Wounds to Bind Chapter 1 – "My eyes were dazed by you for a little while, and that was all."–Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D'Urbervilles

Late afternoon, Saturday, June 4 – APOV

Oh my god, my ass hurts! This hurts ten times worse than any other pain I have ever experienced! The graduation spanking truly didn't hurt…my reaction surprised me. My ass doesn't hurt as much as my heart, but I'm in physical and emotional pain. I'm glad Kate left for Barbados; I don't know if I could hide this from her. What the hell was I thinking, asking Christian to show me how bad it could be?

I made Mom relinquish custody of me to Dad because Stephen threatened me with physical punishments. Why, for the love of God…the love of God wasn't the reason I asked to be punished. I thought if I showed him I could take his punishment and still love him…he would admit he loved me. Instead, he told me I can't love him…like he's unlovable or I'm too young and ignorant to know what love is. I am cried out for now. I have accomplished nothing in the hours since I came home. I must get a handle on my situation; I have 36 hours before I begin my job at SIP.

Using Kate's computer, I answer emails from Kate, José and Mom. I state I am home safe from Georgia, and will write more after I've had a rest. I hope I provided enough information to keep them from asking questions for a few days. I can't bear to sit…the radiating throbbing has given way to a spreading tenderness.

I research how to cure bruises or BDSM 'marks'. If I had been smart, I would have researched Christian's singular tastes more thoroughly. If I had been in my right mind, I would have seen the joy…glee…desire…on his face when we talked about punishments in the red room of pain.

'It's mostly about pleasure.' He asserted.

I snort my derision. Tell that to my ass! Where was my 4.0 GPA when I needed it? Where was my overthinking trait? My thoughts are like a magnet, I am polarized. One minute I think about his punishment, the next minute I remember him kissing me senseless. There does not seem to be an even spectrum. I'm at one extreme or the other…just like Christian. Mercurial…he changes moods faster than anyone I've ever known.

Everything I see on the computer compounds my misery. Running to the sub bedroom to get away from him after punishment is considered normal. Really, normal? What's with the time line? I'm supposed to forgive what he did to me within 24 hours? Really? The bruises on my ass will take longer than a day to heal. If I experience sub drop, I'm to inform my master so he can provide care? I just don't think so. He can keep his damned hands to himself from now on.

I laugh, thinking of him being 'hands on' with himself. He wouldn't let me be 'hands on' with myself. He wanted all my pleasure. But he couldn't understand my pain.

'Don't hate me,' he pleaded.

I laugh until I cry. When I'm done weeping, I take ibuprophen for a headache. Then I'm reminded of the pills and juice the first morning at the Heathman.

'If you were mine, you wouldn't sit down for a week.' He announced.

Well…sitting will be uncomfortable this week. I'm reminded of pills and lotion this morning.

The Dominant may flog, spank, whip, or corporally punish the Submissive as he sees fit, for purposes of discipline, for his own personal enjoyment, or for any other reason, which he is not obliged to provide.

Christ, what is wrong with me? Instead of my self-preservation instincts kicking in when Christian threatened to spank me the first morning at the Heathman…I accepted his spanking punishment on graduation day. Sex followed the spanking…which confused my mind. This morning, I asked him to show me how much punishment could hurt. He acted like we would have amazing sex after he used the belt on me. I've lost my frigging mind.

I lay in bed with a cold compress infused with a few drops of Kate's lavender oil. She swears lavender oil relieves a headache. I don't know about the curative powers of lavender oil, I do know I'm emotionally exhausted. When sleep overtakes me, I'm oblivious to the outside world for three hours.

XXX

Awake, but sore, I am grateful for the nap. I can think of something other than my current situation. I pull the call forwarding from the new smart phone back to my old flip phone. I remove Christian and his phone number from my contact list. Although, I'm sure I will remember his phone number as easily as Jenny from the song. I put my old phone on its charger. I drop his smart phone charger, instructions and accessories box in a gallon Ziploc bag and drop the bag in an empty moving box by the bedroom door.

I don't want Christian intercepting my calls. I don't know what's going on in his head…he doesn't deserve to know what's going on in my life. Our first weekend, he was honest and told me about his past: Mrs. Robinson, fifteen women, etc. However, he wouldn't talk once he received a phone call in Savannah. What the hell happened?

I retrieve Christian's jacket from the back of my bedroom door. I search the jacket pockets. I find a folded copy of my email regarding the contract with his written notes on it. We should have discussed the clauses in the contract and his off-the-cuff remarks which gave me pause. 'I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful.'

I take the email copy to the shredder by Kate's desk in the living room and feel a sense of relief when the printed email disappears from sight in little cross hatched diamond shapes. I will not think about our dinner at the Heathman, negotiating his contract. I will not think of how appalled he was when he saw Wanda.

I add Christian's folded jacket to the box. I ignore my inner goddess who wants to take his jacket to bed, laying there sniveling, smelling his jacket. I restrain my inner demon who wants to tear his jacket into shreds like my heart.

I gather my things hanging on the door which are infused with Christian's scent. I shove them in the washer with my dirty clothes from Georgia. I put the space bags I took to Georgia on Kate's dresser. She knows Mom better than I do. I won't think about how grateful I was for Kate's space bags. Using them provided room in my rucksack for the Mean Machine and Christian's gift. I shove my rucksack into a corner of the closet shelf. I add space bags to my shopping list.

I feel unsettled in my new bedroom.

'This will be your room, you can decorate it however you want.' He showed off the white, gold and silver sub bedroom with the queen-size bed, the high thread count bed linens, and the wallpapered accent wall.

I doubt the submissive bedroom was redecorated fifteen times. Maybe the nine-month sub or the eighteen-month sub redecorated, but I'd bet the one-to-three month subs never changed a thing. They certainly didn't change his attitudes toward them or toward his lifestyle.

'Find a vase or painting which you like and use its colors to decorate your room. See this vase? The carpet for your room is the deep green of the leaves. The color for your walls is the pale pink blush of the roses. The deep rose color is mirrored in your bed linens and drapes. Room accessories are the white and gold of the vase.' Mom's decorating tips clang loudly in my head.

I'd play music to drown out Mom's voice, but I can't listen to music right now because of Christian. Was he angry because I interrupted his playing? No, he was playing to relieve stress. I shiver from the coldness of his voice when he punished me and the coldness of his penthouse.

Sorry, no more impersonal white living spaces for me. I add room paint to my shopping list. In the meantime, I want to feel like I'm living here, not just passing time. Three sketches and thirty minutes later, I have a livable space. My rearranged room offers better access for an organized and fresh start.

The alcove would be great for a reading nook, I draw a bedroom layout utilizing that idea. The alcove would be great for a study space, if I were still in college. I draw that option. The alcove is in the wrong place for my dresser. I like the third layout the best. My bed tucks into the alcove, three feet out of the middle of the room. My wicker nightstand, holding my lamp, alarm clock and books, tucks in the alcove next to the bed. I clean the nightstand drawer, leaving two bookmarks, hand cream and a flashlight.

The dresser is located near the closet for easy access and dressing. My rocking chair, floor reading lamp and two bookcases create a reading nook in one corner of my bedroom. My desk occupies the other corner. My desk chair can double for the desk and for getting dressed. The white wicker bedroom furniture Dad refurbished goes well with my white iron bedstead.

I'm lost in looking out the alcove window at the sky. I'll be able to lay in bed on the weekends and watch the sky. Especially since I'm not working weekends and since I'm not spending them in the RROP or the submissive bedroom. I will not think about grey neckties and being tied to the bed. I will not think about 'nice' slaps on my ass.

I strip the sheets to wash them. I air the quilt Mom made on the balcony. I empty the book crates in my room, just stacking the books by the shelves. I take the empty crates to Kate's room. Ethan doesn't plan to share his closet, so Kate needs to sort her clothes and take some to her parents' house.

I remove notes, bookmarks, etc. from my books. I trash the notes and put the bookmarks in a small white wicker basket on the bookcase. I clean and straighten the bookcases, lining up the books library style: alphabetically by author first, then alphabetically by title. When I find the Tess books, I put them in the box of things to go back to Christian. I drop the Grey pencil in the box also.

I will not think about Christian. I will not think about Christian. I will not think about…

I'm not Tess, who lost sight of her own safety and her own wants and needs. She was Alec's victim because she put herself in a situation she would have avoided if she had considered it. I understand her thoughts. I put myself in a situation I could have avoided if I had just used a safe word. Seriously, what was I doing in a situation where I needed a safe word? I made a mistake with Christian and his singular tastes, but I will not endanger myself again.

Thinking of Tess, the scenery behind my life has changed. Kate and my condo is warmer, friendlier and more lived in than Christian's ivory tower despite our white walls which beg for color! I search Pinterest for a palette of colors to remind me of blue skies, yellow sunshine and white puffy clouds. I will not live in a monochrome world. My feelings are not black and white; I will not submerge myself in shades of grey. I will not wallow in fifty shades of fucked up.

I will not think about Christian. I will not think about Christian. I will not think about…

I raid the candle stash above the washer and dryer and find a blueish-purple, lavender scented candle. I raid our shabby chic dishes. I use one of the blue floral ones extra saucers as a candle holder. The lavender scent will help calm me when I start getting melancholy…maudlin…manic?

Despite my original feelings, Christian and I are not different from one another. His mother died, my father died. He was adopted, I was basically adopted by Ray Steele. Christian works, I work. He's a brilliant businessman, I have a 4.0 GPA. I was pursued by a gorgeous billionaire, but Kate insists I'm pretty. How can two people, who seemingly have so much in common, have such a chasm between them? The easy answer is: I want more; he wants control.

I will not dwell. I will not think about Christian. I will stay busy so I don't think about him. I will stay busy so I don't think about him. I will stay busy so I don't think about him. 'Busy body, distracted mind.'

I tuck the Seattle Times picture, graduation program, the Charlie Tango balloon and Christian's housewarming note away in my memory box. Maybe someday I can look at them and not feel this overwhelming pain.

I deep clean my room, remaking my bed, hugging my quilt. I need new bed linens and towels. I add bed and bath linens to my to-do list. Mine are threadbare. I shove dirty bed and bath linens in the washer. I find Taylor's handkerchief when I am folding my clean clothes. I don't think twice; I drop Taylor's handkerchief in the box of things to go back to Christian.

Kate filled my closet before she left, donating thirty days of work clothes. Everything is in blue and purple with neutrals of black, white and grey. Kate selected clothes, accessories and shoes to go with the few separates I had and the week of new navy and crimson clothes Mom bought while I was in Georgia. I sent pictures of everything when I emailed Kate, whining about forced marches disguised as shopping excursions. I am thankful for the clothes, because I don't have to shop. I should, however, spend time researching Pinterest for looks I like, and then Amazon for pieces to purchase.

Kate left the clothes separated into work weeks in my closet. Across the top shelf of the closet are numbered groups of shoes and handbags. Kate left lists of what to wear with accessories, jewelry and shoes/purse combo number. I laugh. Kate chose the navy column dress Mom bought me in Georgia as my Day One ensemble. She recommends the apple green accessories to 'finish' the ensemble. Kate would make a great personal shopper for someone if she wasn't too busy shopping for herself.

While I was in Georgia, Kate threw away the blue sweater and skirt I wore when I interviewed Christian. She threw away the blue floral blouse I wore with it. She thought about burning them, but melting polyester creates toxic fumes. I'm glad she threw them away so I'm not reminded of when I met Christian.

Kate tossed the threadbare jeans and flannel shirts I wore for four years to classes and at Clayton's Hardware. She donated my green oversized cardigan I wore over t-shirts and jeans to class and Clayton's. She pitched my ratty sweats, half a dozen T-shirts with curling necks or irregular hemlines, two itchy sweaters and four tops where the material pilled or gapped in weird places. She threw away my well-worn brown knee high boots, one ratty pair of running shoes and one pair of ballerina flats I rarely wore because they hurt my feet.

Kate also threw away both of my robes. One was thin terry cloth which sagged in back. I liked my terry robe because the robe hung wrong, making me think my ass was flat. My polyester robe had a pilled quilted interior which required shaving more often than my legs. At least Kate didn't plunder my lingerie drawers. I don't want to think about Taylor buying me underwear, or Christian's ability to make my panties wet. I definitely won't think about how Christian used my panties to restrain my hands so I wouldn't touch him.

I will not think about Christian. I will not think about Christian. I will not think about…

Kate left me three sets of yoga outfits (pants and hoodies with matching tanks) in black, burgundy and navy. She also left me a list of clothes to buy: four pairs of dark wash skinny jeans, four cute tops made from natural materials, two dozen pairs of nude, lace-topped thigh-high stockings, and two dozen pairs of trouser socks. She recommended I buy at least 14 days of new, matching lingerie and 14 days of new, sexy nighties or cute pajamas. She recommends a spa-quality robe. She says it's time for me to dress like a female when I go to bed and not dress like someone's sports buddy. She threatens to burn anything not made of natural materials.

I roll my eyes, and then remember my punishment. I sink to the floor and weep all over again. Enough! A Charles Dickens quote comes to mind, 'This is a world of action, and not for moping in.' If I make myself stay busy, I won't dwell on Christian and what if? 'Busy body, distracted mind.' I'm not hungry, but I should eat. Tea and toast and a British film noir movie suit me right now. But sitting hurts and I have things to do. 'Busy body, distracted mind.'

I finish unpacking the crates in the kitchen, organizing cupboards, drawers and appliances. We need organizational units in the kitchen cupboards to expand the space. I won't think about cooking in Christian's designer kitchen. I won't think about pancakes and bacon our first morning together…nor breakfast the morning we went soaring. I won't think about the charcuterie and white wine my first night at Escala. I won't think about his stupid food rules and list of acceptable foods. 'Please sir…tell me when to eat…tell me what to eat…tell me to smile at your list of bullshit.' I seethe. How dare he taint cooking for me? Cooking and cleaning are my 'go-to' activities when I am stressed or when I'm trying to work out something in my head. He may dominate in the business world…but I am a goddess in the kitchen.

I put the empty crates in Kate's room. Her walk-in closet would be huge for my clothes. Despite the size, her walk-in closet will not contain every piece of clothing, shoes or accessories she owns. She needs better closet organizers than the installed ones.

I clean the main bathroom. I claim the left shelves and drawers, leaving the right ones for Ethan. Again, we need organizational units in the bathroom cabinet and a storage unit over the toilet. Towel bars on the back of the door would be a godsend. My list of things to buy and things to do grows.

Foolish, romantic, virginal Anastasia Rose Steele wanted Christian's love. Silly, stupid, 'didn't do her research' Anastasia Rose Steele craved Christian's gentle touch, his ardent touch, and his wanton touch. However, the smart, Summa Cum Laude Anastasia Rose Steele will not pay the price demanded by Dominant Christian Grey. Yes, I want hearts and flowers…isn't that what your first love is supposed to be like? Perhaps my love of books delayed my interest in men. Perhaps watching Mom flit from one man to another after she left Dad gave me pause, made me overthink adult relationships. Perhaps I am too inexperienced to take on a man like Christian Grey…but he was only man who made my blood heat, my thoughts race and my breath catch.

If I can't have hearts and flowers, I'd settle for no lies and secrets between us. Show me you can care about me and love me. Caring about me is a whole different animal than caring for me. His version of caring for me is buying stuff, airplane upgrades, and Taylor acting as chauffer. His version of caring for me is using sex to avoid talking and answering hard questions. I want more, and I don't mean a red room of pain education. Caring about me means learning about my life from me…not a damned background check.

I take a hot shower using Kate's lavender shower gel to relax me. I fall into bed, exhausted, yet unable to sleep. I am haunted by the look on Christian's face when I left. I smell the lavender candle to calm me. I miss Kate. I imagine her lying on a beach in Barbados and sipping Rum Runners. She wears an emerald green tankini with sarong. Her smart phone lies nearby, ready to talk to me. Her relaxed stature and the image of ocean waves cause me to drift off to sleep around midnight.

He grabs my arm in a firm grip and pulls me up the stairs to the playroom. 'Pleasure and pain, reward and punishment,' his words echo through my mind. 'I'll show you how bad it can be, and you can make up your own mind.' He pauses by the door. 'Are you ready for this?' I nod, my mind made up, but I'm vaguely lightheaded, faint as all the blood drains from my face.

He opens the door and still grasping my arm, grabs what looks like a belt from the rack beside the door. He leads me over to the red leather bench in the far corner of the room. 'Bend over the bench,' he murmurs softly. I bend over the smooth soft leather, I'm naked, wearing nothing to hide the body he said was beautiful. 'I will hit you six times, and you will count for me.'

I close my eyes, bracing myself. The first blow comes hard, snapping across my backside. The bite of the belt is everything I feared. I cry out involuntarily and take a huge gulp of air.

'Count, Anastasia!' He commands.

'One!' I shout at him, and it sounds like an expletive. He hits me again, and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the belt. Holy shit …that hurts! 'Two!' I scream…it feels so good to scream. His breathing is ragged and harsh, whereas mine is almost nonexistent as I desperately scrabble around in my psyche looking for internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh again.

'RED,' I scream…

…and wake up. What the hell? I'm sitting up in bed, shaking like a leaf. Would the punishment have stopped if I yelled red? Why the hell didn't I safe word? NO, what the hell am I doing in a situation which requires a safe word? I said NO at the boathouse to a spanking. Why did I say, 'show me'. My heart hurts because I am not guilt-free in this mess.

I remember all six strikes. Strike one was across the top of my ass. Strike two was across the top middle of my ass. Strike three was across the bottom middle of my ass. Strike four was across the bottom of my ass. Strike five hit from the top of my right buttock to the bottom of my left. Strike six hit from the top of my left buttock to the bottom of my right. He didn't need more than six strikes, because his method encompassed all of my ass. I have six pink welts where the belt hit, but I have twelve fine lines of bruises where the edges of the belt hit. I can't stay in bed. I need to research these wildly fluctuating feelings I have.

I research sub drop. Research, lord I wish I had researched his singular tastes more. I wish I had overthought, thought again, counted to ten, procrastinated. What compelled me to enter his playroom? Yes, he's drop dead gorgeous. Yes, he has the physique of a demi-god. He didn't kiss me senseless…so will I always be entranced by his looks, his smell, his molten metal eyes?

The web site is informative…fatigue, sadness, aches, pains, recovery from 'marks'.

Marks? Try bruises and swelling. Aches? Pains? My head hurts, my heart breaks and my ass screams with pain louder than I screamed when I counted his strikes in the playroom. I'm supposed to thank him for caring enough about me to punish me and make me a better submissive. Are these people FUCKING NUTS?

…some submissives recover from sub drop in a few hours, others can experience symptoms of sub drop for days or weeks.

Weeks? I remember his contract: Submissive will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

Oh hell no! The line is drawn …the gauntlet is formed…the challenge is made…let loose the dogs of war. Strong Ana won't endure anything which weakens her power and makes her act submissive.

…depression, difficulty concentrating, difficulty remembering details, difficulty making decisions.

I don't think so. I start my new job on Monday morning. I will be professional. Sad Ana will not wallow about her personal life during work hours. 'Busy body…distracted mind.'

…fatigue or decreased energy, insomnia, excessive sleeping, or short rounds of intense energy followed by intense periods of hard sleep.

The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of seven hours' sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant.

Yeah, if I was drugged so I didn't dream about him.

The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs, or put herself in any unnecessary danger.

This rule means I can't be with him. I should not be with someone who has twelve different methods of 'punishment' for disobeying his idiotic rules.

…extreme forms of drop could make you feel like you have a hangover…some people feel lethargic or depressed for hours or days…you cannot just sleep…

The shower sex when I arrived at Escala answered my need for physical contact with Christian. I missed him when he left Savannah. Dinner, in our robes, felt like we would do for the rest of our lives. How could we go from such excellent sex in the red room with Thomas Tallis to the worst encounter I ever felt in my life?

…guilt, worthlessness, helplessness or sadness, anxiousness, suicidal thoughts, excessive or loss of appetite, persistent phantom aches, pains, headaches, cramps or digestive issues…if these symptoms continue after seven days…seek psychiatric help.

Fifty shades is passing on his fifty shades to me.

…aftercare must address the immediate needs of the submissive…

Although my heart was crying…I was cold and aloof to him. Wait, what's that article? Self-aftercare?

…treat your injuries…arnica gel to help relieve bruises …ice…Ibuprophen… soak a towel or washcloth in cold vinegar and apply to bruises…fresh pineapple…self-hug…stay warm…wear comfortable clothes…exercise to increase your endorphin levels so you do not need kink activities…social interaction, not virtual interaction…express yourself in writing…rant, vent, realize your limits were pushed too far…heal mental wounds…cuddle a pet…

Stay occupied…do real life things…keep busy, establish or keep to your IRL routine: wash your hands and face…brush your hair…brush your teeth…relax…eat comfort food…keep salon appointments…keep doctor appointments…work. Be aware of how music affects your moods. Some people need upbeat music to exercise, some people feel music scrapes their nerves, leaving them exposed and raw…

The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/ or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant's choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit.

When I think of Mrs. Robinson and her submissive prep parlors, I'm violently ill. The contents of my stomach churn and burn my throat.

…eat healthy regular meals…take multi-vitamins…hydrate…cold fruit juice or energy bar for snacks…chocolate milk, cocoa or hot tea for comfort…

The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and well-being from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.

I can't look at food without feeling nauseous. I can't think about filling our freezer without feeling frozen in my thoughts.

…pamper yourself…a soft, fluffy robe, chocolate, a hot bubble bath, a good book, a favorite movie, a stuffed animal…shop…get a massage, a manicure, a pedicure…

I will not think about bubble baths with Christian. I will not allow him to ruin the simple joys of bubble baths. Maybe a hot soaking lavender bubble bath with lavender candles will relax me so I will sleep.

…sunshine, exercise, stay busy and active…

The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive's progress.

Report on me? I don't think so! Which reminds me to ensure I don't have someone following or tracking me. Which includes scrubbing the history on Kate's laptop. I shut down the computer and go back to bed, snuggling under Mom's quilt and cry myself to sleep.

Saturday, June 4 – CPOV

As dusk settles, I realize each day will be dark and empty, because Anastasia is no longer part of my life. No more facetious, witty e-mails. No more smart mouth comments. No more curiosity. She makes me feel things I've never felt before. I want to own Anastasia, body and soul. I want her to be mine, but she walked away. I don't want anyone but her. Her bright blue eyes will no longer regard me in thinly veiled amusement or shock or lust. No more grey eyes connecting to blue eyes when we touch. I feel raw and miserable since I saw the look on her face when she left.

'No…stop.' She sternly admonished me…causing me to stop midstride. I wanted to yank her out of the elevator and make her listen to me. No, I wanted to get in the elevator and kiss her until she submitted. I need something to get me through the night and search for her gift, a model-making kit for a Blaník L23. I clutch her scribbled note in my hand as I head for the office.

'This reminded me of a happy time. Ana'

Andrea cancelled the tickets for tonight's gala. I'm sick of discussing Leila and her asshole husband with Welch. I ignore Elena's emails. I don't vent to Flynn. I have an Ana task to get me through the night. Classical music provides background noise which does not interrupt or filter the thoughts running through my head. While searching for glue for my model, I find the diamond drop earrings I bought for Ana for tonight. I open the safe and lock them away. They cannot stay in the top drawer of my desk. Their fiery brilliance does not fend off my darkness. They only remind me of the sparkle in her blue eyes.