A/N:

Thank you for all your reviews, critique, remarks, favorites and follows. I appreciate your input and that you're taking the time to read and comment.

I've used your feedback as a hint to include warnings regarding „pairings" that are not very popular and would like to apologize for my inattention to that matter, I didn't mean to upset you. Thank you for being patient with me and the storyline.

Also I've spared you the worst flames in the review section.

As some of you have pointed out I also believe that Christian has to face his „demons" (i. e. Elena, Leila etc.) at this point of the story in order to be open and free for something different. With Anastasia. And only her.

Anyway, speaking of which, Ana's back in my new chapter. I hope you like it. Have fun. x

Trial of the Senses

by

Ava LeBeau

Chapter 11 – Whatever makes you happy

After another long day at SIP, everything still so new and kind of intimidating, Anastasia had retreated to her bedroom, Kate's laptop on her legs, her back resting against the headboard.

She still hadn't heard from him and most of the time she was rather relieved that Christian hadn't reached out again.

No contact was definitely more difficult than she had ever imagined it to be.

The harder part, though, was to stop thinking about him, painfully nagging thoughts about his whereabouts were haunting her.

Times and times again she had found herself wondering about what he was doing.

Working? A lot most certainly.

Thinking about her? She wasn't sure. The note attached to the roses she had got had been more business-like than anything.

Talking with other women? Hell, sleeping with them? He probably had every right to do as he pleased. It was not like they were exclusive. Anastasia hated to admit that to herself.

Was he seeing Mrs. Robinson? She shook her head as if it were to help her to get rid of these unwanted thoughts, the pictures in front of her inner eye, all so disturbing and repulsing at the same time.

Anastasia sighed and stared at the screen that was illuminating her bedroom eerily, biting her lip as her the pads of her fingers flitted across the keyboard.

S-U-B-M-I-S-S-I-O-N

Ana closed her eyes for a moment, praying that Kate would never ever find that search history.

She wondered if she could just blame it all on Elliot and giggled at the thought for a moment while her gaze darted back to the screen and the words that had popped up right before her eyes.

Sexual arousal in response to inflicting extreme pain

Humiliation

Preference for non-consenting

Knitting her brow, she was mouthing the words silently before she started chewing on a fingernail.

Threats

Coercing into compliance

Sadism

Hyperdominance

Tears were welling up in her eyes.

Not again, she scolded herself.

No more tears.

Christian Grey wasn't worth it or at least that was what Anastasia was trying to talk herself into believing over and over again ever since she had left.

Unfortunately she was failing miserably.

The closed laptop in her right, Anastasia shuffled into the living room, sniffling, her eyes glistening, all red and puffy.

The letter.

She put down the laptop and leafed through a pile of papers on the dining table, pulling out her letter from under a magazine.

Anastasia gasped when she noticed that it was Christian that was smirking back at her from the cover of the magazine.

Gently, she let her fingertips brush across the glossy paper, let them caress his face.

Those eyes. So haunting. So mesmerizing.

A choked sob escaped her and she pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.

„Whyyyy?", Ana bawled, her sobs racking her body.

A glimmer of hope. A recurring one actually.

Maybe, yes, maybe she could try? Try again?

But she discarded this idea immediately, brushed it off just like she was now brushing the magazine off of the table top with a furious wave of her trembling hand.

Flinging it across the room.

Angry.

Disappointed.

Hurt.

What a glorious mess.

Wiping at her nose, Anastasia was staring at the letter, her letter to him, gazing at the neat twirly writing, and she read.

Only the end of it.

The end of it all.

The end of them.

I have tried to understand what you like about all this, thinking I may warm to it or maybe at least gain deeper understanding. But it has only shown me a side of you that scares me. A side that makes me worry that we can never be together and that I can never really love you.

I have tried to change you, hoping that you would like to have what you call a „vanilla" relationship with me. But I fear I have only deceived myself.

Call me naïve or dumb, I just couldn't help but fall in love with you.

But I think I've fallen in love with a Christian that is so different from what you really are deep down inside and that it is better to keep my distance.

You're wearing a mask, Christian. And what is beneath that mask is frightening and dangerous.

She bit her lip again while her pen glided across the envelope, the faint scratching of the nib cutting through the pointed silence in the living room.

Christian Grey

Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

...

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here.

Radiohead's Creep was blaring out of the stereo.

I don't care if it hurts.

I wanna have control.

I reached overhead for the pullup bar and got started.

My hair was still wet from the early morning run in Seattle's rain, the weather was matching my mood just perfectly.

I want a perfect body.

I want a perfect soul.

Slender fingers held onto the pullup bar, my muscled arms were straight.

'Hang in there and just hold on, try to hold on a little longer, Grey.'

I started to raise my legs, slow and steady, the muscles in my torso were flexing.

I want you to notice

When I'm not around.

Surely, she wouldn't notice if I were not around? Not at all.

Grimly determined to push myself to my physical limits with yet another set I frowned when my phone rang.

I grabbed a towel to wipe my face while I reached for the device.

„Grey.", I grumbled.

It wasn't even 6.30 in the morning.

Of course it was him.

„Sir?"

„Yes, Flynn.", absentmindedly I ran my palm across my bare chest, feeling the well-defined pecs with my fingertips.

„You can be proud of yourself."

Proud of myself?

Bloody difficult.

Impossible even.

I was always aiming for more.

Never content with the status quo.

„Why is that?", I droned and tilted my head back, staring up at the ceiling, my free hand on my hip now.

Flynn had the audacity to interrupt my workout in all seriousness and now the shrink was obviously trying to play some sick sort of psy-ops with me.

„You've reached out for help, Mister Grey. Of your own volition. That's a milestone in our-"

„Listen, Flynn", I cut in, his emotional drivel too much for me at this time of the day.

„I'm in the middle of my workout. My workouts are-"

„Non-negotiable, I know.", Flynn appeased.

How dare he talk over me!

A moment of awkward silence ensued but I decided to let it go.

„I'll be at your office at ten."

She's running out the door.

Radiohead was blasting out while Flynn affirmed that he would keep the appointment clear for me.

Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnn...

I hung up and gulped down some cold water before I made my way to the master bathroom.

Whatever makes you happy.

Whatever you want.

You're so fuckin' special...

Her hair was driving her crazy, yes, the struggle was real.

Anastasia looked at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head, finally pleased with the updo, to some degree at least.

She hurried to the living room, grabbing her bag on the way, eager to not miss the bus.

Brushing past the dining table she reached for the envelope and stowed it into the front pocket of her trenchcoat which hung loosely over her shoulders.

Moments later she ran downstairs and out onto the street, watchful eyes focused on her without her even noticing.

I ate another forkful of scrambled egg before I disappeared behind today's Wallstreet Journal again.

Gail always made sure that my breakfast was protein-rich, very low on carbohydrates at my request.

High carbohydrate intake, as is known, is one of the main culprits for water retention which makes you look bloated and less defined. And who in their right mind would want to look like a lazy puffy slob when they are working out on a regular basis, bent on maximum results?

People were shallow when it came to this.

It was all about looks.

Appearances.

The low buzz of my phone caught my attention despite my iron intent to ignore the wretched gadget.

The humiliation of Anastasia's sheer ignorance was painful and infuriating at the same time, chipping away at my ego.

I glanced at the phone. Another e-mail from Ros. It would have to wait.

Where the hell are you and why are you not reaching out to me, Anastasia Steele?

That muscle in my jaw twitched again.

She had to use an umbrella even though this morning's rain was easing off.

The bus was crowded today but Anastasia had still managed to get a window seat.

Her seatmate cleared his throat awkwardly when she began to fumble clumsily with her bag and the wet umbrella, almost dropping it, struggling to shrug on her trenchcoat.

Biting her lip she glanced at him, her cheeks flushed.

When the bus lurched to a halt Anastasia squeezed past the man beside her, giving him yet another strained apologetic smile while the envelope softly slipped out of her pocket and flopped down onto the wet floor as she jostled her way towards the exit.

There was a little jam by the door, a young mother had tried to carry a stroller down the stairs. A man in a tailored suit helped her to get the stroller unstuck while the other passengers' murmur of disapproval grew louder by the minute.

Everybody was in a hurry. Everybody wanted out and to go about their day.

Anastasia glanced down at the phone in her hand to check the time and decided to use the exit in the front, she was already late for work.

Struggling with her bag and the umbrella once again she swung around and bumped into somebody.

Blushing badly she mumbled, „Sorry", looking up at the guy in front of her who was stowing something into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Anastasia froze when she noticed that it was Taylor that was towering over her, wearing a black cap pulled low over his face and sunglasses of all things at this hour of the day, holding out his hand for her to help her up the stairs.

„Ms. Steele.", his grip was firm, his strong hand warm and dry.

„Taylor?", Anastasia stared at him.

He nodded towards the exit in the front and led the way.

Outside she dropped the umbrella, still confused as to why Taylor was here.

Why was he using the bus, her bus?

He had picked up the umbrella and opened it for her, handing it to her, his face just as unreadable as always.

„Taylor, I'm already late...", Anastasia tried to explain.

„Have a nice day.", he nodded, a man of few words.

„You too.", she turned to leave.

When she looked back, slightly stumbling on the cobblestone, her brow furrowed with confusion, Taylor had already disappeared in the crowd of people that were hurrying to be on time for work.

Elbows on my knees I sat in one of the armchairs, roughly raking my fingers across my scalp, grasping my hair as I ground out incoherent words, unable to frame what was plaguing me, feeling somewhat paralyzed.

„Something horrible is happening with me, Flynn, but I-I can't figure out what it really is."

Who was I trying to deceive here?

„I mean... I can't concentrate. I can't sleep. It's... it's like I'm going insane."

„Please, take your time, Mister Grey.", Flynn's patience and empathy was as annoying to me as ever.

I looked up and stared at him.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I will be back and update soon. x