CHAPTER 11
CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW
That night, after making myself a cup of coffee and saying goodnight to Anastasia, I find myself unable to sleep. It's unusual for me.
Usually, the instance I climb into my too-big bed, spreading my legs out beneath the cool sheets, I fall asleep just like that. But tonight, something's different. My brain refuses to switch off. I keep thinking about things that happened tonight, and things that happened several weeks before, ruminating everything, turning it inside my head over and over.
Gia tonight and how she acted. Her DILF comment. Coming home to find Anastasia awake, her asking me about how my date went. Laughing with her about it, somehow making me feel better and not as ashamed by how disastrous the night went.
I don't know how long I lay awake for, staring up at the dark ceiling. It feels like hours. Then, defeated, I twist up in the sheets, checking the time on my alarm clock. 3 am in the morning, and sleep apparently wants to evade me.
Shifting back down beneath the sheets, resting my head against the pillow, I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. The darkness beneath my eyelids, that soon disperses into vivid memories of tonight. Anastasia touching my cheek, how her skin felt soft and smooth over my cheek. I can't remember the last time a woman has touched me, certainly not like that.
The way she rubbed my arm through my sweater. How reassuring it felt, how nice.
And then I feel that dreaded feeling again, the one I felt on The Grace. An uncontrollable reaction. I suddenly feel too warm in the sheets, too sweaty. My hands feel too clammy, the boxers that I'm wearing too tight and restrictive.
I sit up again, this time throwing the sheets off my warm body as I swing my legs off the side of the bed. Sweaty, stiff down there, too hot. I feel utterly stupid when I reach down with a hand to readjust my balls in my boxers, only to find the reason for that stiff sensation down there. I'm hard again, just like I had been on The Grace due to the way her backside brushed against me, unintentionally causing a perfect amount of friction.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Erection number 2, all thanks to her. You'd think I was a young boy again, a hormonal boy in my early teens, fantasizing and getting hard thinking about the opposite sex. It's fucking embarrassing.
I'd tried to push it at the back of my mind, refusing to acknowledge it out of some sense of feeling disgusted or dirty. To even let myself acknowledge it, to accept it despite how inappropriate it is... But I can't deny it anymore, not when the uncomfortable physical reactions I've suffered the past 2 weeks makes it impossible to dismiss.
Maybe I can refuse to acknowledge it in my mind or downright refuse to so much as even entertain the thought, yet there's no fooling the body from the difficult and horrible truth? My body knows it, even if I refuse to let my mind know it.
I'm attracted to her. Sexually, physically. Emotionally. All of that.
I suppose, the more willing I am to let myself accept it, the better it will be to learn to move past it. Nothing can come of it, and I know that, aside from a lot of trouble, a lot of complications with my daughter.
I feel like I haven't even slept a single hour when I wake to my alarm going off at 8.00 am in the morning.
Getting out of bed, I begin my same old early Sunday morning routine. I get changed into my work out clothes; A black hooded jacket, and black track pants. I stretch out each of my legs while sitting on the edge of my bed, tying up my shoelaces.
The good thing about heading out early in the morning to exercise is that the house is quiet and no one is awake. My daughters asleep and, hopefully, Anastasia's asleep as well.
I climb downstairs, being as quiet as humanly possible. Then I grab an unopened bottle of water out of the fridge, grab the house keys, lock the house up, and then I'm off.
There's a little dirt track behind the house that I love to run of a Sunday morning. I leave the water bottle near the fence and stretch my arms, doing my squats to prepare myself. Then I officially head off, running through the muddy track.
Running, I find, is such a mood-booster. I guess it's true what they say, about "runners high" and endorphin and all that shit. I only truly feel good about myself after a long morning run.
This cold of a morning, my legs start humming, my breaths coming out misty and foggy as I breathe heavily. I duck to miss some branches dangling above the track, not slowing down.
Panting heavily, perspiring beneath my jacket, the words on her text message filter in my brain, basically out of nowhere.
Just be yourself, because the real you, it's amazing. Trust me.
I shake my head, trying to focus on nothing else but using my legs, pushing them as hard and fast as they can possibly go without pulling a joint.
"Sometimes it's good when 2 people feel comfortable around each other, that they can talk easily. Being young or old shouldn't matter at all."
"Sometimes 3 times the charm? Maybe the next time, on the 3rd date, it'll be better?"
I summon all my strength to focus on nothing else but what's in front of me, but I can't. She's there, inside my head. That voice of hers.
"I bet she'll think you look really handsome..."
"Because she hurt you, Christian! I'm sorry because she's my best friend's mom and it's bad of me but... anyone who hurts another person or causes them such pain, I can't help but not like them!"
"Your dismissive of compliments and praises towards you, and you put yourself down. Like how you say you don't understand why I wanted to text you in the first place, that you're old or boring when... you're anything but."
We have developed a good friendship, where I enjoy speaking to her. Clearly, Anastasia enjoys speaking with me also and providing me a certain sense of encouragement. Perhaps because I'm older, she sees me as a good role model, someone she herself can confide in?
I'm shaking everywhere, my limbs are shaking as I push myself. I'm not even completely aware of where I'm going, what's ahead of me. There's just... her and what she's told me. Even one night, a while ago. How she'd followed me into the kitchen.
"You're handsome. Funny. Charming. Not to mention, you're a great father to Kate and a very successful person in life."
I quicken my pace, I have never really run this fast. I'm heaving for breath, giving my lungs an excellent work out. I feel sweat gather and form around my forehead, my mouth going dry, tongue sticking to the top of my throat.
"And you're not even 40 yet, like you said? You've accomplished so much at your age! Your ex, she really loses out..."
Touching my face with the palm of her hand. Comforting me over my horrendous date, rubbing her hand up and down my arm. Her ever constant smiles whenever she is around me. Liking Frank Sinatra immediately all because I introduced it to her.
Texting me words of encouragement, complimenting me. She thinks I'm great, I'm not boring to her, I've accomplished so much. In her eyes, I'm 'handsome' and 'charming'.
It's almost as if she has a... crush on me?
I guess there is a good reason why people say not to push yourself so hard, particularly when you've got an empty stomach and you already feel sort of... shitty with yourself. This long way up the path, it turns into a sort of muddy, loose rocky area, and the soles of my shoes fail to get a good grip as I try to stop.
I can only be thankful no one can see me when I trip over, skidding knee-first on the ground, my ribs painful as I pant desperately, throat sore.
"Fuck," I grumble to myself, lifting up my knees after catching myself with both hands. Since I've landed on my knees, its taken the brunt of the impact. Rocks have shredded through my track pants, and my knees are bloody and stinging. Fucking great.
A crush on me? Could that be why she's always there, with her ever-present smiles around me and her compliments?
It feels flattering yet amusing to think of it, the idea of someone like her having a crush on me. Surely not. She seems wiser, older than her years; so curious and inquisitive and kind and supportive. What good reason could anyone her age possibly have for having some sort of crush on me?
As I get to my feet, reluctantly dusting off small rocks and dirt from my bleeding knees, it occurs to me that maybe I'm not being so ridiculous after all. I know what happens when a young person develops a crush on someone; I've been that age once myself, of course, and all the signs are certainly there.
I can remember with excruciating detail the moment I met my bitch ex in high school and how I wouldn't waste any moment to be near her. I'd take advantage of her closeness by touching her in all the ways I could; Brushing my hands against hers when passing her something, accidentally bumping into her just to see what her reaction would be, and also, how it would feel. I'd always be asking her questions while, sneakily, admiring her physique.
Young boys can't be that different from young women when it comes to having a crush on someone, could they?
When I was 9, my mother Grace insisted I see a therapist. The 1st one I ever had, was an older woman, about in her middle 30's or so. I had the biggest crush on her, though I don't think she ever knew. She had a photograph on her desk in a nice frame of her with her husband, and I remember I'd felt something resembling jealousy over it.
Naturally, of course, nothing happened. My crush fizzled out after it ran its course.
No doubt, that is what would happen with Anastasia, if she is even having a crush on me.
Being a senior in high school, she might say she has no interest in the boys at her school now. But once she graduates, and begins college, I have no doubt whatsoever that it will be different. She'll meet some young man, smart and thoughtful like she is, and they'll start dating. Her crush will fizzle out and run its course.
Only issue is, that... perhaps I have quite the attraction on her herself.
Dusting off my hands, I start running back the way I came, ignoring the pain in my knees.
But I'm the adult here mainly. And overstepping any lines, crossing them... I know the type of man that I aspire to be. I know I wouldn't do anything, particularly not to jeopardize my relationship with my daughter and her relationship with her close friend.
If I can just get my shit under control. I accept now that, all the erections, the happiness and flattery when speaking to her, it may very well be that it's because I find her attractive emotionally, physically. Intellectually. But accepting and acknowledging is far different from acting on that attraction that I feel.
When I was 9, with the crush on the female therapist, it fizzled out once our sessions had concluded and I accepted the hard truth that she was married. If there was just someway I could get Anastasia to no longer come here on the weekends as much, if there was some way I could put some distance between us and stop indulging in trying to maintain a weird sort of friendship between us.
Space and distance away from her would be beneficial. Horrible and scary as it is to admit it to myself, I'm just not so sure that I can trust myself around her anymore.
ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW
"Ready to see Katherine Grey's wonderful cooking skills at work?"
Kate and I are in her huge kitchen, getting breakfast prepared, both of us still in our pajamas. Only this time, it's Kate that cooks. And by cooking, I mean, by toasting. She pulls out 4 slices of brown toast from the toaster while I watch her at the breakfast table, pretending to be overly amused and interested.
She plops 2 pieces down on each plate, grabbing the butter and peanut butter containers and a knife. "And now, we spread the butter and the peanut butter," she says, imitating a chef from a cooking show.
"Very impressive," I mutter playfully as she smothers a large blob of peanut butter onto the toast.
"I know, right?" Kate says proudly, her green eyes flashing with humor. "Well, that's what I think anyway." We end up bursting out laughing, and then we hear the front door open.
Automatically, I sit up in the stool as Kate hands me my plate, my heart racing.
"That must be dad back from his run," Kate says, putting her plate on the counter next to mine near the empty stool where she's going to sit. "I might just go ask him if he wants me to make him some toast. Be right back."
"Okay."
I don't turn to watch her leave the room. I nibble a corner off my toast, peanut butter getting stuck to my mouth. Then I hear Kate and Christian's voice.
"Hey, dad. I made some toast. You want me to-" Kate falls silent, and I think I hear her gasp. "What happened to you? Want me to get some band aids or something?"
"Katherine, I'm fine. I just fell over." His voice does that thing to my body like always, making me shudder. Only he sounds a bit less spine-tingly this morning, and a bit more tense and frustrated instead. "Is Anastasia still here with you?"
My ears perk up at the sound of my name.
"Um, yeah? Why? She's in the kitchen eating her toast?"
"Well, once you're both done, I'd appreciate it if you could drop her home." I drop my toast, my appetite immediately evaporating at his quiet and stern words. He wants Kate to drop me home early? Why? What's happened?
"What? Why? Ana usually stays here until the afternoon?"
"Well, no more," Christian says, gentle exasperation in his voice. "Her mother must get concerned that she's always staying here every weekend for 2 nights."
"But her Mom doesn't care! Her Mom always says its okay for her to stay over so I don't see what the problem is-"
"- The problem is that she stays here almost every single weekend. I think it would be healthy if you both had some time apart-"
"Ana's the best and only friend that I have, dad! And now you want us to be apart?"
"Enough," he hisses, his voice dangerously low and serious. "You'll take her home once you've both finished your breakfast." Christian usually never goes mad at Kate like this. I haven't heard him be this way before. "I don't want to hear anymore of it from you. I'm your father, and what I say stands. Do you hear me?" His tone is almost threatening.
"Fine," I hear Kate give in glumly. "After we've finished our breakfast and have gotten changed, I'll take her straight home."
It hurts, a wide hollow, panicked hole in my chest. A sting of rejection. I have no idea what I've done wrong. But as I hear Kate's dragging footsteps, I pretend as though I haven't heard, keeping my eyes low as I pull apart my soggy toast that she's made for me with my fingers. I glance over at her as she slips on the stool next to me. Her eyes are wet with frustrated tears and she makes a sad face at me.
"Um, so Dad said I have to drop you off home after breakfast," she mutters bitterly, picking at her own toast. "I'm not sure why. He's acting really weird. And he fell over on his run, so his track pants are torn at the knees and he's bleeding."
"Oh. Is he ok?"
"I don't know," she whispers, yanking up the sleeve on the baggy pajama top she's wearing. I see her dab at the corner of her left eye quickly. "Usually he's not like this. Maybe he had a bad morning or something?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
Just as Kate promised her father, after getting changed and brushing our teeth, we get into her car. She pulls out of the driveway, looking a bit distracted and upset still. That hurts still there, that rejection. Usually on the Sunday's, I stay until after 2.00 in the afternoon. I wonder what's wrong with Christian or if he's somehow mad at me. Did I do something wrong last night? I can't even remember what I did that would even be considered wrong in his eyes or give him justification to be pissed off with me.
Kate presses a button on her radio and the interior in her fancy car fills out to the music of Katy Perry. 'I Kissed A Girl' plays. "Is your Mom going to be ok if you get dropped off early?" Kate asks me, glancing my way quickly, her eyebrows raised.
"I think so."
"Sorry about my dad," she sighs, shaking her head in annoyance. "I don't know what's up with him sometimes. Maybe it's that date he had last night or something? I really don't get him sometimes."
"It's ok," I assure her. "I understand." I try to steer our conversation onto something less painful. "You still text messaging Paul?"
Kate looks at me and melts. Like actually melts in the seat, smiling. I can't help laughing at her expression; I have never seen her look that way before. "We are," she admits.
"He asked you out yet?"
"Not exactly, but... I'm confident he will. Give it a few more days."
Once she pulls over at my house, I glance up the driveway nervously. My mom's car is the only one parked there. I sigh in relief.
"You sure you'll be ok?" Kate asks me worriedly.
"I promise. Everything's fine." I lean over to hug her while grabbing my bag off the floor. "See you tomorrow?"
"Definitely."
I stand in my driveway, waving to Kate as I watch her pull back out onto the road. When I unlock the door and get inside, it's quiet. My Mom usually takes advantage of me being at the Grey's on the weekend by having parties here at the house. Or sometimes she'll invite a new man over. My Mom Carla has had so many dates with different men these past 15 years that it's so difficult to keep up.
Shoving the strap of my bag onto my shoulder, I walk towards the kitchen, peering around to find her. I find my Mom at the kitchen table, on her laptop, a glass of red wine next to her keyboard. My Mom always drinks wine, and she's a big drinker. It's rare to see her without a glass or bottle in her hands.
She's also a receptionist at a big-name company, which surprises me considering the amount she drinks and how hungover she often is the next morning. Apparently her drinking doesn't effect her employment.
"Ana, is that you?" she asks distractedly without looking up from her laptop screen.
"Hi, yeah it's me, Mom."
She glances down at her watch quickly. "You're home incredibly early? What happened?" She starts typing again, her fingers flying fast over the keyboard. "Did the Grey's have to go out to a family event or something?"
"No, Mom. I just... I decided to come home early, that's all." I stand there, staring at her as she continues to type. Then she pauses, her fingers sliding around the stem of her wine glass. She swallows down a few mouthfuls of the wine, then she starts writing again, not even once looking at me.
Look at me, I feel like screaming then, my eyes welling with frustrated tears. Hello, I'm your daughter. I'm standing right here!
Giving up on attempting more talk as she's obviously preoccupied, I turn, moving towards my bedroom. The instance I close the door softly in my room and I'm safe, I break down, the tears spilling out. I drop my bag, leaning back against the back of the door, covering my hands over my face.
I don't even know why I am letting it affect me so much; My Mom is always like this, always preoccupied chatting on her laptop or doing whatever knows what it is that she does. I've learned long ago that crying about my mother and her absent and distant behavior towards me solves nothing, but I can't stop it right now. It must be a combination of everything; Christian sending me home early, his aloofness for some reason as if he's mad at me, as well as my Mom's typical behavior.
THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR LOVELY SUPPORT, IT MEANS A LOT.
AS SOME OF YOU HAVE BEEN LOVELY TO POINT OUT, CHRISTIAN SHOULD BE 36, NOT 38. I APOLOGIZE AND AM EMBARRASSED FOR THE ERROR, I WRITE LATE AT NIGHT WHEN I GET HOME THOUGH THAT IS NO MISTAKE FOR GETTING IT WRONG. I'M NOT SURE HOW TO EDIT CHAPTERS BUT FROM NOW ON, PLEASE JUST DISMISS THE 38 AGE COMMENTS, AND INSTEAD HE'S 36. SO SORRY! THERE WILL ALSO BE A TIME JUMP NEXT CHAPTER, WITH ANA AND KATE GRADUATING, ETC. LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS, HOPE IT WASN'T A DISAPPOINTMENT.
ALSO, A QUESTION ABOUT SCHOOLS, I AM NOT AMERICAN BUT IS THERE A GRADUATION CEREMONY FOR SENIORS WHEN THEY FINISH HIGH SCHOOL AT 18? THEN DO STUDENTS APPLY FOR COLLEGE AFTER HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE? SORRY I GET CONFUSED AT TIMES WITH HOW SCHOOLING WORKS IN THE US. AGE OF CONSENT WHERE I LIVE IS 16 YEARS BUT OBVIOUSLY DIFFERENT IN OTHER PARTS OF THE WORLD. THANKS!