream was marrying Daisy because he loved her?

And apparently I am not boring her after all...

She definitely is different from Kate, in ways I never knew possible. How can a girl my daughter's age have so much interest in what other people wish to say? How can a girl her age respond so differently?

That was part of his dream, sure. To obtain Daisy's love. But it was also to obtain the ultimate American Dream that Fitzgerald assumed was true. Becoming rich, prosperity, that sort of thing. Even as I read what I've written through again to make sure it's spelled correctly, it occurs to me how boring I sound. Perhaps my daughter is right? Am I boring you yet? I decide to add before hitting send, hopefully to inject some humor so she doesn't think I'm completely banal.

Speedily, she sends me a laughing face. Then a winking face. How fast she is able to move her fingers is awe-inspiring.

Believe it or not, I'm not even halfway to being bored. Then again I don't think you could ever bore me.

My heart feels alight with warmth at her words. It isn't everyday someone says something nice or reassuring to me. Kate's mother always used to complain that I was a workaholic, that I was always too straight-faced.

After that, she sends me a face that looks abashed with red cheeks. I'm assuming that means she's feeling shy or that she's blushing? I probably shouldn't find it adorable of her, yet I do.

Why are you up this late? It's past midnight and you have school tomorrow? Does your mother know you're up? I hit 'reply' before I can even reconsider what I'm typing. My old father instincts have risen up to the surface. The fact she is up at midnight when she ought to be sleeping like my daughter is, it's infuriating. What's even more astounding is that she's still awake, texting me, of all people. Doesn't she have countless boys her own age to text instead of men more than half her age?

She replies:

My mom doesn't really care what time I stay up until. Usually I'm up at all ridiculous hours of the night reading or studying anyway, so she isn't too concerned. :) You're very avuncular.

I don't even realize I'm laughing until a chuckle escapes my mouth. It really has been a long, long time since I felt this good or happy to write to someone else. Avuncular? Do you even know what that word means?

Barely a second later, she's at it again with those faces. Then she sends:

I do actually. And that's what you are.

I shake my head, then try not to smile any longer. Then you have a very interesting vocabulary for someone your age. The way Kate likes to put it, is that I'm either boring, bossy or lame.

Neither three. She replies. Then: You are neither boring, bossy or lame. To me anyway.

I smile at her texts, then stop myself again, shaking my head as the guilt and feelings of sheer stupidity settle in. What am I doing really? Why am I responding to her, a girl my daughters age? My daughters friend? This is hugely inappropriate. Doesn't she have boys her own age she can text?

I write: Why are you writing to me? Don't you have plenty of boys you like your own age from school that you can write to?

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

His text comes through and I feel myself getting even redder than I thought humanly possible as I read it.

Why are you writing to me? Don't you have plenty of boys you like your own age from school that you can write to?

I suppose he's right. It's probably weird, but I couldn't resist. I've had his phone number in my phone for a while now. Kate put it in and saved it, just in case she needed to text her dad using my phone if she didn't have any money left to do it. It was sort of an impulse thing, deciding to text Mr Grey after leaving his house this morning. I just felt I had to thank him for the books though.

I bite my lip, wondering what to write back, hating how squeamish I feel at the thought of him sitting in bed, just like I am, writing back. The thought never even crossed my mind that he would write back. I just thought he'd either be creeped out or ignore my text completely.

I'm writing to you because I find guys my age are usually incapable of holding scintillating conversation with me. I find someone like you to be much more interesting.

I send it, then feel myself flush again. I hope that wasn't too much, saying all of that? But it's true. I find him to be so interesting.

Without thinking, I type out another text, hitting send: When I got home, I listened to that Frank Sinatra song you mentioned on YouTube. I've Got You Under My Skin. Great song ;)

And it's true, I really did. As soon as I got home, I was plugging in my laptop, listening to the song that he said was one of his favorites. I didn't really think that sort of song would be to my tastes, but since it was him who likes it, I think it automatically made me like it, too.

I wait for him to reply, gnawing on my fingernails anxiously.

And wait. And wait. Two minutes goes by. Have I said too much? Has he fallen asleep now? Does he not want to write to me anymore? Should I take that as a hint?

But then, to my relief: You remembered me saying I love that song?

I breathe out slowly through my lips, feeling better now that he's replied. Of course I did. Frank Sinatra has an amazing crooning, sensual voice. I feel like I could almost fall asleep listening to him. You have great taste.

I cringe as I re-read what I've written. I sound so gushing and smitten, which I am, but it's embarrassing. I hope he doesn't notice.

Not according to Kate, I don't. She hates that song with a fiery passion.

I laugh while settling back comfortably into my pillow, my face feeling too hot. I feel like I'm glowing. I send: Somehow that doesn't surprise me. I can imagine Kate saying that, but she's wrong.

A wild, sudden impulse makes me want to ask him what he's wearing, which would be completely and utterly foolish. I would never be brave enough to, but I feel all sort of coy just imagining myself doing it.

Thank you, you're sweet, he replies about 30 seconds later.

I'm sweet. He thinks I'm sweet. Hopefully that's a good thing?

I glance over at the clock on my bedside table while still smiling. I should really get to sleep unfortunately, much as I would love to continue texting to him. I realize we've been texting back and forth for over 15 minutes.

I have to go to bed now, Mr Grey. But thank you again.

Setting my phone down with a sigh, I reach over, shutting off my lamp, my bedroom falling into darkness. Then my phone lights up with his response.

Goodnight then, Anastasia. Don't thank me. Sweet dreams.

I sigh again while tucking my arms beneath the sheets, rolling over onto my side. I cannot believe he was texting me, and that I was texting him. I cannot believe he actually replied and was writing to me. Kate's dad, her gorgeous father. Who would have thought?

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

After sending her a goodnight message, I wait for a moment for her to respond. Once I realize that she probably isn't going to, I set the alarm on my phone then reach over, placing it on the bedside table.

That was certainly an interesting turn of events, texting with Anastasia.

Shutting off my lamp, I shuffle down into the sheets, resting my head against the pillow. One arm goes behind my head as I stare up at the dark ceiling, my fingers combing back my hair.

A bewildered chuckle tears through my mouth as I shake my head up at the ceiling. I cannot believe she even bothered to remember me telling her that I'm a humongous fan of Frank Sinatra, that I love his music. I cannot believe she actually listened to it and then commended my taste of music; me, someone who is probably nothing more than an old fogey to her.

She's certainly a lot different from Kate. Open-minded, as far as reading or listening to a vast range of literature and music, whereas my daughter is pig-headed and set in her ways.

Somehow, I can't wash off the sensation that what I was doing, in responding to Anastasia's texts, was immoral or wrong. But it was only something innocuous and amusing, nothing anything serious.

As my alarm goes off at 7.00 in the morning, I get out of bed, heading to the shower to get cleaned up and fresh for the day of work ahead of me. Taking my phone into the bathroom with me, I realize I'd received a text that I mustn't have heard when waking.

I open it, discovering it's from Anastasia yet again.

Morning, Mr Grey ;)

Apparently she sent it 10 minutes ago. Kate usually screams at me when I have to force her to get up early for school. Anastasia is evidently different, having sent me the text just before 7 am. Like last night, I catch myself grinning as I lean against the cool tiles, writing back.

Good morning to you too, Anastasia. You're an early bird.

Leaving my phone by the sink, I race back into the room, grabbing a clean pair of underwear, socks, and a fresh business suit and tie for the day ahead of me. My phone vibrates loudly just as I'm putting the clothes on the floor.

Well, what's that saying? The early bird catches the worm?
Anyway, hope you have a good day.

It's slightly disarming, how fucking happy her texts make me. What is she doing to me, this friend of Kate's? Here I am, grinning, and usually, I haven't found the humorous side into many things for quite a while. Yet somehow, with her, she seems to bring it out of me so effortlessly.

I reply: Yes, that is indeed the right saying.
You have a great day also. Please keep my daughter in line.

My phone goes off multiple times while I'm peeing. I step out of my underwear, kicking it away with my feet. I check my phone before climbing into the shower.

She's sent me a hand-gesture symbol, a thumbs-up sign, as well as a few faces.

You can count on me, Mr Grey. I'll make sure she's on her best behavior.

Really, what is it about this girl? I never anticipated that all it would take was a few texts from a girl my daughter's age to start actually feeling reasonably jovial again. Laughing like this, smiling, feeling amused... it's been far too long.

Despite how inappropriate it no doubt is, texting my daughter's friend, encouraging her, I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again in a long time. Things have been incredibly difficult since what happened 3 years ago, what with the divorce and Kate's mother leaving me and immediately shacking up with another man.

It's nice; the feeling of being listened to, that someone is showing genuine interest in me, someone who seems as though they sincerely look up to me and value my output and what I have to say.

It makes me feel strangely younger again, lighter. Almost like I was those years ago, back in high school, when I first got with Kate's mother. The laughing, the smiling, the juvenile jokes, the secretive communicating. Only difference is, this girl is years younger than me, I'm no doubt an old boring fogey to her that she's texting out of pity, and she's my daughter's closest friend.

Finishing work at 6 PM, I get ready to leave the office, shutting the blinds and gathering all my notes. Then I shut off my computer and make sure my desk is orderly. That's when my phone vibrates again.

I snatch it up, opening the text. Then I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hide the undoubtedly stupid smile that comes across my face. I am a stupid, stupid foolish man. I should not be this happy or amused.

Hi, it's me again. Ana.
Just wondering if you've had a good day? Sorry if my texting you is bothering you? If it is, I promise I'll stop the instance you say so. As for Kate, I kept her well in line today. We studied after school in the library. Hope that makes you happy?

I should say that yes, she should stop, this is inappropriate behavior and it is bothering me. And yet, it's the last thing I find myself wanting to do. Sitting back in my chair, I reply:

You aren't bothering me at all, Anastasia, I can assure you. My day has been so-so, certainly not great. What is great however is hearing what you tell me about my daughter. I'm glad she's getting her homework done. How was your day?

To keep myself busy while I wait for her reply, I straighten all the pencils on my desk. Then:

My day was okay, a bit boring though. :) Glad to hear that I'm not bothering you. I am happy to report that I am already halfway through Revolutionary Road. It's a lot more depressing than I expected it to be, reading the breakdowns of their marriage and the pressures they experienced during the era. Anyway, it's very interesting reading.

Another text from Anastasia, sent so quickly. Her fingers must be so nimble:

Also, I may have downloaded an entire album of Frank Sinatra's onto my IPod. Thank you for introducing me to him. He is so suave, I could listen to his voice all day.

I catch a chuckle into my palm before glancing around my empty, quiet office. This is why she is so different from my daughter, in astounding ways. I've never had someone actually like what I've liked before. I tried to introduce Kate to Frank Sinatra one year, but she acted disgusted, saying he's too jazzy and boring for her. It's nice to be the one to introduce a new sound of music to someone else.

Glad to hear it, I type back. Welcome to the magical wonder that is Frank Sinatra. I have quite the collection of his albums. Maybe when you come around I can give you a few to borrow next time?

How presumptuous of me, assuming she'd actually want me to lend her some albums. She's probably simply being nice and finds me as something inspiring pity. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if that was actually it. I've been a wreck since the divorce, my emotions ranging from bitter to resentfully angry and upset.

But then she texts back: I would love that so much! Like you said, I've Got You Under My Skin is definitely one of his better songs. I keep listening to it on repeat.

It's an even better song to dance to, Kate's mother and I had it as our first dance song, I type back without thought. But by the time I start to regret it, it's too late and I've already pressed 'send'. Kate's mother and I danced to I've Got You Under My Skin at our wedding. In fact, it was our first dance theme song together. You'd think I'd loathe the song now, because obviously, our marriage turned to shit and she's a bitch. But oddly enough, I still love the song, regardless of what it reminds me of.

I shouldn't have sent that to her. It's way too personal. She does not need to know what Kate's mother and I had danced to during our wedding. Why the fuck had I told her that?

Oh. Does that song remind you of her?

I squint at the words she's written back on the screen, gritting my teeth. We're getting too personal here. I shouldn't have told her that. But does that song remind me of Kate's bitch of a mother? No, not anymore frankly. I do remember dancing to it on our wedding night, but I've always liked that song for far longer.

No, I decide to write back. It doesn't remind me of her. My father actually introduced me to that song when I was twelve years old.

That is frankly why I like the song so much; Remembering my foster father Carrick playing it to me when I was a kid. The song hasn't been tainted by the memory of the bitch ex and I dancing to it on our wedding night.

Her next text has warning bells going off inside my head. I shouldn't have told her, I shouldn't be doing this shit with my daughter's friend. I cannot even speak to anyone about this shit.

If you don't mind me asking, do you still love her?

I clench down with my teeth, re-reading the word twice before shutting off my phone and rising to my feet, my forehead throbbing. I can't fucking answer that. Especially not to her. It's too personal, too fucking... everything.

I can't handle thinking about this shit. It's much easier pretending as though Kate's mother doesn't exist.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE? I KNOW IT IS PROBABLY SLOW MOVING AND BORING, SO I'M SORRY. I AM TRYING TO MAKE IT REALISTIC BUT IT'S PROBABLY JUST BAD. I'M NOT VERY GOOD AT WRITING SO SORRY, I GET SO NERVOUS