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ENTRY NUMBER SEVEN

~The Sandman~

"You're squirting, Susannah. You're squirting everywhere."

The room filled with a moan that came from the far end. "If you don't tie that off now, our patient here, Mr. Donner, is going to bleed out." Dr. Christian Grey, chief anesthesiologist at Seattle Grace hospital, rolled his eyes, and turned his body away for the spectacle in front of him. He tossed his head back and laughed at the words he'd just spoken.

How ironic. Susannah squirting. Of course he was required to be here, to supervise the surgical rotation of the third year residents. That was expected. What was fucking beyond, was that his former submissive, and world class squirter, Dr. Susannah Roberts, was standing in his operating room. What are the odds that Susannah, world's best throat, would end up here in my hospital for her residency, under me for her surgical rotation? That is some shitstorm Grey. He took her in, swallowing slowly as he remembered the taste of her. She had such a fine ass, that had a tinge of peach when licked by a belt. Under you. Funny, under me.

Having shared enough time with the future saviors of the hospital, "good luck," he sauntered out, adjusting himself through his blue scrubs.

"Christ… Dr. Grey. Excuse me." Christian turned to the voice behind him. Andrea, his favorite nurse, smiled politely. "You asked me to remind you to head down to PT to see your grandfather…"

"Yes, thank you Andrea. I'll head down now, before I start my weekend," and indulge in my latest obliging pet, the sweet skinned Leila.

xXx

Christian's Grandfather Trevelyan was a patient a few floors below, recovering from a broken hip. His dutiful, yet distant grandson, visited each day. The men had much to exchange, their relationship deep yet tender. Christian never shared himself with anyone, but felt most comfortable with this gentleman, Theodore, a wise soft-eyed genius, who peppered Christian with the only advice he really ever followed. Get into medical school and never look back. You were born to ease people's pain. Christian had done just that, administering drugs to dull pain, release anxiety, check out. He exited the elevator, and walked down the hall, turning into the physical therapy unit, the lightest he'd felt all day.

"Holy fuck!" Christian slowed to a halt at the sight in front of him. A vision. He was caught off guard by a massage therapist administering to an amputee. A brunette goddess-with the most delicate hands-and he'd yet to see her face. She was in the midst of an intense massage, her long hair veiled around her bowed head, as she focused on the skin below her. Christian was mesmerized. Look up baby, let me see that pretty face. And she did. Her baby blues met his. "Shit…" She squinted at him—yup, he'd said that out loud—and she slowly bit down on her plump bottom lip to stifle a smile. It hadn't mattered. Christian had already fallen. Smitten by her sweet demeanor, and those kneading hands. His chest tingled just looking them. He was mesmerized, watching her work. Her hands moved with deft authority. As she squeezed flesh between her fingers and tugged back forcefully, he felt his torso lurch toward her. But even her kind demeanor and inviting face were no match for his darkness. While his instinct was to rush to her, and rip her hands from the asshole's body she was treating, he never would. He'd never let her see him for what he was…

"Can I help you?" she asked. Had a truer sentence ever been spoken in the English language? Christian was speechless. "You're staring Dr. Grey." She knew his name, what's that about?

Suddenly, he heard his grandfather, "Chris, I thought that was you?" Goodbye angel.

"Grandfather, great to see you. How are you today?" They had a pleasant enough visit, but Christian really couldn't recall anything they'd discussed. He couldn't get that beautiful massage therapist out of his mind. For the rest of the day.

xXx

As Friday evening descended on Seattle, Christian made his way from the car park to the main lobby at Escala, ready to dive into Leila, his sub would be arriving in a few hours. What's this? The brunette beauty appeared beside him, entering Escala as well. She smiled again, but this time, Christian was ready, and flashed her his best panty-dropping smile. She started a laugh, but caught herself when Vincent, the concierge, spoke to her. "Good evening Miss Steele. How are you?"

Steele. Nice, her name. But what's this? Vincent and she shared a look. Is she fucking the goddamn concierge? Christian bellowed out "hello" as he stepped in the elevator, pivoting to allow her in past him. Again his megawatt smile.

The angel with the perfect hands scooted past him and practically whispered, "I know who you are."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I'm Christian…"

"Grey. I know. Everyone knows who you are. You like to fuck. Hard." She fake smiled. A nervous laugh escaped his lips as he stared at her like she was from a distant galaxy. "Where did you…"

"I'm Anastasia Steele." And I'll be goddamned if she didn't just press my floor.

"Ana, I live on…"

"Yea, I know, I'm going to the twenty-ninth floor too. It's Anastasia. Only my friends call me Ana." She corrected him.

"Oh, right. Anastasia. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. How do you know who I am? And that I like, excuse me, what you said?" This little girl is full of surprises, he thought to himself. Those soft tender hands are connected to that smart mouth. I'd like to fuck that smart… no I don't think I would. Christ, yes I would, but only if she wanted me to. I think I'd like to hear what she has to say. What the fuck Grey? Never going to happen. Ana Steele just told you to go fuck yourself, she's not going anywhere with you. As if I'd ever ask. Sweet and tenacious. It was unnerving for her to be there. "Miss Steele, how are you here? Do you know someone in the building?"

"My stepfather, Raymond Steele, recently passed away." She looked tragic and pained as she said it. "I'm staying in his apartment for the time being, until I decide what to do with it."

"Oh." Again, his body wanted to move toward her, to what? Instead, he mumbled, "I'm sorry for your loss Miss Steele." They rode the rest of the way up to the top of Escala without words. He maintained his silence out of self-preservation. His mind, focused on clear liquids, viscosity, ccs and millimeters and logarithms of dosing. Maybe it's the elevator's tight quarters. Seeing her hands knotted together, Christian could only think how he'd love to touch those hands. He never touched his submissives' hands, they were always restrained in one way or another. Bound, simply because he did not want their hands on him. He wanted to be free of touch, from anyone.

And yet, in the stifling confines of this endless elevator ride, Christian Grey wanted nothing more than to touch Anastasia, 'Ana to her friends.' This girl, with her amazing long fingers, and kind demeanor. HE wanted to touch HER. He had to get out of the elevator, he was about to expire. "Good night Miss Steele." Ms. Williams better be ready and waiting, he soothed himself with the thought.

xXx

A week passed uneventfully and fortunately, Christian felt, he hadn't run into the Anastasia Steele again. Each day that'd followed the "fuck hard" encounter in his building's lobby, Christian had changed his routine, deviated from the norm, to avoid seeing her. His Ana. Pathetic Grey. She's a normal human. She'd never be interested in your darkness, and you'd never spoil her with it. Although, I would like feeling what it would be like to spoil her.

The following week changed everything.

He saw Anastasia Monday, in the D wing elevator, and he couldn't breath, just sharing the same air was too much. She'd looked withdrawn, the twinkle in her eye missing. Wednesday, he spied her running through the park, at 6am , head down, past her hands on her knees. He'd approached her, but she waved him on, her hair looked stringy and out of order. This past Thursday, they were alone, sharing the Escala gym—at 445 in the morning—exchanging nods and tight smiles. She looked bad. She almost reminded Christian of his birth mom, pale and sad. He wondered… is she no longer working?

"HI Anastasia. It's good to see you."

"Good morning Dr. Grey. How are you?" she was very polite, a little stand offish, stretching with a foam roller. She had a perfect tight little body.

"Call me Christian." He huffed in her direction. He diverted his eyes, the hollowness in her own was too much. I think she's ill.

"How are you Christian?" Hearing his name from her mouth was, soul scratching. It's not just her hands I need. I need? Dream on asshole.

"I'm good, very good. I'm fine, I just finished, and I'm surprised to see you here. Anastasia, you look very tired." Her eyes widened in surprise. No, angel, don't retreat. "I'm sorry, I just thought, you look different."

She laughed and tossed her head back, revealing her creamy pale neck, which pinked as she spoke. "I'm just tired. Exhausted really." She paused and cocked her head, staring at Christian. "How long before you can be officially diagnosed with insomnia? I mean, I haven't been sleeping well. I'm not surprised you noticed. I hope it goes away soon. I think I'm just sad is all." This time, Christian wasn't going to deny his body again. Baby, no. He floated toward her, and stopped, just inches in front of her.

"You're not sleeping?" She shook her head. Fuck, she needs to sleep. Does she not have a physician caring for her? "Well, why don't you start monitoring when you do sleep. If you see a pattern, we can get a sleep specialist involved and find a solution. Hopefully it just passes." His finger tips crackled to touch her skin, but he pushed them into his pockets. She nodded a thank you, and the awkward moment dissolved on its own. They spent the rest of the morning talking about work.

"I'm a healing message therapist," she explained. "It's hard to describe, really. I adopted several styles into my own that I find most helpful to those who need it. A Chinese technique." Her voice was melodious, calming and true. "I pull the pain out, absorb it myself, briefly, and then I flush it out later, when the patient is relaxed." She paused, as if deciding to reveal a little more of herself. "To be honest, I haven't been working, I'm taking some personal time. This whole sleep thing is driving my body crazy." Christian thought, you have a crazy body, but he also felt something more than attraction. He felt... longing. I can make her better. I want to make her better. To touch her the way she… fuck! The way just her being, has touched me. Her admission hung between them like an opaque veil, while Christian's eyes roamed every dip and curve of her exposed skin. His instinct forced him to retreat, and with a lame excuse uttered, he quickly departed.

Somehow, Christian managed to make it back to his apartment, just barely, before he disrobed and quickly climaxed alone in his shower, to the vision of Ana. Only in his vision, his hands were caressing her, holding her, pulling her body close to his. "Oh, Ana. Fuck, Ana." He finished his shower, a little shocked by his teenaged control, or lack of it. He groaned to himself. He had no future with this woman. He had to quit thinking about her, but he was worried now, and he knew she needed someone, something. She simply must sleep. There were years Christian went without decent sleep. Only the necessity and routine of his work drove him to find a healthy sleep, and the occasionally exhausting sub. He scowled at himself for thinking of subs, while he considered Ana's wellbeing. What the fuck! He simply couldn't begin to worry about Anastasia's sleep routine. She's too good for your shit, and you can't worry about her any more. "The shit has to stop!"

xXx

Friday night , mere minutes before Ms. Williams was to appear for his weekend diversion, Christian Grey found himself down the hall from his apartment, meds in hand, knocking on Anastasia's door. He barely heard her soft footsteps approach. As the door pulled back, a small grungy-looking dog pushed around to face him, wagging its tale. Great, another fucking reason to tie this off. Dogs like to jump and lick. Of course, his Ana had a dog.

Ana smiled at him. "Christian, hi. What are you doing here?"

"When did they start allowing dogs in the building?"

"Oh, this is Sophie, she's a therapy dog." She looked away, "She was Ray's, my step dad's therapy dog." She bit her lower lip as she stepped back to allow Christian entrance. "Ray was a veteran. He had severe PTSD. Sophie helped wake him up before his nightmares could take over. I just couldn't give her away. She helped him so much." As she wiped a stray tear away, Christian's hand reached up to meet hers, and he squeezed. At the contact, her eyes darted to his. And he felt himself actually blushing. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, Christian. It's only temporary. Please. Don't say anything." Christian watched his hand continue to hold hers, while he nodded to her entreaty. He was touching her warm skin, and it felt, right. He pictured licking the tears off her fingers and kissing each one. His cock was amendable to that plan, and he shifted, embarrassed. But why? And just as he began to pull her toward him. He registered what she'd actually said. She's apologizing to me? She's killing me here. Make this quick Grey.

He swallowed and started to say his piece. Short and sweet Grey.

"Of course Ana. I will keep your secrets." You'll never know mine. "I was thinking about our conversation and your unfortunate sleep deprivation." He eyed their now intertwined fingers, and took a step back, dropping her hand. "Here, these are samples, a sleep aid. These should help you sleep, get you back into your routine. Take one every night before bed."

Ana slowly reached up to take the bundle of samples. She swallowed hard. "Thank you Dr. Grey. I appreciate it. You're very thoughtful." She paused and crinkled her brow. Christian had to bite the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from leaning in to brush his lips across it. "Christian, about what I said in the elevator that night…" Oh god, his stomach twisted at the same time his ears tingled. Leave now! She's not for you. You're definitely not for her.

"Water under the bridge, Miss Steele. Now get some rest. Good night." There. Done. Back to my life. She must be out of my life, away from the gym, my early runs, and I won't have to see her. He just wanted her healthy after all. Her skin to get its rosy glow back. He just wanted her happy. Sure, lie to yourself Grey. You'll see her soon enough, in the all too real dreams that have replaced your nightmares. My life, my fucking life. Ana was all he dreamt of now. But he knew if he spent any significant time with her, the little light left in her eyes would surely be snuffed out forever by his darkness, his secrets, and the monster inside would destroy her. No, it was much better to have only the Ana of his mind as his constant companion. There was no danger of death, in his imagination. No danger of disappointment as well. Dread or betrayal.

xXx

Days passed and Christian found his work routine was enough to keep him moving forward. And Miss Steele was nowhere to be seen. Grandfather Trevelyan had been discharged, and their visits resumed at Christian's childhood home, over Sunday spaghetti dinner. Awkward was the word his brother used to describe the visits. HIs mother was more circumspect: "Christian, you seem pre-occupied. I heard about your run in with that, what was she, an ex-girlfriend? Dr. Roberts… you never mentioned her. But Dr. Powers said you paid for her medical school? Is that true, darling? Why would you do that."

Gratefully, Christian didn't think Grace really wanted any of her questions answered. She was just trying—and failing—to connect. Christian was no more going to tell her about Susannah, than he was about Ana. Why would I suppress Ana's existence from my family? She's nothing. Liar! A temporary neighbor who can't sleep. Yet, I want to protect her, secret her from my life as well? He came home from Sunday dinner, sullen and defeated. He couldn't have Ana, ever. Christian didn't even recall the previous two days. That Leila had been with him all weekend, silent and raw. Her punishments harsher than ever before, but not the least bit remarkable to him. Ana.

Christian was watching television, working really—a dvd of a few interlocking drip techniques, a worthy distraction, when he heard a knock outside his apartment. Gail, his house keeper, had long retired to her quarters. At the door, Christian peered through the lens, and his heart sank. There was Ana, looking exhausted and shaken. His girl was broken. Open door, grab Ana, slam her against his body, and kiss her back to life. Instead, his hand gripped the knob and he leaned his forehead against the door and sighed, exhaling deliberately. He turned his head back and forth in frustration. I'm sorry baby. I can't give you any more medication.

The entire week, he'd tossed and turned over his rash and purely selfish decision to medicate his beauty. To relieve her sleepless fog with the haze of drugs. He was a coward really, a history-repeating, stone cold selfish prick. Instead of comforting her, he'd offered her a light coma, a little dizzy side-effect, and definitely no strings attached. Is she my crack-whore mother, and I'm her dealer. Asshole! He was sure poor Leila's body bore the brunt of his guilt—his choice to push pills on a young innocent woman, merely grieving, over the death of a loved one. A loved one.

He paused a beat. "Just a minute." He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled back the door. Cocking his head, he presented an open mouth smile, free of emotion, it didn't reach his eyes. "Ana," gulp "stasia. Hi, what's wrong. Come in, come on in." And she brought the goddamn dog. He smiled a genuine smile. She's adorable. He thought to himself, 'I can do this, I'll let a little of my privacy slip, and tell her my mistake about the meds.'

"Dr. Grey." She whispered, and his dick vibrated. Sick fuck, she's ill.

He licked his lips, "Christian, please call me Christian. We are neighbors after all." Let me hear you say it, baby.

"Hi Christian," she blushed, and stumbled forward into the foyer, her eyes down and possibly a bit moist. Fuck, if he wasn't full of emotion just taking in her appearance. Her submissive posture was tempting his cock, while her vulnerability was threatening his existence. Distance Grey, keep your distance, but look at her, she deserves a little love. What. The. Actual. Fuck!

"I can't sleep, sir." Sir? Jesus Christ. He pulled his hair to center himself. "I'm so sorry. I tried the pills, and frankly I didn't like how I felt in the morning, so I quit taking them, and now I just can't get all these thoughts out of my head, and I've been awake since Thursday. I came over Friday, but there was no answer. And I thought maybe you were out of town." She giggled, "I guess I may have stalked you, cause your car never moved. Where were you this weekend, if you didn't drive? Did you go into the hospital? Do you have surgeries on Saturdays? Oh, I made lasagna. Here," she passed him a tray draped in foil. She's lovely, he thought. Exhausted and still so fucking incredible, his chest ached. And she cooked for me. Without a contract. You're an idiot. She retreated back into the hallway, and popped back up. "And a kale salad. It'll keep for two days. I didn't know if you ate carbs, or anything, or if you were a caveman." Her eyes lowered and raised, taking in his anatomy. His hand automatically moved to cover his groin. Shit, she's checking me out. Christ, what is she doing to me?

And so, Ana Steele stood in his foyer, her dinner entrees between them. What should he do with her? She looks exhausted. Her body can't even stand still, she's swaying back and forth. Christian was at a loss. He couldn't exactly fuck her into oblivion, til she passed out from euphoria. Well, he could, but she probably wouldn't like that. He groaned slightly at the thought. I wouldn't like that either. I have nothing. Nothing to offer this delicate creature. His mouth disagreed. "Here, let's take these to the kitchen. It smells very good… An… Anastasia." Nice.

Christian and Ana briefly discussed the food she'd prepared, and Christian admitted he'd already eaten. Ana had as well, she giggled. "Oh well, it's the thought that counts, right Christian."

"And what thoughts would those be, Anastasia?" He couldn't help himself. He was aroused and chastened at once. How do I get out of this, I can't want her. I can't be with her. It's pointless. But she's here for a reason. She needs you. And I want to need her. He grit his teeth and felt revulsed by his own choices. You are damaged beyond anything in her imagination. Get her to sleep, and be done with her. Does she want to sleep with me? Selfish prick, of course not. She wants your help. Doctor, you shit!

"I think it'd be alright if you call me Ana, okay?" And he was done. Her sincere blue eyes pierced him to the bone, his nose tickled, and he reacted by snorting to correct the tornado of emotion swirling up his center. I want you. I want to be with you. His hands reached forward and clasped hers. He smiled, returning her sincerity. I hate my life.

"Come," he pulled at her, "let's see if we can figure out a way for you to fall asleep. I just happen to have a wonderful idea."

She shrugged her shoulders, and nodded okay, letting him guide her into his spacious living room.

They settled into a deep sofa, and Christian doted on her, arranging pillows and a blanket around her body, so she'd be comfortable. As he finished his nesting and made to leave, her small hand pressed into his forearm. "Aren't you staying?" Her touched seared into his arm, sending volts of electricity everywhere, he felt his non-existent heart break into a million pieces.

Oh sweetheart, if it's sleep you're after, you don't want to be anywhere near me after midnight. His face betrayed his melancholy. Of course he wanted to stay. "Yes, baby." Being around her, in any capacity, was just The Best. "I know just the thing too. Before your arrival, I was watching a scintillating documentary on rapid sequence induction. You'll love it." He laughed at himself. That's new. He unpaused the movie, and took a huge breath to prepare himself for what was next.

He reclined beside her on the sofa, she moved a large pillow onto his lap and laid her head down. "Do you mind if I lie like this? I think I need the contact." She chuckled, then twisted a bit to find his large hand, pulling it to her side. "There, is this alright? Hmmmm." He squeezed her hip. She hummed. Gazing down upon her, in his lap, he watched the scene motionless, as though from a great distance. This is really happening. I'm on the couch with my peaceful angel. She appears content and unthreatened by me. With his free hand, he pushed her silky locks behind her ear, and continued to rub his fingers there, in a slow lulling rhythm. Her beautiful skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

For four nights, Sunday through Wednesday, Ana appeared at Christian's door. Each night, they ended in the same spot on the sofa, where Ana promptly fell asleep in his arms. Friday morning, Christian woke to a surprising sight and the most amazing feeling. Ana was cuddling Christian's hand. Overnight, she'd pulled his arm into her chest, where she gripped his wrist with both of her hands. He felt euphoric. He flexed his fingers and felt the delicate skin of her neck. He shook his head at the sight. She is beyond any doubt the most beautiful woman in the world. She is good and pure and the truest thing I have ever known. And this must end. Over those nights, Christian had begun to consider the possibility that they could be together. That he could possibly give something to Ana. She clearly had everything to give to him. What held him back, the but to his acquiescence, was his life. His lifestyle, his past choices, fucking up his future.

'You like to fuck… hard.' She'd said it within moments of introducing herself to him. She knew. Someone, somewhere had violated an NDA and shared the fucked up details of his lifestyle with his Ana. He understood what had happened. She'd drawn a line in the elevator that day. Hell, if she hadn't drawn the line, now, knowing her the way he knew her now-her fucking huge heart, her caring mind and selflessness-he would have drawn a new line every fucked up time he greeted her.

Fuuuuuck, it's Friday. Leila was due at Escala later that night. This is crazy. Anastasia's not for you. If he tried to be with her, managed to find a higher plane to exist with her. He knew he wouldn't survive it. He'd never survive her leaving him—which she surely would—when she'd worked it all out in her pretty little head. Christian even managed to convince himself, for a moment or two that Ana was simply using him, to process the loss of her stepfather. He laughed at the absurdity. She feels it too. She wants you to be different. Impossible. It was impossible.

Summoning his Dom side, he stood with her in his arms, whistled for Sophie to come on, and led the way back to her apartment. He fumbled with the key Ana'd given him, "in case you need more honey," she'd said, and pushed his way into her place.

He was unaware of the decor or furnishing as he walked through her home. He looked solely at her, laying asleep in his arms. Drinking in the last moments of their shared intimacies. She's not for me. She's someone else's angel. He pushed through her bedroom door. In three strides, he was at her bedside, lowering her down, managing to adjust the bedding around her without a single grope. From his knees, he looked upon her as though in benediction. God she's lovely. He leaned over her, propping himself up on strained arms, and hovered. Memorizing every detail, every feature. He loved her. Of that he was sure. Enough to let her go.

He bent down and brushed her mouth with his lips, and whispered. "I love you Ana." He pressed their lips together, and paused, to memorize what her breath felt like as it tickled the bow of his mouth. He inhaled her morning scent, heaven. My Ana.

And finally he kissed her, a long slow kiss goodbye, pushing his tongue through her lips in a languorous stroke. He whimpered. "I love everything about you." He took her hand into his and caressed her fingers with his face, imprinting the feel of her fingerprints, the bend of her fingers, the curve of her palm. "Goodbye." He rose slowly and quietly exited her life.

xXx

That Friday proceeded uneventfully, thankfully. Leila appeared at 9 pm, dressed so wantonly, like a cheap hooker, it made Christian cringe. He was merciless, for hours bringing her to the brink, only to leave her crying and begging for release. Fuck her! He moved through his floggers and cats, without so much as a moment's hesitation. Her aftercare took a full hour. And he was unsatisfied. Full of dark thoughts and a churning stomach. See, this is why? This is why Ana. You are safe without me. By Saturday morning, he was done. Finished with Leila, with everything. Just having this sub in his apartment was upsetting. He was off balance, Ana had texted the night before and he'd ignored it. This morning there were several, each more curious than the last. He calculated, how long would he have to keep this up before she'd understand? See that his distance was the best for her?

"Ms. Williams, I'd like you to pack your things, our arrangement is over."

"Mr. Grey, what? You want to end… this" Christian walked away from her turning into his study. He grabbed the door and poked his head back out into the hall. He called to her, from an angle, so he couldn't see her shattered face. He was a monster, the way he'd treated her body last night. She had to leave. It was clear she was never going to safe word, and until Ms. Steele (fuck, I can't even think about her in the same sentence as Leila), until Ms. Steele moved out of his life—her proximity to me diminished—I can't be responsible. He'd lost control. "You'll need to find a new contract, Ms. Williams, with another Dom. I'm no longer available." He closed the door and sat quietly, patiently, waiting until he heard Ms. Williams exit.

When her sobbing became plaintive, he realized he'd have to appear to care. What does she want? She knows the drill. She must have sensed this falling apart. I've asked her to maintain silence for the past two weekends. He approached and called out her name, "Leila..." just then they both turned their heads to the sound of knocking at the front door.

"Christian?" His eyes snapped to Leila's which had raised to meet his. Another knock. "it's Ana." Leila's dull eyes widened, in surprise. She knows something. "Are you home?" What could Leila possibly know? Christian lunged at her, quickly pressing her into the opposite wall, his hand firmly over her mouth. He stared her down and shook his head. His Ana had sought him out, she can never know of my twisted life.

"Christian? Can you hear me?"He brought his finger to his mouth and nodded no again. She cannot find you here. His Ana sounded sad, forlorn. I should have Leila in a ball gag, he thought to himself. Slowly, Ana's footsteps moved away, back to her end of the building, and Christian exhaled. "Ms. Williams, goodbye."

xXx

Christian made it through the next week, just barely. His surgical schedule had been lighter than usual, and he'd found himself spending time at him parent's house, avoiding Escala all together. His Saturday night alone, following Leila's departure, had been fine, and Sunday as well. But Monday morning, he couldn't avoid Escala's elevator any longer. He cursed Ana's perfume, that lingered there in their shared hallway, while he waited for the elevator to arrive. It tormented him and his godforsaken choices. Tuesday, he bought a coffee in the hospital gift shop, another first, and a bone shaped cookie as well. Fuck me, I'm losing my mind.

She was somewhere in his every waking moment, his first thought in the morning his last thought at night. Was she missing him? Of course not, you bastard, you fed her drugs, pretended to give a shit, until she found sleep, and then you fucking dumped her back into her apartment. He'd blocked her number for good measure, just to complete the circle of untrust he swore he now occupied with her. He was safe again in control. He thought.

xXx

Friday arrived and for once, Christian had no plans. No submissives, no family, no work obligations. No tender-hearted, sleepless brown haired beauty in need of his rescuing. No pale skin to touch. He shuddered a bit, at his loneliness. You made this fucked up life Grey. It was after 9, he'd opened an old bottle of red a bit ago, and was enjoying, fuck, trying to enjoy the solitude of a very quiet and private Friday night as he sat at his piano. Ana's pillow sat nearby and her blanket, draped across Christian's body. He'd made the right decision. I'm no good for her.

His self-loathing reverie was interrupted by a small knock at the front of his apartment. Leila, what the fuck? He shook his head. There was a second knock followed by a small whimper. Ana? he jumped and bolted for the door. Panting and off balance, he slid into the jamb as he swung open the door. He looked down and his heart clenched.

She showed up at his door, soaking wet, bruised, and covered in glitter.

Apologies to anyone who works in medicine. Alas, I do not, so I experienced no shame in revealing the harmless ignorance I possess.