Chapter 19

Charity Begins at Home

A belated happy new year to everyone. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to my beta Svart Jasmin. Please check out her stories.

Anastasia

I stare at him pleadingly, hoping he will understand that I don't really want to have sex with him. Yes, I signed the contract and he kept his end of the bargain. I am even willing to admit that I misjudged him about my father and I feel guilty for it. However, that does not change how I feel when he initiates intimacy with me. Why doesn't he understand that what he did to me was wrong? That he hurt me and made me feel demeaned and degraded? That I would not have slept with him if he hadn't coerced me to? He is so different from anyone I met before. His way of thinking is so completely different that I don't really know how to make him understand how I feel. He is just so damaged in his own way.

Maybe if things were different and I hadn't misjudged him, we could have been a couple, but we are past that station now.

"You enjoyed what I did to you, Anastasia. Why can't you just accept that? Why are you so ashamed for loving sex just as much as I do? Let go of this ridiculous moral burden. Trust me, you will feel better for it. I am speaking from experience."

Why can't he understand that my body's psychical response is just a natural reaction? That I did not want what he did to me? A little part of me is intrigued, though. What does he mean by speaking from experience? He has nightmares, he is damaged, but what happened to him? Did someone abuse him too?

"Mr. Grey, Christian, what you did to me was wrong. I did not enjoy it like you think I did. My body merely gave a natural reaction. But I did not like what you did to me. Please try to understand that I felt demeaned and degraded like I am a piece of meat for you to use whenever you feel like it." My voice is soft, almost a whisper. I am afraid of his reaction. His face looks grim, angry even. I need to try and explain this to him. Suddenly inspiration hits me. "Truth or dare?" I ask taking him by surprise.

"What?" He asks slightly bemused.

"Truth or dare? You wanted us to get to know each other better. I want to know you better, so truth or dare?"

He scratches his chin for a moment and cocks his head to the right and looks at me quizzically.

"Ok, alright, I'll play. Truth." He finally answers.

"You said you were speaking from experience, about what you did to me. What did you mean by that?" I ask genuinely interested in his answer.

He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, and mutters something inaudible under his breath. He looks at me, doubt marring his face. For a moment, I think he will call the whole thing off.

"I was an out of control teen getting into fights at school, getting expelled, drinking. You get the idea." He pauses for a brief moment. "My parents were at their wits' end and did not know what to do. So a friend of my mother's suggested that I needed to do some hard manual labor, that it would straighten me out. Therefore, I started to work for her, cleaning up stuff in her backyard. One day she brought me something to drink and I made some smart-ass remark at her. She slapped me hard on my face and then kissed me and cupped my crotch… I felt confused, angry and aroused at the same time.

I asked why she did that and she told me that I needed to learn control. She told me that she could make me stop drinking and fighting, become successful, making my parents proud of me. All I needed to do was let her take complete control of my life, do everything that she said. She introduced me to BDSM. At first, I hated it and I did not want to do it, it felt wrong but somehow it also felt really good. Elena told me that I shouldn't let societal norms dictate how I felt and just enjoy what she did to me.

That I shouldn't feel ashamed for enjoying the sex and being submissive, that it was all just natural. She was right. Elena turned my life around for the better. I stopped fighting and drinking, got good grades, got accepted into Harvard, and when I dropped out she helped me start GEH. So you see, I know and understand exactly how you feel and I am asking you to let go. Stop feeling ashamed of what we do. It is only natural." He looks at me imploringly his gray eyes wide almost pleading.

I am completely stunned. This is not what I expected at all. He was abused and he does not even realize it. He truly thinks that this is normal! This is so messed up, I just don't know what to do or say! Elena? Where did I hear that name before…? The image of the tall blond woman that gave me the creeps when Grace took me to the beauty salon springs to mind. It was her, she is his abuser! Instinctively I knew something was off with her.

"Does your mother know?" Is all I manage the squeak out.

He looks at me like I have grown two heads.

"Of course not! It's not like I could tell her that I was sleeping with a woman more than twice my age that happens to be her friend." He snaps clearly irritated.

More than twice his age? The woman is nothing more than a disgusting pedophile. Why doesn't he understand this? How can I make him understand?

"Mr. Grey..." I start and he looks at me pointedly. "Christian." I quickly amend feeling a little stupid for using his last name in such an intimate conversation. "There is something that I don't understand. If it wasn't wrong, what she and you did like she told you and like you felt like in the beginning, why couldn't you just tell your parents?"

"Anastasia, don't be ridiculous! My father is a lawyer and my mother is a pediatrician paragon[HM1] s of societal morality. On top of that, they are devout members of Episcopal Church with very orthodox values and dogmas, unable to see past their own morality. They would never have understood what was going on between Elena and me, and how she helped me become the son they always wanted me to be. If anything, they should be grateful to her. Elena saved my life. She made me the man I am today. Rich, powerful, and in control of every aspect of my life." He says with complete and utter conviction it's unnerving.

Does he really believe this? Can't he see how wrong and fucked up what she did to him was? For a moment, I am completely stunned, at a loss for a coherent response. What he says does not make sense at all.

"You said it yourself, your parents are good, moral people. Given their respected professions they need to be... open-minded and look past their own orthodox belief system. If it truly wasn't wrong, what you and that woman did, they would have understood. She abused you, Christian like you are abusing me. She abused you when you were a vulnerable troubled young teen. There is no defence for that." I try to reason with him.

He rubs his hand through his hair furiously and pinches the bridge of his nose. He stands up straight glowering at me. A chill runs down my spine and fear takes a hold of me again. He looks menacing.

"I knew I shouldn't have told you. You are just like all the others, narrow-minded and judgemental. We made a deal, I merely forced you to keep your end of the bargain. You know nothing about me and how fucked up I was. Don't presume to know me just because I shared a tidbit with you. This discussion is over!" He bellows and I cringe. I want to be anywhere else but in the tense confines of dining room

I grab my bag from the ground and try to move inconspicuously to the door.

"I haven't dismissed you. He hisses narrowing his eyes at me. His handsome face is contorted with unrestrained anger, giving him almost a reptilian look. I inwardly shudder.

"I am sorry." I mutter weakly hoping this won't further escalates.

"Regardless of all what's said and done, we made a deal Anastasia. You signed my contract and I will hold you to it. It is as simple as that. And if you feel the need to question and argue about everything I tell you then maybe... I should reconsider our little game of truth or dare. Now you are dismissed." He says bluntly while dismissively waving his hand at the door of the dining room.

I am hoping that I can spend the rest of the evening alone. I don't think I can handle another one of his outbursts today. At least I can take solace in the fact that the gossip at the office has died down thanks to his involvement. My phone however, has not stopped ringing all day long. I resolve to call Jose, Kate, my mom and Jimmy tonight.

"Ana!" Kate squeals happily through the phone.

"Hi, Kate."

"OMG, I have so much to tell you! And you, you should spill the beans right now! Tell me about you and Grey I want to hear every sordid detail." She rambles through the phone.

I dreaded this conversation for so long. Kate will go all Bernstein on me if I don't give a little titbit. And I just don't think I can withstand the Kavanagh inquisition.

"There is not much to tell. Mr. Grey is my boss and I accompanied him on a business trip to Italy. We talked a little and I told him about Ray. He was nice enough to make a stop in Boston so I could visit him and mom there. But we don't have any kind of romantic relationship." There I gave her just enough of the truth to stop digging, at least that is what I hope. I don't want her to know about the sick relationship I have with Mr. Grey.

"Well, I find that hard to believe looking at those pictures Ana. You two look amazing and sweet together. And you know what! I am dating his brother. Pity that you are not dating Christian. If you did we could finally be sisters." She blurts out happily. I am stunned, completely and totally flabbergasted. Is she dating his brother? How? When?

"What, how? When?" I manage to squeak out.

"Remember the hot blond guy I danced with at that club in Portland? Well, his name is Elliot Grey, the brother of billionaire hotshot Christian Grey. We met up again by accident in a small coffee shop in Portland. Can you believe it? Oh, Ana, he is amazing." She says dreamingly.

We quickly fall into an easy conversation and I realize how much I missed having girl talk with Kate. It is a nice distraction from my own problems. She tells me all about Elliot, sounding like a little school girl having her very first crush. It makes me smile. I don't think I have ever seen Kate so in love before.

"Oh, and he has asked me to be his date to this charity ball his parents are organizing so I can meet them. He is just so chivalric." She says all dreamy and my heart drops in my stomach. Shit, shit, shit! It is the same ball Christian is taking me. Oh God no! Kate will know. I feel sick and sweaty that I hardly pay any attention anymore to what she is saying. This is bad, really bad. I need to find a way to get out of this date with Grey. If Kate sees us together again, she will be relentless.

There is a knock on the door interrupting my swirling thoughts.

"Kate hold on a second." I say when Mrs. Jones comes into the room.

"Miss Steele I don't mean to disturb you but Mr Grey has requested your presence down stairs for tea and biscuits." She says softly.

Crap! I was so wrapped up in my conversation with Kate that I did not notice that it's almost eight already. I don't want to stoke Grey's ire further by testing his patience again.

"Kate something came up and I have to go I will talk to you later ok?"

"Uhm, sure." She says hesitantly "Laters, Ana." She says and hangs up the phone. I throw my own cell phone on the bed and make my way downstairs to the drawing room where he is already seated. The roaring fire creates a comfortable warmth.

"About time." He says sullenly.

"I am sorry. Kate called and the phone call took longer than I expected." I reply tentatively, not wanting to set him off.

"When I tell you to come, you come immediately I am getting tired of repeating myself and your lame excuses." He glowers at me and I feel my heart slam against my ribcage in dread.

"I am truly sorry Mr… Christian I swear it won't happen again." I say lamely. I am getting so tired of arguing with this man. Maybe I should just leave? He paid for Ray's treatments, I could just try and sneak out again, right? My unsuccessful escape attempt in Italy and its aftermath come unbidden into my mind again. No, he would find me and surely have me locked up in prison for stealing his money.

I look up at him he looks so sad and dejected. Is he still upset from what I said to him? The unwelcome feeling of sympathy flows through me. Maybe I should just woman up and take responsibility for my actions? Serve out his contract no matter how hard it is? I loathe myself for even contemplating the thought, but I don't really see another option. Yes, I was wrong, but what he did to me just doesn't compare. But I also know that this combativeness is not getting me anywhere. It is tiring and only makes me more upset. Maybe I really should try to understand him even if I don't agree with him. I could at least try and listen without judgment right? I remember grandma Steele quoting the bible verse Who is without sin cast the first stone. I can try to live by that quote, after all, he has been honest and forthcoming with me when I asked him for the truth. Even when I did not like what came out of his mouth.

"Make sure that it doesn't." he snaps back irritated and I am instantly tense again, fearing the meaning of his words, and my generous thoughts about trying to understand him instantly evaporate.

Miss Jones brings us tea and coffee and a try full of fresh pastries. It smells delicious but I am not very hungry. I know he will blow another gasket if I don't take anything so I reluctantly take a bite out of a crème horn. It tastes amazing.

We drink our beverages in silence, but I can feel his burning gaze fixed on me throughout our dinner. I am already on edge due to his veiled threat, his penetrating stares makes me feel even more flushed and uncomfortable.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he drowns his coffee and gets up from his chair without uttering a word. Once he has left the drawing room I quickly follow suit and almost run to my bedroom. I try to call Jose back but he does not answer and neither does Jimmy. I feel a little sad that I do not get to talk to them. I miss them more than I thought was possible. I decide to take a shower to clear my mind a little.

The water is warm and relaxing, soothing my jumbled thoughts. I close my eyes and enjoy the luxurious feeling. Then I feel him before I see him; his strong masculine scent invading my senses startling me out of my own little world.

The look in his eyes is intense and feral like a predator eyeing its prey. I instinctively move backward slamming my back against the shower wall. A shiver runs down my spine and my mouth feels dry like cotton. Deep down, I always knew that he only would give me a brief reprieve from his sexual advances. I am not that naïve. He made it crystal clear to me this morning. He expects me to uphold my end of the 'deal/ contract' or face the dire consequences. I had no intention of facing his wrath. I swallow nervously when his eyes shamelessly roam over my body hungrily and I flush beet red. It's a huge difference from the sad, sullen dejected man who stormed out of the dining room replaced by a confident, dominant man who standing right in front of me. He is just so mercurial.

"You are so beautiful." There is an odd hint of awe in his voice. He slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt without ever taking his eyes off me. He slides his shirt gracefully of his broad shoulders. He opens the button of his trousers and artfully pulls them down with his boxer briefs. I swallow at the sight of his enormous erection, and I idly wonder how that thing ever had fit inside of me.

He climbs in the shower with me and holds his hand out for the shampoo.

"May I?" He husky whispers. His pupils are so far dilated that his eyes appear to be completely black. His gaze is lustful and primitive, like a tiger ready to strike down its prey. I shudder at the sight of him not daring to deny his simple request. I nod and hand him the shampoo, and he gives me a slow, almost predatory smile.

"Sure." I croak out hardly recognizing my own voice. He pushes me further under the shower, completely wetting my hair. He gently massages my scalp with his large hands and I cannot help but relax at his ministrations.

"You have such beautiful hair Ana, you are just so perfect. Why do you have to be so perfect?" He murmurs more to himself than to me. His warm breath caresses ear making me shiver.

"I just can't get enough of you. I think about you every minute of every day. I know I should have left you alone when you asked me to but I just simply can't. You have bewitched me, Ana. I have never felt anything like this before." His voice is soft and earnest. His admission is both shocking and terrifying. He can't have feelings for me! He is in lust with me, I can handle that, but the thought of him feeling more for me is just frightening; it makes things emotional and messy. I need to make him understand that it's nothing more than lust that he feels. I am ready to be amicable for the duration of his contract and stop the constant tiring bickering but love, love has no place in this sick relationship that we have.

"I guess that's what lust feels like." I counter softly and he holds his ministrations for a moment turning my head so I can look him in the eye.

"Maybe." He replies a little hesitant "These feelings, they are all new to me. I, don't…" He doesn't finish his sentence but starts his ministrations again now lathering my hair with shampoo and carefully rinsing it out. He sighs contently "I like washing your hair and bathing you. I never thought I would enjoy a simple action so much." He confesses and lathers me up again with soap. His hands roam all over my body caressing every inch of my back and shoulders before boldly sliding over my breasts gently squeezing my nipples and pushing his hard erection into my backside. I gasp at the sting of his squeeze.

"May I continue? I want to wash all of you." I murmur near my ear. I am somewhat surprised that he is asking for my permission now. Maybe he really is making an effort to earn my trust?

"Yes." I croak out, ignoring the wetness between my legs. I hate how my body responds to his touch; it makes me feel confused and uneasy.

His hands continue to move downwards between my thighs brushing over the mouth of my vagina.

"You're wet." He hisses in awe.

"I am standing under water." I reply tartly, embarrassed by my body's reaction to him.

"Anastasia, stop being ashamed of your body. It is perfectly natural to feel aroused. Let go of your ridiculous puritan world view." He scolds me while continuing his exploration of my body.

"I am not ashamed of my body. I just… this is all so confusing." I confess.

"Just stop thinking like that ok? Embrace what we have, what you feel. I won't do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Just tell me to stop and I will. I want to earn your trust, that is all that matters to me. Once you trust me more we can explore the other aspects of the contract further." He replies heatedly.

Ok, so he is serious in giving me some choice, or at least he is claiming he will stop if I ask him.

"I don't like your hands there. It makes me feel uncomfortable." I murmur and he instantly moves his hand away from my crotch. Skimming down to my thighs and legs softly massaging my flesh.

So he means it. I feel relieved, it means that I can stop him when things get out of hands

"Your wish is my command." He kneels down in front of me and starts lathering my feet and legs. "You have such lovely feet. Lean against the wall I want to scrub your feet." I do as he says and he starts massaging my feet. The feeling is divine, he is really good at this. I lean my head back against the shower wall and close my eyes.

"Done." He mutters and puts my feet down on the ground. I open my eyes and come face to face with his hard muscular chest. I notice nine small white round scars running across his chest in almost perfect synchrony. Maybe they are from chicken pocks? Seems strange though that they are so perfect put together.

I take up the shower gel bottle absentmindedly. Maybe he expects me to reciprocate? Return the favor? I squeeze some gel on my hands and move them towards his chest.

"NO!" He yells in anguish and grabs my wrist in an iron hold. "Don't touch me." He hisses angrily.

"I thought…"

"You thought wrong! I don't like to be touched. Don't try to touch me again I am warning you. It's for your own safety." He says in a more conciliatory manner.

I am stunned.

"Why not?" I stammer.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. Before locking eyes with me.

"Like I told you, I had a rough childhood until I was adopted by the Grey's. I still carry both the mental and psychical scars on my body and mind. I do not want to talk about it." His voice is laced with sadness.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The way he bound my hands the first time we had sex, or him always taking me from behind. Carefully avoiding me touching him. It partially explains why he is fucked up. A strange mixture of overwhelming sadness and anger course through me.

"You can't be touched at all?" I ask wanting to know more.

"There are no-go areas. My chest and my back are always off limits. My shoulders biceps and arms can be touched when I know they are about to be touched."

"I see. Has it always been this way? I mean your mother must have touched you... To shower or change?" I want to know more I want to try to understand him.

He shrugs.

"Grace always respected my boundaries. She never touched my no-go areas. I was a very independent four-year-old."

"What about your birthmother? She must have touched you?"

His eyes frost over and turn to steel.

"I have had enough of this subject. Drop it Anastasia." He snaps.

"I am sorry I did not mean too…"

He holds his hands up.

"I said drop it. Here, you can wash my hair." He says in a more placating tone.

"Ok... You need to bend down you're a little tall."

He chuckles and bends his head towards me. I pour some shampoo in my hands and start massaging his scalp. His hair is dark red, thick and soft.

He softly hums in appreciation.

"There, you're done. You can wash it out now."

He opens his eyes, and there is a vulnerability about him that shocks me. He is usually so brutal and domineering.

"Thank you." He mutters and washes out the shampoo. We stand together under the stream of hot water for a little longer.

"Come; let's get you out from under the water. You are turning into a prune." He presses his hand against my lower back and guides me out of the shower.

"I will dry and dress you." He says with a clipped voice that does not broker any argument and I let him. Silently wondering why this seems so important to him. It is not the first time he demanded to dry and dress me.

After he is done, he flips the covers on the bed and orders me to get in. He moves to his side of the bed and slides in behind me pulling me close to him.

"Christian..." I start, not knowing what to ask him exactly.

There is still so much I want to ask him, but he soon makes it clear that any conversation is over for today.

"Go to sleep Anastasia." He says and turns off the light plunging us into darkness.

The week goes by in a blur and my anxiety has increased 10 folds since Monday. Every day has been pretty much the same: work, freshen up, dinner and a shower together followed by sleeping in his bed. I've hardly been in my own room lately. The only distinction during the rest of the week was that Christian refused to answer any more questions about his life. In addition, when I tried to tell him that my best friend was seeing his brother and accompany him to the gala, he cut me off rudely. Telling me that it has no consequence to our gala date.

He does not care what Kate will say or blurt out to other people. I, on the other hand, do. I am sure she won't believe me now when I tell her is just my boss. I dread the Kavanagh inquisition more than anything else.

I sigh and skim my hands over the soft fabric of the beautiful silver Gucci dress picked out for me tonight. He expects me to be ready and waiting downstairs for him in a little less than an hour. I contemplated on feigning an illness but I am pretty sure he would call in a doctor to check up on me in no time. To avoid the embarrassment of being caught in a lie, I decided against it.

There is a knock on the door.

"Come in." I call to whoever is knocking.

A blond girl with perfectly coifed hair enters my room. She is wearing white beautician grabs with Escalva embroidered in gold letters on her chest. Escalva? That the pedo's salon! I feel sick to my stomach when the realization hits me. This means he is still speaking to that horrible woman. He really does not understand that she has abused him! The knowledge is somehow sobering but depressing.

"Good evening Miss Steele I am Greta Nilson and I will be doing your hair and makeup for tonight." She says briskly.

"Hello." I say trying to sound polite. It is not her fault that she is working for a pedo bitch.

She sits me down in front of the mirror and starts working on my hair.

"Are you excited for tonight?" She asks casually.

"Uhm, yeah sure." I reply noncommittally.

"Forgive me for being so forward but you must be very special if Mr. Grey is taking to the ball." She says almost dreamingly. I want to scoff at her but I refrain. She gives me a small smile. "But I can see why he would be, you are very beautiful."

"Thank you." I mutter shyly feeling slightly awkward.

"I mean, Mr. Grey has never taken a woman out in public before, not even the ones Mrs. Lincoln send to him." She says, more to herself than to me. She immediately gasps realizing her mistake. "I am sorry, I should not have told you that. Please don't tell anyone I told you that I would lose my job." She says a little panicky.

My mind is reeling. She is not only his abuser but also his pimp! This is all just so fucked up. She owns him and he does not even realize it. I need to know more.

"What kind of women did Mrs. Lincoln send to him?" I try to ask as nice as possible.

"Please, Miss Steele, forget I said anything. It was unprofessional of me." She begs.

I need to reassure her quick.

"Greta, please I won't tell anyone. This is all just news to me. I swear this will remain between us." I plead her.

She is hesitant for a moment.

"It was a running joke at the salon. Every three, six, or nine months, another brunette would visit Mrs. Lincoln in her office. Weeks later, they would come again accompanied by Mr. Grey. It was just odd."

"Does she still send him women?" I need to know more.

She looks at me shocked.

"No, I think she stopped sending him women a little over a year ago, after one of the girls she sent killed herself in his apartment. As far as I know he only had one at the time."

My mind is numb, unable to process all the information Greta is telling me. I remember Jimmy telling me that one of his ex-girlfriends killed herself in his kitchen. But hearing this now does not make sense at all. What kind of depraved relationship did he have with these girls that it led one to kill herself? What little sympathy I was beginning to feel for him slowly dissolves. He really is heartless and ruthless.

"Do you know why she killed herself?" I ask not sure if I want to know the answer.

"I am not sure. Rumour was that she fell in love with him but he did not love her back." She answers thoughtfully.

"I see." I reply not knowing what else to say. All this information is just so shocking.

"Mr. Grey and Mrs. Lincoln are they close friends?" I need to know. This woman is dangerous maybe even more dangerous than he is.

She shrugs.

"He is a silent partner of the salons. I don't know how close their friendship is. Please don't tell anyone about this Miss Steele."

So he is her business partner too. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse. I need time to process all this. It is all just too much to comprehend. To fuck up.

"I swear that this will be between us. Thank you for telling and trusting me Greta." I reassure her.

Greta finishes my makeup and I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. My eyes are smoky and my lips are a deep warm red. I never considered myself beautiful but now I have to admit that I look good.

"All done." She says smiling at me.

"Thank you, Greta. I really like it." I smile back at her and she beams. I look at the clock it is time to go. I know how punctual Christian is; I don't want to set him off by being late yet again.

I thank Greta again and she leaves my room waving goodbye. I grab the matching clutch from my bed and don't even hear the door open again.

I turn around and let out a yelp. Christian is standing at the entrance gawking at me. He looks extremely handsome in his black tuxedo and white dress shirt. His ginger hair is combed to the side and his gray eyes are smoldering. There is so much I want to tell him, confront him with everything I just heard but my mind is so jumbled that I can only stare at him dumbfounded unable to utter a sensible word.

"You look stunning Anastasia." He murmurs appreciatively and prowls into the room gracefully like a tiger drinking me in.

"Thank you. You look handsome too." He smiles at me and pulls a large square red box from the inside of his jacket pocket.

I open the box and stare mesmerized at the beautiful diamond cluster necklace set in platinum. The diamonds sparkle in the bedroom lights.

"I don't know what to say, I can't accept this." I say perplexed.

"You will say thank you Christian and you will accept it. Don't ruin this evening with your petulant attitude." He snaps irritated.

He takes the necklace from me and orders me to turn around. He quickly snaps it around my neck and I realize it's just like a dog collar. That wasn't about him giving me something for me it was about him placing a mark of ownership on me. The thought is sobering and painful. All his talk about trust was just a rouse he simply sees me as one of his acquisitions that needs to be managed and controlled. Maybe I am an idiot for trying to understand him or bestow him any sympathy. He is nothing but a heartless sociopath. It is just that being compliant makes things just so much easier. I feel like a coward for doing so but I am just so tired of fighting him..

"Here." He hands me another box and I open it.

In it is a stunning silver filigree mask. I look him questioningly.

"It's a masked ball. You need to put it on when we are at the mansion. It's a win-win situation really. This way nobody will recognize you." He says matter of factly.

It is a relief, although I doubt Kate would not recognize me.

"Do you have a mask?"

"Yes of course. Everybody at the ball does." He answers and takes out a black Zorro-like mask.

"Let's go. My mother does not appreciate tardiness and neither do I." He says and takes my hand and leads my downstairs towards the car. He opens the door for me and I slide into the back seat. He follows suit and straps me in before I can do it myself. Why does he always have to do this? This insistent need to care for me? It makes this all so much more confusing. The car starts to drive and I stare out the window again, anxiety increasing with every mile we travel. I feel like a gas tank that has been topped to full and is about to overflow, not knowing how to deal with everything I have heard and feel.