**As usual, I wrote another novella, in fact the longest chapter ever, & have divided it into three chapters. The chapter became three because I could not decide on the chapter's title, & graypearls suggested one that turned out perfect in the end, one that consisted of three words. Once it was obvious that what I had written was simply too long, those three words gave me the idea to split the chapter into three ones. Each chapter's title is one of those three words & I found that each one describes the chapter perfectly.
I plan to post the other two chapters tomorrow & Thursday, although y'all know my crazy life & something could change that. So please don't yell at me if the next chapter isn't updated until Thursday.
I know I always put my little notes at the end of a chapter, but since these are the final ones, I wanted to have the chapter left in your mind & not my inane blah, blah, blahing. That is why I am blah, blah, blahing before the chapter starts.
Remember that after I get a few days of comments, reviews, tantrums, complaints, & rants, that I will address them in a review.
I also want to say that Christian & Ana will have separate epilogues.
A special thank you to my friend, graypearls, & a huge thank you to every loyal reader the story has had.-Anna**
With that said, here is the beginning to the conclusion of my little story...
All rights to the characters and story of FSoG belong to E. L. James.
Thursday, September 24th, 2015
Vancouver, Washington
Ana's POV
Realizations
Christian was staring at it with his patented, impassive expression and his hard-set gray eyes were scrutinizing it.
There was no doubt that what I had done was confusing as hell, yet everyone had to have realized that I must have done it for a
specific reason.
Not a soul in the room dared to utter a word. Our surroundings felt like a movie that someone had set on pause.
Three pairs of bemused eyes locked upon it, each weighing its possible significance. Maybe each pair of those eyes wondered if it was a
sign of a looming and impending doom.
Sporting a now yellowing bruise on his right jaw from Elliot's fist, Christian had stopped twirling his Mont Blanc pen between his fingers as he gazed at it. I stood directly across the conference table from where he was sitting- where I had tossed it at him. Of course, he would probably have no idea what it was, or what it meant, but it was a mere introduction of what was to come. The introduction of a story…our story… and how it ended.
With a raised eyebrow, Christian raised his eyes to mine. His were hard, while mine had to have been gleaming with amusement.
This would be Christian's funeral or my rebirth. I would soon have the answer.
"I do not relish this, Bee."
"Ana, I know. Nevertheless, before we enter this room, remember some very important facts. Sweetheart, he does not care. Grey does not think about you at night. He does not search for your face in a crowded room. He has probably forgotten the color of your eyes, despite once telling you they were the most beautiful pair he had ever seen. Christian Grey probably does not even speak your name or miss you. He does not remember how it felt to kiss your lips or how you taste. Darling, he does not care about you, and if you walk into that room with your head hung low, and shoulders slumped, you are only making his ego bigger and your self-worth smaller. Ana, he does not love you, and from what I have seen and know, he never did. I am so sorry to say this shit to you, but I do for a reason, and you know what that reason is."
Bee's words startled my mind, confused me, and I could feel them soak my veins. I walked into the conference room, sandwiched between Bee and Allison, to sit across a large table, with my blue eyes locked on my enemy.
The soul crusher; the reason that sometimes all I can do is lay in bed, hoping to fall asleep before falling apart. Christian's eyes never left me as I crossed the room, and I refused to break eye contact first. Those eyes I swear that I am over, although sometimes it is still hard to breathe if a passerby wears the same cologne as Christian, or when I hear his name. I have learned to live without the man I thought that I had married, but my heart still breaks when I remember those early days, and the way THAT man looked at me. Then all I have to do is remember that who I thought was Christian never existed. I met and married a mirage. He was not real. He did not exist. He was an animated Prince Charming. I hallucinated the life that I had thought I was living. I often find myself comatose as I imagine all of the loss that I am still unaware of.
Painful and boring legal bullshit went back and forth, burning my ears until I felt like flipping the table over. As expected, Christian had offered me a settlement that would reach the moon. At that point, he remained blissfully unaware that I did not care about the moon. I was reaching for the stars.
When I had reached my point of no longer caring to pretend, turned the final corner of listening to marriage - ending legalities, I could not sit there passively any longer. Neither Bee or Allison was surprised, in fact, they were waiting for it. The course of direction had changed. I hung up my kindness, which I had perfectly displayed on my self-imposed walls.
"Do you know what that is, Christian?" I ask him softly, probably too softly. I sure as fuck do not want to sound submissive. I watch the patented, impassive expression refuse to yield, although I cannot decipher what emotion he may be hiding behind those beautiful gray eyes.
Sighing as though he is bored, he pauses before answering.
"Yes, Anastasia. It is a white silk blouse that is covered in something that appears orange that obviously dried on it," He replies. His voice is quiet and dismissive. "I don't see the point of your throwing it at me and I am puzzled by your need to be publicly dramatic and to embarrass yourself."
His disparaging mouth does not bother me. It does not break my heart. My heartbreak did not express itself as crying in my darkened bedroom with blood - stained wrists. It was never about eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's and listening to what was supposedly our favorite song. My heartbreak was the night's no one knows about. Drinking shots of vodka trying to fill that hole Christian left in me. It was crying in the bathtub like a fool because the thought of him made me lose my grip on reality. For me, heartbreak was not eating for days on end, refusing to go into the office. It was lying and covering up my agony from Kate and Luke. It was crying in my sleep for days, weeks, and months. Heartbreak was many things to me, but unlike Sylvia Plath's heartbreak, mine was never beautiful or poetic. It was fucking painful, and nothing ever ends poetically anyway.
"Dramatic, Christian? This is far from being a drama. Consider that white silk blouse as the beginning of show and tell."
Christian never looks at the blouse again or shows the slightest bit of curiosity, but before he can reply, interrupts him.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Darlington, Ms. Kendall, and of course, Mrs. Grey. I must say we are a bit confused at what is transpiring here. I must ask…"
Bee Darlington smiles at her colleague, but waves him off with a flick of a hand.
"Mr. Faulk, we know that in these meetings, each party can have their say, along with the opportunity to hammer out their own settlements. Ana is simply using her right to have her voice heard, a right your client has as well. This is Ana having her say, whether you are confused or not." She says with a clear and patronizing tone.
Bee Darlington had already told me Faulk was a complete prick.
"Of course, Mrs. Darlington. I am sorry to have interrupted you, Mrs. Grey." He says in a kind tone, nodding at me as if I need his permission to continue.
I cross my arms, locking blue eyes to gray, and twist my lips into a smirk. Christian is all business and regards me with amusement. He is trying to intimidate me so I will back down. He is daring me to try to challenge his control over the situation. His precious control…what he needs…has to have. Right now, everything has been running smoothly. I know what Christian has been thinking, "Ana's sat here quietly, waiting to see how much money that I am going to throw her way." I have no doubt that Christian believes throwing money across the table means that he is the one with the upper hand. It is apparent that he has zero doubt that he is the one in control. If I challenge Christian, and manage to strip him of his beloved control, how would he react? Christian's control will be bare; bare like a tree that has been stripped of its bark, as a tornado rips it away. I am that tornado and we will see what happens once I do strip that control away.
Even a King can fall to his knees.
"It was April third, a Friday. It was when I held my editors meetings three times a week, from noon until two. Only that day, I canceled the meeting and had Luke bring me lunch. While I waited for Luke to come back, I saw that you had sent me a text at exactly eleven-fifty. There is no doubt about the time you sent it because I saved the text. I replied to you immediately, although you never answered. In fact, you did not reply at all…as in the rest of the day. When you finally contacted me, it was in the late afternoon, and when I asked you why you never answered my text, you claimed that you had been in meetings all day, and then told me you had simply forgotten. When I brought up that I had also called your cell phone, and that it went straight to voice mail, you lied and told me that was because you had Andrea charging your cell for you." I begin, pointing at the blouse. "I'll fill you in on how I know that you lied momentarily."
As I begin informing Christian the details of a day that he probably does not remember, I am forced to look at the grisly wounds that day left me with. Those wounds left scars that continue to heal, and now I have to live with the wounds that I have inflicted on others. I have my own lies to atone.
"That white silk blouse is covered with the French salad dressing I spilled all over myself. Of course, I had to have a new shirt. Later that afternoon, I told you that Luke went to a boutique near Grey Publishing to purchase me a new one, but I lied. I am sure you do not recall this day whatsoever. Perhaps this will jog your memory; it was the day I was so sick with a migraine and we changed our weekend plans of going out on The Grace. Since those plans had to be changed, I talked you into going fishing with your father and Elliot instead. It was also the day that you were pretending to be concerned over my so-called horrendous migraine, and for some insane reason that no one understands, you told me you wanted us to try to have a baby. Seriously, Christian, a baby? What in the hell prompted you to say something so preposterous? Did you really believe that I would want to give birth to Rosemary's baby? Jesus! Anyway, I say so-called migraine because I did not have one; I lied about that as well. Do you remember any of that?"
Something passes through Christian's eyes, yet leaves no trace as to what it is. His poker face remains, but we both know the monumental meaning that I mentioned my editors meetings. I catch Christian's eyes as they land on my now bare left ring finger. The platinum band I slipped on his finger on a gorgeous May afternoon is still there, but I know he only wore it because Kate tipped off the media concerning our impending divorce, along with this meetings day and location. He could not be photographed fighting the throngs of media that are outside the building and not be wearing his wedding ring. I know that Christian always wants to appear like the aloof, yet good humanitarian, despite being an arrogant, sick, and self-centered asshole. But I suppose we all have some sort of fake image that we feel burdened to uphold.
Christian cocks his head to the side and looks amused. I slip him a knowing look, one that tells him I know he is anything but amused. I am also not a joke that he should find amusing. Christian will discover that I finally escaped the forest of ignorance where I had taken up residence. I am now a paradox—a woman not so easily figured out. I will ride this out, land with grace, and land with style.
"I take your silence to mean that you do not recall that day or you're simply playing dumb. I believe it is the latter. That means shit to me, so let us get back to the most interesting parts of that day. Luke drove me to Escala so I could get a new shirt. We parked, and then Luke made note that Taylor's SUV, the one you had left our home in that morning, was parked two spaces beside us," I tell him in a flat tone. "We both thought it very strange, strange indeed."
Christian's attorney, Mr. Kirkland coughs and it slices through my words. My words that are ascending to a place Christian will not enjoy arriving at. I hid my pride there and decorated it with Christian's shame.
Christian shows his hand first by pushing his chair back an inch or so and crosses his legs. It is another tactic I have seen him use on someone he deems inferior and wants them to bow down to him. It is a pity that I am not that person. His action demonstrates he knows where I am headed, and the heat his eyes are glowing with is a warning for me to shut up. I know Christian is trying to bore a hole in my head to see if I will expose him, daring me to try, and demanding I shut my mouth. I do not have to imagine what he is thinking, "Shut up, Anastasia. They will know what I am."
That thought makes me want to smile, and I have to fight to keep my face from giving in. I cock my head to the side as he always does. Christian will understand I am mocking him, which will infuriate him further. I care far too little about that.
"I believe it was one o'clock… or maybe a few minutes after when we arrived at Escala. My confusion over your SUV being there had me call your cell phone; but it went straight to voice mail. I called it a second time, and once again, it went straight to voice mail. It was then I realized you had turned it off," I say, my voice strong and confident. "Then I called your office, and yet again you didn't answer and the call rolled to Andrea's desk. However, luckily for me, Olivia answered since Andrea had gone to lunch."
I pause in a most exaggerated fashion and meet those impenetrable gray eyes. There is not a doubt that the burning fury that is unfurling inside me has turned my cerulean blue eyes to a dark and uncompromising shade that is only found on an oceans floor. I want Christian to quickly realize that the elaborate game of making Ana into a goddamn fool is dissolving. Dissolving like sugar does in the rain.
"We both know Olivia and how I intimidate her, don't we Christian? She has always had that uncanny inability to not divulge information that typically causes havoc. It is quite funny how much that trait of Olivia's personality used to grate on me, and now I adore her for it."
Faulk and Kirkland appear as though they are watching the US Open, their eyes rapidly darting from their boss to me. Both appear to be swimming in a pool of confusion. They share expressions that ask what in the hell is going on. However, it is obvious their interest has been piqued.
Christian's cold and hardened eyes are attacking me. They are swinging canes, laying down blows from a belt, and when his favorite toys do not work, Christian picks up an assault rifle and starts shooting. I am no longer being warned to shut up; I am being ordered to do so. If this son of a bitch were not such a seasoned demon that lacked emotion and expression, we would be watching him force a gag ball around my mouth or breaking my neck.
I walk to the table's edge and nonchalantly sit down on it. We are so close that I could reach out and touch him.
"Anastasia, no one present wants to hear your… bedtime story. I have offered you a generous settlement, and if you would accept it and sign the papers, this matter can be laid to rest." He replies in a disinterested tone.
"Mr. Grey, I will tell my so-called bedtime story, whether you want to hear it or not. I'll have Bee or Allison tell your attorney what I think about your generous settlement offer."
As Bee readies herself to speak, my eyes settle on Christian's face, awaiting the delight I will feel once her words hit his ears. I wait on Christian's reaction, a reaction I am positive that I have seen hundreds of times. It is now that I recall my recent realization that I have been like a leech that latched onto Christian's personality, and sucked too much of it, leaving me to behave the way he does. I can say that it occurred in that manner, or through goddamn mitosis, although it does not fucking matter or bother me. Without it, I would still be that mess on Katherine's sofa months earlier. I was a listless ghost who had no idea how to function. I am actually grateful for Christian and the strength he imparted upon me. He taught me the strategic way to think, how decisions should be made from your gut, and without Christian's killer instincts, I would be lost. He taught me the art of war.
Bee seems to be taking her own interminable time before informing Christian and his affluent, Conservative Republican fuck lawyers what my response to his offer is. It is then that I realize I never moved my eyes off Christian's face after they settled upon it waiting for his reaction. I find that my eyes are now roaming his face and taking in just how beautiful he is. I am not sure why. I am not interested in burning it into my memory, or storing it for later use. I have always known that the two of us will occasionally run into one another at some boring business event, or charity gala. I will have to look at this man for who knows how long.
I also know that you never forget the face of the one who shredded you to pieces.
"Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Faulk. On behalf of our client, we decline Mr. Grey's offer." Bee says in her do not fuck with me voice.
Seconds pass. Bee's statement has rendered them speechless. Christian narrows his eyes at me. I know what word is sitting on the tip of his brain: pre-nup. In addition, it is more than apparent that the lack of a pre-nup has Kirkland and Faulk up in arms. Christian Grey, the financial guru, must be measuring that fact, and adding the sudden and unexpected revelation of what it appears that I know, along that I have known it for quite some time. He is surely adding more money to that settlement, thinking a larger amount will shut me up, bring me to heel. Christian knew from the very start of our hellish time together that I did not give two shits that he was a billionaire, and that is why he refused to have a pre-nup drawn up. Since finding out the truth about Christian, I have always wondered why he even took the chance to be unfaithful, knowing I could take him to the cleaners. That is an odd fact that even Carrick cannot understand.
"Ladies, I believe we can all see that Mr. Grey's settlement offer is more than sufficient…" Mr. Kirkland starts to say before I whip my head to him scowling, and I growl at him.
"Trust that no offer will be sufficient, Mr. Kirkland. Isn't that right, Mr. Grey?" I bite at my husband. My teeth are shards of ice. "Yes, Christian. I know you are all thinking we do not have a pre-nup, but that is irrelevant right now. I am not done discussing that day this past April, the one that I never saw coming. I have a lot to share about that day. It all happened so quickly, yet I discovered so much."
Honestly, I do not give a shit that the temperature in the room is now below zero or that Christian's impeccably dressed lawyers look as if they are going to shit in their pants. These suits may be feeling a bit frosty, but I am warm and comfortable surrounded in all of this truth and deceit.
"Olivia told me everything that day, Christian. The two-hour lunches you took three times a week. Each day that happened to coincide with my two-hour meetings. She told me ev-e-ry-thing. I saw the red Audi since it was parked right beside us. I immediately knew what that red Audi was screaming at me. The license plate was traced, and I know who bought it, and registered it. I also saw the list of women never to be allowed near me, and knew exactly who they were. I remembered some of those names from your ... files. You had told me about the fifteen well - paid whores prior to our marriage and I noted this little list our security carries has the names of twenty well -paid whores." I spew at Christian, every piece of my hatred landing all over him like vomit. "I know that the five other women were added to your little list after our marriage…I even know how soon after our marriage that the sixteenth name was added ... as in the exact day you signed your ... contract. Fuck, Christian…You barely let the ink on our marriage license dry before making your way to that sordid little club in Manhattan."
Silence.
Christian begins rubbing his bottom lip with one of his index fingers. Perhaps he is attempting to distract me, or using that boy genius mind of his to decide the best way to maneuver through this minefield. I know how he thinks. He is taking into account what I know, and he is now contemplating my next move. I learned from the best and sit ramrod straight on the table, my face blank and eyes dead. If he is waiting for me to crack and give him a hint of what is to befall him, he will be waiting for an entire lifetime.
"Anastasia…" Christian begins, but I shut him down quickly when I remove three pictures from an envelope that Allison had given to me.
I toss the photos on the table. They are from the day after I found out the truth, the day Luke got me into Escala and I bore witness to what Christian and Haley Sams left behind in his playroom. A day that will be ingrained in my memory forever. Christian studies them quickly, realizes what they are, and eyes Bee and Allison. Christian has realized that there are two additional names to add to the list of who knows what a sick bastard he actually is. Christian directs his attention back to me.
"Anastasia, we should discuss this privately," He says quietly. "Talking about this now isn't appropriate."
I see pure rage pouring from Christian, pooling around his feet, and I watch him pick up the photographs, turning them over and placing them in the inside pocket of the jacket of his custom-made suit. The tension emitting between us has a heart and lungs of its own. I created it and Christian is looking for a way to kill it, as he killed a part of me, leaving me rolling in my own blood and then walking away. Standing, all I can do is stare at him. He wants to discuss this in private because right now is not fucking appropriate? As if anything about our time together has been appropriate. Christian thinks he can snap his fingers and I will follow him to some private room to listen to his bullshit lies. Does he believe I will jump as high as he demands or allow him to boss me around? If we talk privately, it will be because I decide to, not because Christian orders me to.
The longer I stand and stare at him my brain strains itself in effort to study him. During these past months, I have been at odds with myself when I came to terms with my so-called husband and his actions. I shoved my own pain and feelings of inadequacy down my own throat as I did my best to swallow my vulnerability. I was thrown into the pit of truth when it came to Christian and our years together. While I remained stuck inside that pit, I had to intimately grasp the knowledge that there was never a Christian and Ana Grey. Mr. and Mrs. Christian Grey never existed.
The ironic thing about Christian and me was the fact that I always knew that I would never be enough for him. There was never a doubt that he would one day seek out some slut who would let him beat her. I knew that as a fact all the way through my body. Despite all of that time feeling inadequate and like a complete failure, I never saw how right I had been, or how long I had been a fucking idiot.
To discover that the one person whom you love more than life does not love you at all is mind numbingly cold. That discovery and that numbness I bore, pushed me to accept that Christian was a fraud that did not love me, and as Bee reminded me earlier, he probably never loved me at all. Motherfucker. I KNEW all of this shit already. I purposely played these facts over in my mind until it was nearly bleeding. However, did I ever really FEEL it or ACCEPT it in my heart? Did I ever let it SINK into my soul? Katherine never opened her mouth and said, "You've been a fool and Christian has never loved you." Although Bee Darlington just stepped up and without preamble pointed out the obvious. I have reminded myself intellectually what Christian really is, and how much of a love sick and blinded fool that I was, but holy fuck ... I never really did swallow my vulnerability and it has remained a gaping wound. That vulnerability left my heart closed off to accepting the truth. I have been more than a fool.
I have been a goddamn idiot, and I let my fucking logic override my heart. It has suddenly occurred to me that it just took Bee's words to finally shine a light on that.
As this revelation screeches to a halt in my mind, I have retreated to the time where I felt everything I did was wrong and not good enough. I have been thrown so far back into that feeling that it is as if it is happening right now. What does Dr. Swann call it? Oh, yes, a feeling flashback. Well, if this is what remembering a feeling is like, Dr. Swann can shove it up her ass. I feel winded, as I did when I turned my head and first saw that whore's red Audi. God damn, why is this happening to me? Why am I feeling like that again? Suddenly, I feel that all too familiar pain in my heart. My heart is actually hurting as I stand here. I have cruelly had the fact that I miss being happy slammed into my face. I fucking miss myself; whoever the fuck that I was. Where has this come from? I honestly thought I was doing okay, but now I am in Christian's presence and everything has crashed on top of me again. It is that same suffocating torture that I thought I was over.
But my fucking God, I am drowning again.
I slowly shake my head at Christian, and the wall I have built around my determination to never ask Christian WHY, begins to crack. Realizing that I have intellectually hidden from the truth is stirring up a deep sense of loss. My body tenses as questions begin to choke me. I know Christian and he will never tell me the truth. There is nothing that I could say to Christian that would matter or affect him, nor would it make me feel better. I damn well know these truths; however, I have wondered about so many things and have craved explanations for so long. The logical side of my brain realizes that no matter what I ask, or what I even say to him will not matter. Yet here I am, eyes filling with frustrated tears and looking at the stranger I once lived for. Why my weakness has suddenly been exposed is something I cannot explain. I do not bother fighting my heated need to speak, as I feel a single tear run down my cheek.
"I tried so hard. You know that, right? I tried harder than you will ever know. I would have done anything for you, Christian. Anything except allow you to physically hurt me, and you fucking knew why and did not give a shit. Do you know that when I found out our marriage was a joke that I still desperately wanted to return to the previous day when I did not know it was one? I wanted to run to you and beg you to kiss me. To wail and cry, beg you to please, please, tell me this is not true. I wanted to return to our fake marriage, with you pretending to be normal, and for you to still be mine. But I couldn't do that. I had to accept you had never been mine in the first place," I breathe. "Why did you marry me, Christian? What did I ever do to you to deserve what you have done to me?"
The impenetrable mask that Christian has been wearing falls from his face. His gray eyes soften. He looks like the Christian I thought that I had known, the man I had fallen in love with yet now know that Christian was never who he claimed to be. This living, breathing human being before me is nothing but an imposter, but I wish that I could somehow get him to tell me the truth. I want Christian to tell me the truth about my life with him because I know nothing about it. I watch Christian's face and posture change before me, and knowing it is probably a manipulative trick, I feel compelled to just ask … everything … anything. I feel like a dog waiting for a table scrap as I stare at this man before me. Christian is the man who holds the answers to all of my questions, the man I want to unleash all of my raw emotions on. I would willingly torture him to the point of his death if he would only tell me the truth, just fucking tell me why.
I have told myself repeatedly that Christian will never give me an answer or explanation that I will believe, although now I no longer care if I never really get honesty or closure. Now I just want to open my mouth and feel these questions roll off my tongue, regardless of what he says. I want to stare him straight in the eye and say everything I have longed to for so long, whether he cares or not. I do not feel this way because I see a tad of what is undoubtedly fake remorse on Christian's face, or that he is no longer in a defensive stance. I am about to willingly open myself up to danger. I am going to take a chance and allow myself to be vulnerable, to give Christian another chance to rip me apart. If this is a fuck up, it will not be my first or my last. I know that Katherine would kill me if she were in this room.
My eyes are resting on the jacket of Christian's suit, knowing it contains the pocket where he put the sickening playroom pictures. Without looking away or even bothering to wipe the angry tears running down my cheeks, I open my mouth and do not recognize my own voice.
"I would like to speak with Christian privately."
Seconds of surprised silence pass before I vaguely hear our respective legal teams say, "Of course" and excuse themselves from the room. The door quietly shuts behind them and without looking at Christian, I sit down. He says nothing but almost looks cautious as he takes a seat directly across from mine. My mind is scrambled from what is happening and from what might happen, and I rest my face in my hands. I absentmindedly wonder what Luke and Tom must be thinking from where they are positioned outside the door. I imagine Luke grinding his teeth, wondering what in the fuck is going on, and restraining himself from bursting into the room. Hell, I am even wondering what in the fuck is going on.
"I just want a private moment with you, Christian, and to try and figure out if you are real or just a horrific memory. I know that we were never real, and that I have been a blind, deaf mute, and a stranger in my own life. What I wish you would tell me is what I did so terribly wrong that you chose to destroy me."
"You didn't do anything to me, Anastasia. You did nothing to deserve this," Christian's voice is quiet and strained. "I don't even know what to say to you. There are no adequate words, and if I am completely honest, my fucked up mind is split in so many directions, I cannot articulate a sensible word right now. I wish I had words for you. I fucking wish I had words that would make some goddamn sense of…this. But I just don't."
I really do not want to lift my face from my hands and look at him, although I must. Christian's elbows are resting on the table, head lowered, and he is holding on to the back of his neck with both hands. This man is a complete stranger, and I am still searching for who I have become. However, we were once something, and the only way we can be finally be nothing is through brutality and surrendering to the truth. I do not fathom another way to draw one ounce of honesty from Christian Grey other than brutal honesty, although I am so fucking ignorant of how to accomplish that. What more could he possibly do to hurt me? We certainly have nothing left to lose, so I do not comprehend why he would be so reticent to be honest.
"Be brave, Christian. For once in your life be brave and tell the truth."
He does not respond immediately, only lifts his head enough for his eyes to meet mine. Those beautiful, yet deceitful gray eyes I once lost myself in are now wide and raw, but I know that rawness could be an insidious trick, or some spiteful maneuver for his own benefit.
"I have told the truth once in my life, Anastasia. There isn't a point in saying when that time was…You wouldn't believe me." Christian says softly.
"Who knows that I won't?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders. "It is obvious where you are headed with this, and I don't see why you are clamming up now, Christian. I do not need flowers to remind me that you love me not."
Christian's self-imposed silence nudges words into my mouth. They come from a book that I would read to him before we married, and I did my damndest to tell this man he was worthy of love. That no matter what he had done in his past, he was still worthy of love. Perhaps he will remember them and be reminded of their meaning. Maybe they will uncover a sprig of decency within this man that will allow him to spit out simple answers to simple questions.
"You tried to change didn't you? Closed your mouth more. Tried to be softer. Prettier. Less volatile, less awake. But even sleeping you could feel him traveling away from you in his dreams. So what did you want to do love? Split his head open? You can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that. And if he wants to leave, then let him leave. You are terrifying and strange and beautiful.
Something not everyone knows how to love."
The corners of Christian's lips curl up slightly, and he finally sits up. A rare, small smile on his mouth reminds me of the Antichrist. I look at his expensive and custom-made suit, knowing that the money he has to buy such material things only makes him look good on the outside. His money, all of that material shit he owns, they do nothing to make Christian's insides look good. That money cannot cover up whatever it is that drives him further into the dark. Christian's wealth cannot undo whatever it was that made him dark.
"The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. It is one of your favorites."
"I can't believe you remember."
"How could I ever forget?" He murmurs.
Both of our voices sound defeated. If there is anything left in these final and private words to one another, it is defeat. Simple and pure defeat.
"Tell me, Christian. Just tell me and maybe I will believe you."
He remains slumped over on his elbows and looks at me apprehensively. He reminds me of a child that is waiting to be scolded by his mother.
Shaking my head to rid it of his probable bullshit attitude and words, I look away, staring at a bookshelf full of huge books that probably contain very boring legal shit. A long while passes before I look back at him, as I wonder why he has not asked me about the pictures that I gave him. He is probably only speaking with me like this to placate me while he waits to attack me. I know him…He will eventually start demanding answers that I will be so willingly to give.
He remains quiet.
"You never answered my question. When was the only time you have spoken the truth?" I ask. "You might think you don't owe me an answer, but I think I deserve one."
Christian exhales a long breath, looks me dead in my eyes, and shakes his head. I wait, wondering if that means he still refuses to tell me. Christian knows that I will not believe him, and truth be told, I won't.
"I told the truth in the beginning, Anastasia. From the first time I told you that I loved you, until the very second the monster came back out," He replies. "Anastasia, you would lose your mind trying to understand mine."
His pathetic and self-loathing excuse infuriates me. I furiously scan his face for sincerity or remorse. Something to be a balm to all of my wounds. I read a lot from his expression, the outward display on his face. However, there is no sincerity or remorse. As I already knew, I do not believe him. Deciding not to tell him so, I still dig for a bone of information or insight, some goddamn explanation that I will not believe even if he offered me one. This must indicate that I am a masochist.
"The monster came back out? I assume you're referring to the very same monster you told me about at the very start of…this joke," I reply, gesturing between the two of us. "You're still using that same excuse for your choices? Are you still telling yourself that you have a disease that drives you to beat and fuck women who look like dear old mom? That very same disease you claimed I cured you of?"
Bitterness is now simmering in my veins, and while I admit what I am doing as I sit across from Christian is detrimental to me, I remain in my seat and give him a chance to twist my spirit a little more. I have no reasonable explanation why I am doing this to myself, although I refuse to back down at this point. Fuck him. Maybe I can utter one word that will stick on his brain, or burn into his soul. I have become desperate to locate a syllable that will loosen Christian's grip over controlling his ability to spew nothing but lies.
I recognize a glint of anger in his eyes, and he clenches his jaws. Ah, there he is. However, if he is holding back anger, I cannot hear it in his words.
"Anastasia, you saw what I am the first night we were together at the penthouse. I introduced you to the monster that night! There is no longer a reason for us to deny the sick shit I did to you! We both damn well know what I was slowly trying to mold you into! Anastasia, I saw that part of you that enjoyed sticking your toes into my murky water, and I craved to throw you right into it. The moment I laid eyes on you, I saw pure sexuality radiating off you, and I had to have a taste of you. It was like an aura around you, and once I knew you better and discovered your natural curiosity, I knew I could use them in my favor…make you enjoy what I could do to you. Make you want me to do it to you, and goddamn, you did. Yet, I could never take you as far as I wanted to. You would kill me with your bare hands if you knew the vile things that I did to you! Do you honestly think that anything but a monster would do that shit to their fucking wife?" He says fiercely. "I know that I am a demented sadist that thrives on destroying others along with me. I do not deserve a good or decent thing in the world because I am far from good, and I do not have a decent bone in my body. I am good for two fucking things in life, and that is making money and beating the shit out of women. That is all I will ever be, and the only thing I am worth."
I stare at this twisted bastard incredulously. Christian is either an Oscar winning actor or a fucking pity party on two legs. Perhaps he is both, or maybe a sociopath running a billion dollar empire. There is no way in hell I am going to sit here and acknowledge or agree with his excuses or pardon his choices. What he did prior to meeting and marrying me was a consensual choice. Yes, he lied and buried it from the world, probably due to shame, although returning to his previous lifestyle was not consensual after our marriage because I fucking never consented to it. Me - Ana Grey, his goddamn fucking wife. Christian never had me sign a contract that gave him permission to fuck whores as well as fucking me. He made millions of choices during our marriage, each selfish and self-serving, yet he still covers them with excuses. There is no monster making these choices for Christian, he chooses to be a coward and hide behind his same pathetic bullshit.
"Christian, I am truly sorry that this goddamn world did not spin in your favor and wasn't kind to you. You have no idea how sorry I am that you have allowed yourself to be so cruel, and I hope one day you might admit to yourself that YOU are the one who chooses to be cruel. However, right now, you are still a fucking pussy, and can hide behind your stacks of gold, and hate yourself for all I care! Who hurt you so much that you actually hate yourself? Was it your birth mother? You do realize half of the fucking world has been traumatized by their childhood? You do remember a woman named Carla, don't you? What she practically allowed to happen to me when I was a ten-year-old child, and then tossed me out, condoning it? Have you ever known me to be vicious to others over that, or wanted to abuse and torture someone because of what happened to me? Fuck no, you haven't! Are you this way because of Elena Lincoln? On the other hand, was it a buy one get one free type of thing between those two women? What you do not know, Christian, is that I know you are this way due to both of them. One allowed you to be tortured physically and mentally, and then when you were fifteen, another bitch tortured you in the same way and you fucking enjoyed it! Do you find that as fucked up as I do? I ask, my voice growing louder. "Do you know what you need, Christian? A psychiatrist. A goddamn psychiatrist who will allow you to bleed all over his office. Someone who will indulge you, and let you scream out your pain in his office and not in your own head. I still do not understand why Grace and Carrick never recognized that you needed help, but they are not to blame for whom you chose to become. Use that mind of yours that cannot be that fucking brilliant, and be a fucking man. For the love of God, Christian, act like an adult who takes responsibility for his decisions. Grow the fuck up!"
I abruptly stand, causing my chair to crash to the floor. I pace the room and wrap my arms around myself protectively. With a hammering heart and a mind that is upside down and reeling, all I want to do is flee from this room. Flee from him. However, the fucking walls are sucking me in and I do not have the strength to fight them. I know that Christian is still sitting down, and even with my back to him, I can feel his eyes on me. It is through some kind of miracle that he is still in control of his emotions, and not raging at me or destroying the room. He can go fuck himself with whatever is keeping him from replying to me, or what may be holding his fury at bay. All that I know is that I am not done spitting the venomous truth at him even if he fucking beats me to death. Breathe Ana, you have this, take a fortifying breath and finish screaming the agony you deserve to rid yourself of. Christian does not deserve to look at my face as my rage splits me into pieces. I am splitting into the pieces of what used to be healthy oxygen carrying hemoglobin and red blood cells that surged through my body. The oxygen that kept my heart honest, open, and never capable of the vindictive shit that I have done. All of the healthy and clean blood and oxygen one has to have in order to live was turned into rock hard, blackened asphalt. However, right now, a jackhammer is blasting its way through that asphalt and pieces of it are flying across the room.
I keep my back to Christian and just let it out.
"Did it make you feel good to hurt me and know that what I thought was love was really hell? When you held me, did you enjoy knowing that I was oblivious to the fact that you did not love me? Did you ever love me? Shit, did you ever even like me? I ask myself this shit because I cannot think of anything else! Why in the hell these questions ever cross my mind is a mystery since I know that you are too fucking sick to have felt any of those things! When we first met that day at the Fairmont, you reminded me of lustful sin, the kind of man Ray warned me about. Everything I never really wanted, yet secretly desired. You were so goddamn bad for me, but fuck me if you did not taste like bliss. It turned out you were nothing but the swing of a cane that tortured me and then left me black and blue! I fucking hate myself more than I will ever hate you because I allowed myself to be your fool, to not listen to my instincts when it came to you! That I never listened to Kate when she told me that she could see you for the sick fuck you are! To answer the question that I know you are asking yourself, yes, Kate knows what you are. She knows everything! Did you actually believe your stupid NDA meant shit to me, Christian? I knew you wouldn't sue me once I knew the truth about you, and what would you have gotten from me anyway? My student loans? You were a goddamn idiot! Christian fucking Grey…You are background noise in my head that will not goddamn leave. Just get out of my head, Christian! Go the fuck away and stop sucking the life out of me. God fucking damn, it was you who did this to me…traumatized me, left me with skid marks across my back…"
I hear the son of a bitch get up and know that he is crossing the room toward me. I can smell his stench and taste the garbage that he truly is.
"Anastasia, please calm down." He says with a low and even tone.
I spin around to find that Christian is standing much too close to me. The unmitigated gall of this cocky bastard knows no bounds.
"Calm down? Christian, are you serious? How do you suggest I manage to calm the fuck down? How? Tell me how? I earned this moment and the right to say this shit when I found out what you were doing to me! Jesus Christ, Christian! Why didn't you just divorce me? You certainly never loved me, much less gave a flying fuck about my existence, so why, why, why, didn't you just leave me? Sure, that would have hurt me, and broken my heart, but mother fucking God, Christian! This! This…What you did, what you fucking did to me! It was the kind of cruelty you find at the deepest level of hell, the type of betrayal that can fuck someone up so badly they may never recover. You of all people should understand being fucked up beyond all recognition, so that is what I cannot wrap my head around. Why did you set out to carve my heart out of my chest?" I yell at the top of my lungs.
My body is shaking from a mixture of my long held rage and a heart-rattling urge to commit murder.
Christian's dumb fuck mouth cannot say anything, explain anything, or sugar coat anything. We both know and accept his actions for what they were, although I still want to know why he did not walk away and divorce me.
"Tell me why you did not just leave me, Christian. I will not ask why you played with my heart over having children and lied about starting a family, or how you mentally abused me when it came to Elena Lincoln. But tell me why you just did not file for a divorce once you made the decision to return to your previous lifestyle?
He runs his hand through his hair and gestures around the room with his other, shaking his head. It feels as though hours pass while I wait for Christian's reply. I swear that the room is so quiet that I can hear my watch ticking. Just fucking answer me, you son of a bitch. Cruelly rub the truth in my face and behave the way that you did at this meetings onset, sitting around the table with a cocky air about you, and mindlessly twirling a fucking pen. Why does Christian have the need to drag out admitting his shit to me? He knows we are done. I know that his continued silence, behavior that is so unlike Christian's personality, is nothing more than a ploy, another mind fuck. This is Christian's way of covering my eyes to reality so I will accept his blood money and run to the bank.
"Face reality, Christian, even when reality will probably be my agony." I snarl. "Not that you have a heart and will care."
"Anastasia…I am selfish and poisonous and cruel. I married you, and honest to God thought that I finally had a chance of being normal. My fucked up mind convinced me that it was your duty to rid me of my need to dominate and punish. Our first night at the penthouse, the first time that I had sex with a woman who wasn't tied up and who I didn't beat the shit out of, was a miracle in my eyes. Since you were that woman, I looked at you as my personal miracle, some kind of angel that I had found who was going to heal all of my fucked up shit. I placed the responsibility of my changing my entire life on your shoulders. I fucking know that I have never owned any of my fucked up shit. My urges for wanting a sub came back ... fuck they NEVER left! Son of a bitch, it is like that fucked up saying about a person going back to what feels like home! Those months that I did not give in to my desires was me white knuckling it. I fought it, although I still craved it, Anastasia." He says vehemently.
He shakes his head and exhales loudly.
"Then once I made up my mind, and my sick ass was in the middle of a hard core BDSM scene, all I saw was you and it enraged me. Seeing your face enraged me because I had told myself you had saved me, but there I was, back in the same fucked up place where I seemingly belong. I blamed you, Anastasia. You were supposed to save me, but failed me instead. FUCK!" He yells.
I have long since believed that Christian Grey must be depraved of insane. No one of sound mind or judgment would have done the things that he has. At first, I thought that maybe Christian was just a serial philanderer, but I quickly threw that stupid idea out the window. Which one is it? Depraved, or simply off his rocker and nuts? Perhaps Christian is addicted to this lifestyle in the same way a junkie is to the needle. I no longer have a desire to figure him out or to analyze his fucked-upness. All that I know is that listening to this man blame me for failing him, from preventing him from approaching Hillary Wilkins that night, disgusts me to my very core. Whomever or whatever warped this man's mind did one fucking good job of doing so.
"But the fucking reason I didn't divorce you was because I didn't want to. Once I was back to beating and fucking little women who looked like you… When I returned to dominating little brown-haired women like you…I began a mission to bring you to heel. I could not make you be what I needed, and what I really wanted from you. Then I found out the reason physical punishment was a hard limit for you, so I continued to carry on with what I really need! I disregarded that you were a person with feelings, and only thought about myself. I never left because I had come to look at you as my possession that I would eventually bring to heel in any manner that I could since you would not let me punish you physically. Each of those subs I contracted had to physically resemble you. Anastasia, for some fucked up reason, my sadistic mind changed direction. My previous obsession of my subs having to look like my birth mother was gone. Some dumb ass that did not know any better would think being relieved of that sickness would be a good thing. The shit was no longer oedipal, but still fucked. The obsession became all about you. I couldn't punish you like I wanted to, so I contracted women that I could. Those women were chosen even more carefully than the previous fifteen. These submissives had to look like you. I often came up with scenes where they had to behave like you."
Christian shoves his hands into his pockets and continues staring at me until he continues in a matter of fact tone.
"These women gave me the complete submission that you couldn't provide me. I knew you never would, and so I punished them and imagined it was you. I was aware that I could never hurt you physically, but was aware that I could do so in other ways, even if you did not know about them. In a sense, you did submit to me, and I did bring you to heel through my behavior and disregard for you. So to answer your question, I didn't divorce you because staying married to you while I also contracted subs was my way of punishing you for failing me. For failing to submit and to please me. Everything that I did was to punish you as I craved to so desperately.
My stomach is churning as each of his words sink in. All that I can do is stand there, wearing stupidly expensive Armani Collezioni clothes. Black wide leg trousers, classic shell top in gold and a Herringbone blazer. These pathetically expensive clothes do not protect me from the words that are leaking off Christian's tongue. I am flabbergasted looking at the man whom I stupidly believed loved me. Now, I discover that he had done nothing more than talk himself into believing that I was meant to save him. Fucking save him, like a person does when they go to an animal shelter and pick out a cat that is going to be euthanized the next day. That is all I have ever been. Now he just admitted that the only thing that he had ever wanted me for was to beat on and then fuck hard. Well, all we ever did was fuck hard. God knows he never made love to me once during all of our time together. Christian looked at me as though I was a life raft, he desperately grasped a hold of me to save his supposedly drowning ass, and when I FAILED this bastard, he methodically planned his daily take down of my body and spirit in order to bring me to heel. To heel? Isn't that what they train dogs to do? To come to heel? Christian looked at me as nothing more than a would be whipping post. That is why he restrained me that night and physically abused me with that paddle. He had no remorse while PLANNING to do it; he felt that he had the right to do it, along with believing that I mother fucking deserved it. My overwhelming desire to run at him and punch him in the head until his skull cracks is only controlled when I forcefully turn my ankles and dig my Valentino Emillie Sandal's into the carpet. Second thought - I could use the Valentino's stiletto heels to pierce his cranium and watch the blood ruin his fucking suit. Which one is that, anyway? An Eermengeildo Zegna?
While my thinking has gone haywire, and I insanely vacillate between thoughts of murdering Christian Grey and wondering what high-end suit he is wearing, I want to stick my fingers in his eyes and rip them out. Christian's eyes are so beautiful. He is such a waste of beauty, and I ask myself why God had to give such beauty to a soul as ugly as Christian Grey. I can ask God an almost similar question. Why did you make this man so physically beautiful at all? Was Christian created to be a beautiful angel that was all too quickly turned into a horrific devil? His beauty is blinding, misleading, and Satan's piece de resistance.
Once Christian has confessed his sickening truth, I gasp, throwing my hand to my mouth and stagger backwards. He has finally admitted it, and I know it is final, and much needed brutal honesty. Christian just told me the actual goddamn truth, and it is an agonizing blow to my gut, pushing the air out of my lungs. I have to reach out for the back of a chair to remain upright. Yes, I demanded the truth, and Christian has finally given it to me. Nevertheless, my still deluded mind did not think it would be something so horrible. I always knew I was not what Christian wanted. It was a constant thought in my head and became my bottomless insecurity. I was all too aware that I was inadequate. After finding out that my nagging insecurities were actually a gut instinct that I ignored, and that Christian was getting what he needed elsewhere, I assumed that I knew why. However, I wanted more than my own assumptions; I wanted the truth. I have now been given the truth, and it is horrendous, and vicious and far worse than I ever imagined. He is blaming ME for all of this. ME!
"No! Oh, hell fucking no! I know that you have finally told the goddamn truth, but it does not mean that you are getting away with being the devil. You played me; I give you that, but to blame me for returning to your sick lifestyle? You can take that delusional bullshit and shove it up your ass! You are one sick fucker and I am so happy that you are aware of it. Do you want to hear what I think about your warped excuse for blaming me for the fact that you are twisted and disgusting? I think fuck you! Fuck you for every devious kiss, empty dream, and for your sick enjoyment of lying next to a love-blinded fool each night! Fuck every fake photograph of the two of us, and for making me trust you, Christian! You mother fucker, you made me believe I was the end all and be all and I never was! It is the complete opposite of that because you actually hate me, which is fine, but for you to stand here and calmly blame me for your ...?" I scream. "You deserve my wrath and every cell of my pain! You also deserve for me to slice your throat ...No, no! You fucking deserve a long day with your whore mother's pimp and a pack of Camels! I would light each cigarette for him, and choose what body part he can use for his ashtray! Can you smell your flesh burning little Christian? Do you think little Christian will have a scary nightmare about his mommy and her decaying stench tonight? You are a waste of air and space Christian, and I wouldn't lose sleep if you committed suicide! Do the world a favor and blow your goddamn head off! Screw this, I do not give a fuck, and hopefully, I have made it clear that I hate your guts. Concentrate on me right now and tell me if you notice something? Look at me and tell me what you see, Christian. I am still mother fucking standing, am I not? You did your best to break me and YOU failed. Not only am I still standing, you haven't even made my knee's buckle. You did your best to crush me and you failed miserably. You are nothing more than deleted pictures on my cell phone, Christian. I think of you as some delusion, a figment of my imagination. That is why you do not see me weeping right now, and you probably wish I were since you enjoy inflicting pain! The only solid truth between the joke of Christian and Ana Grey is that we never said good-bye, we just fucking ended, and fuck you because I am worth more than that!"
Christian has not moved a muscle. He is simply staring without a single emotion upon his face.
"Anastasia, you will never believe this, but I do know what a sick fucker I am and I am sor..."
I walk to the door to call back in our lawyers, and I am sure that Luke, Tom, and fucking Taylor can hear me. They are each standing outside the door like hulking and gun-toting idiots, and probably consider entering the room Christian and I are in when I turn around and respond to the serpent before me in a soul-piercing scream.
"Christian, I don't fucking want you to be sorry or offer up some overblown and useless apology! Do not stutter out the useless word sorry. I fucking want you to feel like I did. I want you to have your chest cracked open, to have your goddamn skin peeled off, and to not be able to sleep, and crying at your desk at work! I want your black heart to bleed when you hear my name, and your legs to shake if you ever hear that goddamn Etta James song we danced to at our wedding! I pray you go blind with agony if you ever run across a photograph of us! Just like I did! I know that will never happen, but I sure as fuck do not yearn for your pathetic apology. Fucking sorry is not an emotion that tore me in half! I fucking felt pure hell and that is what I want for you, I want fucking hell."
My throat is raw and dry as I stand before the man I married. He has remained silent and calm, wearing a look I do not even care to analyze. We simply stare at one another, as two startled ex-lovers who run into each other walking down the street who do not know what to say. Christian finally recovers himself enough to speak.
"I welcome my judgment, Anastasia."
I narrow my eyes at him. Christian has no idea that he will soon come to regret saying those words.
"Go get our lawyers." I snap.
Christian turns toward the door, only to stop, and rapidly turns on his heels and stares at me. I am looking at Christian Grey, the cold-hearted CEO. Christian Grey, the Dominant.
It appears that he has just remembered the photographs.
"How did you get those photographs, Anastasia? How did you gain access to the…list?" His voice is hard now, and he has narrowed his eyes at me.
Crossing my arms, I defiantly raise my chin and smirk at him.
"Like you once said to me when I questioned you about Elena Lincoln, that is none of your concern." I hiss.
Christian takes a step closer to where I am standing. Since he is so much taller than I am, I have to look up at him.
"Answer me. Olivia couldn't have given it to you, only…"
"You were going to say Andrea, weren't you? She had that little list of yours, along with those few employees you pay well enough to keep your secrets. Do you employ anyone with morals?"
"Tell me." Christian demands, rubbing his chin.
He is in deep thought and contemplating how I gained accessed to the penthouse. If I do not throw him off his current train of thought it is going to go straight to Luke. I do have a valid reason to change the subject. I wanted to privately hand a shocking truth to Christian.
"Fuck you ... And speaking of Mrs. Lincoln, there is something you should have," I reply. "What I am about to give you is something I always planned to do privately. A tiny part of me knew I had to do it this way because I wanted to protect you. That is fucked up, is it not? After what you did to me, here I am protecting you. But ninety-nine percent of the reason I am handing these over to you privately is for your family. I did what I had to do in order to spare them the humiliation of the photographic evidence of your molestation by that sick bitch."
Removing the revolting pictures that Elena had of Christian when she was finally exposed was never to save Christian's ass. I did it for his family, and to protect them from the public ridicule that would have left a black cloud over their good name. I am only giving the photographs to him now so he will know who took her down, along with who temporarily sullied his image, along with the image of his beloved GEH.
Walking to where Allison was sitting at the conference table, I bend down to what Kate calls the box of doom and retrieve the envelope containing the pictures. I hold the envelope out for him to take, and he rips it from my hand. Once his eyes rest on them, surely he will see how Elena atrociously abused him, as she did so many others, under the guise of helping them.
I have never seen Christian Grey visibly pale, or watched his mouth drop open and gape at anything as long as I have known him. He sucks in a gulp of air, and his eyes fly to my face. He is a breath away from losing his shit.
"How…" He breathes, astonished.
"I had them removed from her basement dungeon. That place was bone chillingly evil, a fucking torture chamber. At least your so called playroom was less terrifying." I answer. "It is such a romantic shade of red."
"When did you do this? How did you pull this off?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Like I said, that is none of your concern, Christian. Just thank me for removing them before the police raided her home. They are quite shocking aren't they? I can tell from your reaction you had no idea she took those pictures of you. Does knowing that Elena did more than supposedly save you from a life in prison or an early grave make you wonder why she kept them all these years? It appears the pedophile held on to them in case she needed to use them against you for some reason. Elena was such a wonderful friend to you, was she not?"
Observing me intently, a lightbulb must go off in Christian's mind. I note the pictures and envelope are now balled up in his fist.
"It was you, wasn't it, Anastasia? You tipped off the police and are the reason Elena is in prison. I have to admit that I am floored you were capable of that. Tell me how you pulled it off."
"No I didn't. That young man, one of her many victims, went to the police. You know that. I have no doubt you and your team of evil doers dug into that young man's life with a microscope. Elena fucked him up the same way she fucked you up. The only difference between the two of you is that he realizes it, and he's getting help to overcome it."
"I don't believe you." He says, scowling at me.
"I don't give a fuck if you don't believe me. The accusations he went to the police with are a matter of public record."
Christian's attempt to stare me down and scare me is failing miserably. Smiling, I shrug my shoulders.
"Try again, Anastasia. I am damn good at reading people, and I will admit you are holding your own right now, but I still do not believe you. I really could not give a fuck about Elena being in prison, but I am very curious to know how she ended up there."
"Christian, like I have already told you, it is a matter of public record who went to the police and finally got the justice they were due. That sick woman walked around free much too long anyway. Shit, Christian, why are you accusing me of doing this? It is not as though I am the only person who found out the truth about Elena and your …. history together." I reply
His gray eyes have dulled, and I imagine that he has closely listened to what I have just said and is going through the Rolodex in his brain. He is flipping through it, and he has to have landed on my last sentence.
"It is not as though I am the only person who found out the truth about Elena and your history together."
I watch as it dawns on Christian. It actually looks like fireworks light up his eyes once it hits him. If looks could kill…
"The party at my parents house …. That's what you are hinting at, is it not? You, Katherine, Sawyer, my fath … " He suddenly stops.
"Your father? Are you wondering how much of your conversation with that vile woman was on Kate's phone? Are you wondering if every sick detail was recorded and Carrick watched it? I have been curious if that thought has crossed your mind since that night. I saw how despondent you were once Carrick arrived at our clusterfuck, although you never brought it up again. I suppose that was just another incident that you stuck your head in the sand over."
"Are you telling me that you were all involved, Anastasia?" He asks, grinding his teeth together and takes a step toward me.
Sighing with exasperation, I shake my head.
"No, I am not, Christian. I am not telling you anything, except you should be thanking me for not being so bitter that I would expose you. Imagine what would happen if your disgusting relationship with a pedophile became public knowledge. What would the business world think of Christian Grey if they saw the picture of you taking an eight inch dildo up your ass?" I reply nonchalantly. "Especially since the omnipotent Christian Grey was about sixteen-years-old in that picture and his much older Dominatrix was a close friend of his mother. The world would also know that you not only remained friends with your molester, you also propped up her business for close to a decade, and only quit once she was convicted of being a pedophile."
Christian's face now looks as I expected, flaming red from his burning anger and contorted with his need to punish. I am no longer afraid of this sick fuck. I simply smile at him sweetly. It would only take me yelling for help before Luke and Tom rushed the room and broke Christian in half.
"Goddamn you, Anastasia! How fucking dare you…" He whispers furiously.
"Hey…don't be pissed at me. You are the one who took each inch like you had a fucking pussy," I laugh bitterly. "You better never forget that I love your family so much that I gave those pictures to you privately. I have done many things since April, Christian. Some of those things have been atrocious, although fucking well deserved. But your family deserved my respect, and I gave it to them."
Christian's nostrils are flaring, and his fists are clenched so hard that his knuckles are white. He opens his mouth to say something, but then shuts it, only to open it again and looks at me suspiciously.
"What do you mean that you have done a lot of things? What types of atrocious things has little Anastasia Steele done?" He sneers.
I ignore his question.
"Which one of us is going to bring our lawyers back in? This one-on-one time with you has got my skin crawling and it is most likely from something you probably caught from Miss Sams."
Of course, Christian realizes I am aware of his dirty little list and know each of his subs names, but he still appears caught off guard when I say Miss Sams' name. He pushes his reaction down and heads to the door, obviously he decided to be the one to call in our legal teams.
"Christian … never underestimate the repercussions of hurting someone. They are like cancer; slow, inevitably painful and often not curable." I murmur, just as the door opens.
He looks back at me, wearing his impassive, yet amused expression, and opens the door.
"One more thing, Christian." He looks back at me, and I nod my head at the now crumpled photographs. "I do have copies."
Christian's amused expression disappears, although once the door is wide open and Luke, Tom, and Taylor are all staring at him, he does not respond and walks through the door.
While the door begins to shut, I see Luke standing there with his arms crossed, glaring at me with unbridled anger. He does not blink when I mouth, "I had too." The door clicks once it is closed, and I take a seat at the table, while my mind wanders back to this mornings encounter with our families.
Walking to the conference room where I would soon see Christian, I passed by another empty room, one that was elegantly decorated, and glanced inside as I walked by. My dad and Angela were sitting on a plush love seat, her face worried, and Ray's was hard and angry. Carrick's back was to the door, and he was looking out a window, the light of the morning sun shining on his graying hair. He was wearing a black suit and both of his hands were in his pants pocket. My gloriously beautiful best friend was sitting on the large sofa, in between Grace and Mia, who had gone against Christian's wishes not attend this meeting. The biggest shock, and what admittedly broke my heart, was spotting Elliot. He was sitting slumped over and was resting his elbows on his knees. The sight of him brought tears to my eyes, and I stopped in my tracks. They saw me standing in the doorway and I was soon passed from the arms of one to another. Elliot had immediately stood up, although he did not rush me as everyone else had. Once I had heard my fill of apologies and wiped away a gallon of tears, I made my way to Elliot. He looked so fucking sad, and seeing his pain made my heart palpitate. Elliot pulled me into his arms and held me tightly.
"Elliot, do not dare tell me that you are sorry." I whispered in his ear.
He pulled away from me, but only by mere inches and looked me in the eyes.
"I won't, Ana. But I do want to say something to you, and I hope you will listen to me because I have got to get it off my fucking chest." He choked on his words. "I don't know another woman whose heart is as genuine as yours, Ana. I have no idea where your heart or head is at right now, but listen to me, please. Don't ever doubt your worth because you are one in a trillion, and please don't become insecure or allow your heart to turn into a fucking rock over my brother. I love Christian so fucking much and I know that you did too. I don't know whether Christian will ever forgive me for what I did to him that night, but I pray that he will. I have already told you that as much as I hate myself for hurting my brother, I would do it again, but it would only be for you. I remember sending you upstairs at The Mile High Club that night to use that private ladies room, and I fucking know if I hadn't, you wouldn't be going through this shit. Ana. I am so sorry for doing that, although how can I regret it since it brought you into our family? I can't regret it, and I won't ever regret it."
"Elliot, please stop…I just cannot listen to this."
"Please, please, listen to me. I know that you have lost hope since finding out what my bro was up to. I see that your hope is gone, and I have to tell you that it is okay to feel that way for a while. What is not going to be okay with me is not seeing you putting any effort in getting your hope back. That will not fly with me, and I refuse to let it happen. You are breathing every day and have somehow made it through all this time struggling in silence. I can see it in your eyes that you do not believe this shit is going to get better, although that is not the case. Ana, you have already gotten better. You are genuine, sweet, and full of love, but you are also strong. You are so very strong and everyone in this family believes in you and always will. It is going to be tough for a while, maybe even a long time, but you have already learned how to cope with this, and as time passes, you will not be simply coping. You will be better. Fuck! I don't mean better! I mean you are going to be perfectly healed and happy. I goddamn love my brother more than anything, but I also want you over him. I love you, Ana, and I love Christian, and you know that I want you both happy. Now I have no idea what is going to happen during this meeting, hell, I may disagree with what you have chosen to do and be mad as hell at you for awhile. Nevertheless, I will get over it and never hold it against you. None of us will. We all love you, Ana. I fucking love you for trying to help me and Christian to try to patch up what I fucking did. No regular or run of the mill woman would be that compassionate or loving…"