A/N: Hey everyone! I got very mixed reviews on my first chapter, so please let me know what you think of this one! Hope you enjoy!
After what seems like at least a half an hour, my tears run dry, and my throat turns raw. In my slightly bleary state, I tune in to the conversation still coming from the bedroom.
"Maybe John Flynn can help," I hear Taylor's voice suggest.
"I do not need my shrink, Jason." Whoa. First name basis? Christian sounds absolutely furious… maybe I should—
"With all due respect, what you need, Mr. Grey, is to take a step back from this." That was Mrs. Jones. It's odd to hear her address him in such a manner. I don't think I've ever heard her speak to him like this, in a motherly, authoritative voice, but I mean, she did sit me down to make me drink my tea.
"I'm going to check on her," he mutters, and I hear his footsteps approaching.
"No," I call out hurriedly, but it's not a call for help or a scared cry, it's simply a tired plea to be left alone in my desolate solitude. He doesn't listen to me—of course—but nevertheless, he is stopped in his tracks when he sees me sitting at his kitchen island—an absolute wreck.
"Oh, Anastasia…" he sighs, obviously still enraged, but he approaches me anyways. I don't have the strength to look up at him, but I do curl my arm around my belly protectively.
Rather than the gentle, soothing reassurances that I so desperately want to hear out of his mouth, I am surprised to hear an unwavering demand.
"Look at me."
When I shake my head, my body quivering with weariness, he crouches down in front of me, sitting back on his heels. He grabs my chin in his hand, quite roughly, and tilts my head so that my eyes meet his own gaze.
"I asked you to look at me," he whispers, not unkindly but still angrily, and I can tell that it's taking him a load effort to hold back his displeasure, which means he must have message to get across.
"You are not to go to work today, understood? I've given Taylor implicit instructions not to transport you there, and I expect you to follow this order as well," he tells me, never breaking eye contact. For some odd reason, I'm finding him very intimidating, and not in the good way.
"You're not a prisoner, Anastasia, you know that. Why don't you have Kate come and take you downtown and do some shopping for Junior?" he suggests, as if he didn't just demand me to stay away from the office. "I want you taking the day off today, taking it easy," he says with a sense of finality, disregarding the fact that I'm sitting before him with puffy eyes and snot dripping from my nostrils. If I weren't so distressed, I would be mortified that he's seeing me in such a state, but I just can't find the will to care.
I train my gaze at the floor, though he still holds my chin up. I hear him let out an exasperated sigh. "This all could have been avoided had you just listened to me… an entire argument could have been prevented," he mumbles, more to himself than me, I think. "I'm heading out in about ten minutes, so I need your word that you will not try anything stupid while I'm away." He looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for an apology from a child who got caught stealing a cookie before supper.
I get a brief surge of energy and reach up to push his hand away, not letting him get away with all of this.
"Ana," he snaps, and this is allit takes for me to snap, too.
"Please!" I beg, my voice incredibly hoarse from all the crying but still raised in volume, nonetheless. "Just let me be. For once, Christian."
Within a matter of seconds, Mrs. Jones and Taylor are both by our side, and Taylor lays a firm hand on Christian's arm which Mrs. Jones comes to my side.
It's just too much.
I stumble off of the stool and head toward the bathroom, ignoring everyone else in the room. Perhaps a hot bath is what I need to sooth my nerves and, more importantly, to help me forget that this morning ever happened.
Christian follows me—of course. When I reach the bathroom, obviously not able to do what I'd planned—shutting and locking the door behind me—I turn to face my enraged husband. "Enough. I'm too tired," I plead, hating how emotional and weak I've become.
Christian stares me down with a serious expression but softens his eyes and voice. "Ana. I need you safe. You understand that, I know you do."
Reluctantly, and with a small sniffle, I nod.
"This has gone much too far," he continues, and I see his remorse over this whole situation. He's right. This is out of hand, and I wish I'd never gotten out of bed today. "I didn't mean to upset you, frighten you—whatever I have done, but you have to understand—"
"Christian. Go," I whisper. "Go. This conversation is over. I'm done."
He looks as if he's going to say more, but wisely, he just nods curtly. "Can I kiss you goodbye?" he asks in a soft voice.
I shake my head a little—yes, I'm that upset—and I see the pain in his eyes.
I sigh—why do I always give him his way?— and I place my hand in his, raising it to his mouth. He plants a firm kiss to the back of my hand before releasing it and either he's confident enough that I'm not going to try to leave, or he trusts his security to keep me home, because he says no more. The conversation is over, and he turns to leave.
Minutes later, I hear the ding of the elevator from where I stand in the doorway of the bathroom. Knowing that the door is closing and that he's leaving, I surrender to the overwhelming pain that makes my chest and stomach ache and sink to the floor in the hallway of Christian Grey's apartment.