DISCLAIMER: Do not own FSOG Trilogy!

Blown away by the responses received for the last chapter. Thanks to all! Keep them coming. They keep me motivated :)

*WARNING!* SEXUAL ASSAULT AND SLIGHT PEDOPHILIA MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER. THE EVENT TAKES PLACE ON EARLY FRIDAY MORNING, SAME DAY SAWYER OVERHEARS ANA TAKING TO CASON IN HER CAR AND SAME DAY CHRISTIAN GETS THE PHOTOS. THE WARNING STARTS AT THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTER UNTIL *END WARNING!*.

APOV

I am under Christian. He has his warm arms wrapped around me. We are kissing and dry-humping each other through our clothes. We are in my childhood bedroom. I moan, desperate for him to rip off our clothes and make love to me. He pulls away from my lips and begins a slow trail of hot kisses down my neck and chest. I squirm, wondering how I could feel his lips against my skin if I was still wearing my nightgown. When his face gets near my underwear, he forcibly spreads my thighs apart. I cry out in surprise and in pain. Why is he being rough? He rips off my underwear, and I try to push him away from me. He smacks my hands aside and buries his face between my legs. His tongue moves up and down and swirls around. I don't like this. I buck my hips and try to kick him, but he holds my thighs open. He's hurting me. I panic. I squirm to get away from him. I slam my fists down on his head.

"Stop it, Rose!" I jerk awake, gasping. I am in my bed, in my apartment. A sense of wrongness nearly chokes me. Am I still dreaming? Something is touching me. I look down and stop breathing.

Cason is there, between my legs. His face pressed tightly against me. He is holding my thighs apart, his fingers digging so hard. I cry out and jerk my body away from him, as much as I could. He pulls back immediately. Concern clouds his face. "Shh, Rose. It's just me." He reaches for me again, but I jump out of bed on unsteady legs.

"Don't fucking touch me," I squeak, holding my hand out to him. I look around the room for anything I can use to throw at him. "Get out!"

Cason approaches me slowly, and I tremble. "Rose, calm down. It's me."

"Get out!" I grab a heavy snow globe from atop my dresser and threaten him with it. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"What the fuck is your problem? You act like I've never sucked your pussy before!"

"Get out," I say evenly.

Cason holds his hands up but still tries to get closer. "Is this about the limp dick you're dating? Who gives a shit about him?"

"Get out," I whisper, hefting the snow globe, prepared to throw it at him should he get any closer.

He halts his advancement to me and grins. "Are you seeing him later? Afraid he'll notice my cum dripping out of you?" He laughs. "If that's your concern, I'll wear a condom." He steps closer.

"Get out," I repeat, wanting him gone. "I don't want you touching me."

"No." He comes closer, and I throw my weapon as hard as I can at him. Cason dodges it smoothly, and it breaks against my rugs, the water flowing out rapidly. "Calm the fuck down!"

This time, I throw my hairbrush, and it smacks him right in the face. With the small distraction, I run past him, ignoring the sharp pain of glass shards in my feet, and lock myself in the bathroom. It is there that I notice several hickeys on my breasts that weren't there when I went to bed. My nightgown is thankfully still on.

A fist raps softly against the door, and I jump. "Rose," Cason calls out quietly. "I'm so sorry I frightened you. Come on out. I promise I'll stop." At my lack of an answer, he tries again. "I swear I thought you were awake. I'd never do that against your consent, Rose. You should know that. You know I'd never harm you. I love you."

I sit on the edge of the tub and wrap my arms tightly around me. My eyes burn, and tears begin to leak out. I hiccup.

"God damn it, Rose!" Cason punches the door, and a crack appears. I slide down to the floor and drop my forehead to my knees. I can't stop shaking. "I've had it with your attitude. I'm your only family. Did you forget that? I'm all you have left! Without me, you have nothing. Go on your fucking date with Grey. At the end of it all, you are just a hole for him to fuck. At least I care about you! He couldn't care less if you died while he fucked you. He will ruin you!"

I cover my ears after that. I can't hear anymore. He isn't yelling at me, but his cold, calm voice is scary; he's never spoken to me like that. I see new cracks form on the door. I notice for the first time the bloody footprints on the floor. My stomach heaves, and I quickly duck my head into the toilet, throwing up last night's dinner.

A long while later, when I couldn't throw up anything else, I slowly limped my way out of the bathroom. I hear nothing. I sigh in relief. After checking the coast is clear, I lock the front door. My feet are killing me. I groan, spying the blood prints I made when I walked out here. It's six forty. I need to get ready for work or else I'll be late again.

As I walk numbly back to the bathroom, I make a mental list of priorities: clean and bandage feet, take a quick shower, put on makeup to hide the paleness of my skin.

I try hard to push Cason at the far corners of my mind. I don't think about it. After my date, I'll skip sex with Christian and come straight home. I'll think about it then, I promise myself, knowing if I thought about it, I'll break.

*END WARNING*

My stomach growls loudly, and Hannah sends me a sympathetic smile. A pained grimace is all I can return. I close my eyes, breathing in and out slowly. My body feels heavy, and my head can fall off my shoulders any second. A wave of nausea flows throughout my limbs, and I make the conscious effort to not gag. Inhale—1, 2, 3. Exhale—1, 2, 3, 4. I continue this until nausea passes. I prop my head up with one hand, debating the pros and cons of leaving early regardless what Jack has to say. My forehead is clammy against my palm.

I am not sick; I am hungry.

I've been working at SIP for the last five months. In that time, I've been denied my lunch hour approximately twenty times. The reasons being that I was late for work, my work was below expectations, or I pissed off Jack. I've come to learn that the sick-to-my-stomach feeling is caused by being hungry—most of the time. Last week when I was really late, I accepted responsibility—although reluctantly—because it had been my fault.

Today is different. Yes, I was ten minutes late, but the rule in the office is if you arrive before your direct boss, you are given a free pass. Jack got in fifteen minutes after me. To further kick me after cancelling my lunch, Jack told me I needed to stay behind after work to organize his cluttered-to-the-max office. I'll be lucky if I get to leave by eight.

Keeping in mind what Christian told me last week about them not being able to do that, I spouted to Jack about my rights and the five-hour regulation thing. I figured Christian knew what he was talking about given that he is a very successful businessman with thousands of employees. Only, he laughed right in my face and told me to do as he said before he fired me and had me blacklisted in Seattle. I don't know if he could do that, but I can't take that chance. I even tried to explain that I wasn't feeling well, and he told me unless I dropped dead, he didn't care.

I groan and try to focus on my manuscript but everything is out of focus. I've never felt this bad like I could drop at any second. Then again, I've never experienced what transpired this morning. I shudder and shove that thought away from me.

The nausea is back. Oh, God, kill me. I breathe slowly and precisely again. Perhaps it would be best if I cancelled on Christian. I don't foresee myself getting any better. Or finishing my work before the movie starts.

I take my cell phone out from my desk to call him when a text comes in. I tense and relax. Christian! But I puzzled over his message.

Too classy for electronics today, Sunshine?

Confused, I write back, Pardon?

Think of the trees, Ana. Anything you wrote could have been written in an email.

What are you talking about?

The mail you sent me. You are lucky I've already approved you in my company. Otherwise, it could have been weeks before I saw it.

This man is working too hard. I smile, grateful to have him cheering me up a bit even if he doesn't know it. I didn't send you anything, pumpkin. You are probably confusing me with another Anastasia.

Soon after I hit send, I receive a picture of an envelope. Only my name is on the senders address, handwritten, but I don't recognize the writing. It isn't mine.

I didn't send that Christian. I swear.

I wait for his reply, but it never comes. Odd. Well, if it was important, I'm sure he'll tell me soon enough.

I go back to work. After about twenty minutes, I remember I haven't cancelled with Christian. As I grab my cell phone, it lights up again with another message. Okay, now it's getting freaky.

It's from Cason.

I flip the phone over so I can't read it. A pounding in my chest and head develop. This is the first time he has tried to contact me since this morning. Maybe it's important. Maybe he's telling me he won't go to my dad's grave this year like we always did with Christian coming. Holding my breath, I turn my phone over and read the message preview on the lock screen.

This is IMPORTANT Rose! Did you take your pictures? The on—

And it cuts off. He's texting me about pictures? After what he did this morning? I can't get enough air in my lungs. I go into my messages to read what else he had to say. He did write it was important.

The full message reads:

This is IMPORTANT Rose! Did you take your pictures? The ones I have locked in my safe? They're all gone! Please tell me you have them. I know this morning was crap for both of us, but please tell me you didn't sneak into my apartment to steal them and give me a heart attack.

Against my better judgement, I text back.

What pictures?

The ones I took of you when you were younger.

I didn't take anything from you.

Don't fucking lie to me little girl. If you have them, give them back.

I don't even know what photos you're talking about.

All of them! When you were a teenager. They are all fucking gone!

Oh, fuck. I stand up shakily. I look into Jack's office through his window. He has his feet up and is talking on the phone, facing away. Hurriedly, I go to the bathroom and lock the door.

I call Cason. When he picks up, I immediately say, "I didn't take the pictures."

"Fuck!" A loud bang follows, and I envision it's him punching the wall. I tremble remembering this morning. I use my hand to fan my face. It's getting hard to breathe. "Fuck. Tell me you're lying to get back at me. Tell me you came into my home and took them right out of my safe and they are safe with you," Cason begs. I sway and hold onto one of the sinks for balance.

"No," I whisper. Cason starts cursing again, demanding I tell him the truth. I don't know what to say. I can't think. My pictures are missing?

Then, I hear a beep, indicating another caller. I don't want to talk to Cason anymore. I hang up on him and answer the other call. "Hello?" I croak out.

"Anastasia, we need to talk right now."

"Christian?"

"Ana, please," Christian implores. "This is very important. Can you get out of work early? I really need to hold you right now. God, baby." I am just making out that he sounds desperate. And worried. And heartbroken?

"What's wrong?" I can't speak louder than a whisper.

"Oh, baby, the package. There were photos in there. But that doesn't matter. I'm coming to you right now. I'm just getting in the car." Why is he talking like that, as if he's soothing me?

"Photos?" I can't breathe.

"Let's not worry about that right now. I need to see you. Okay? We need to talk right now."

"I'm working," I tell him. My grip on the sink tightens. I suck in as much air as I can, but it's not enough.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe," I gasp. Despite my grip, my world becomes tilted. "I can't breathe."

"Fuck! Taylor! Tell Sawyer to go to Ana now! Baby? Deep breaths, baby. In and out slowly. Lie down." Christian's voice is getting quieter. "Lie down if you're standing, baby."

I let go of the sink. I drop Christian. Where'd he go? I step away from the sink so I can have room to lie down. He told me to lie down. I sway. The floor drops, and I with it.