After sitting with each other for quite a while, we go about the rest of our day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened which tends to happen after we argue. Although inside, I feel my ego shrinking, my confidence wavering, and my feelings thoroughly hurt, I can't find it within myself to fight him anymore. It can't be good for me or Blip, and now that I have someone else to care for other than myself, I must think that way. It's the only way I can think now.
That is, until I start going stir-crazy. We never made the lists Christian promised we'd make, not because he doesn't care but because he just gets busy with work. We haven't been bantering as much, haven't been interacting much other than before he goes to work in the morning and late at night when he's done with work, after he's done locking himself in that damned office of his. Sometimes, I wish I were more childish… I wish I had the nerve to pound on the door, let myself in, and crawl up in his lap, forbidding him to do his work like he forbade me to do mine. Perhaps, though, it'd be more effective for me to kneel at his feet, the thought of which warms my cheeks and makes me writhe in my window seat as I stare out the window.
The book in my lap forgotten, I mark my place and throw my blanket to the side, needing some human interaction. Christian doesn't get home for another fifteen minutes, and I've decided that it's an "Ana" night. It's my turn to have attention, and the best way to communicate that to him is to act petulantly, as that's the only time I seem to make him do a doubletake and shock him into listening to what I want to say. In fact, it's pretty damn disappointing that I have to act like a child to get his attention; it seems like it's down to a science, though. He only truly listens when I'm not being myself, so petulant it is.
No one else is around now, as it's Friday, also known as my night to make dinner. Well… not tonight. He can figure it out himself. Poor little Christian fumbling around in the kitchen… maybe he'll finally come to his senses and treat me like a fully-grown woman with a child on the way rather than a being child myself. I wander around the apartment, contemplating if I should put on some suggestive lingerie or hang out in the playroom. I decide that's not the best plan to get him to listen, as it would just give him his way even more. This is so damn frustrating, and quite frankly, I'm a little ashamed of myself because of my "genius" plan to get his attention. Sighing and running a hand through my hair, a habit I picked up from the devil himself, I plop myself down on the couch.
"Why is Daddy so…" I shake my head, talking down to my stomach, "darn frustrating, little one?" When I get no response, I chuckle at myself and pretend Blip responds with something along the lines of "I know as much as you." I'm so lost in thoughts by the time I hear the front door opening that I jump as Christian walks into the main room. His face fills with immediate concern.
"Ana, you good, baby? You act like I scared the living hell out of you." I simply shrug as he sets his things down by the door and walks over to me, kneeling in front of me and placing his hand on my stomach ever so gently, as if stroking the head of a newborn. "How's our Junior, hmm? I thought about him—or her—all day. Could barely concentrate on my meetings, pointless as they are."
"At least you could go to them," I remark with a bit of snark in my voice, resisting the urge to push his hand off my stomach. Thankfully, he soon retreats and moves to sit beside me on the couch, bending his leg in front of himself to face me.
"No, I promise, they were quite unbearable," he jokes, probably assuming I'm kidding around, as well. If that was any farther from the truth…
"First world problem, though; am I correct, Mr. Grey?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. He nods thoughtfully, and a crooked grin appears on his face, the crooked grin, the one that makes me weak to my knees. My resolve almost cracks.
"I guess you're quite right, Anastasia. How unthoughtful of me to even bring it up," he says, and I can tell he's trying to read the expression on my face, to no avail. "Are you good, baby? You seem…" he shakes his head, obviously not sure what's up with me. "Angry? Pissed, actually."
I shrug and look away, and when he reaches out a hand to take mine, I pull my hand away like his is a snake lurching out to sink its teeth into me. "Okay, now… what's wrong, Ana?" he asks in a no-nonsense tone.
"I don't have to explain myself to you, now do I?"
"No, I guess not, but you do need to check your tone. I just walked through the door, and you're absolutely pissed at the world, Anastasia. Don't take whatever you're going through out on me, especially if you won't even tell me what's wrong." When I look up at his face, I see a bit of hurt in his eyes, and the word"good" comes to my mind. Why am I doing this?
And, of course, my hormones get the best of me. I mutter an audible "fuck" as my eyes burn with tears. I shake my head at myself and don't even make the effort to wipe away the hot salt water that runs down my cheeks. "No, you know what, Christian, you check yourself. You did this, not me," I accuse, pointing a finger in his general direction as my vision is so blurry, I can barely even see him.
"What did I do now?" he asks incredulously. "I give you everything—"
"Except for a life! Except for my independence!" I raise my voice and sniffle as my nose threatens to run.
He sighs. "We're on this again, Ana? We talked about this. It's for the baby."
"It's for the baby, my ass. This is all about you, Christian. You, you, you, and no one else. You're selfish. You want me here so that you know where I am and what I'm doing. You want control. You need control." And as I say it aloud, it dawns on me: this is all about my Fifty Shades and his need for control. I hadn't considered it before, that this might be a deeper thing than just wanting me home for the baby until my mind made me say the words to him out loud. I know I've hurt him this time, my words so abrasive that there's no way they didn't sting. I blink the tears out of my eyes and look up at him, but he's looking down, his limbs limp and his head bowed. "I… I'm sorry."
He shakes his head, getting up from his seat.
"No—" I stand up and put myself in his way. "No. You don't get to run away."
"Anastasia, let me through. Now." His tone is so flat that it terrifies me. This isn't good.
"No. This is about control. You need it, don't you? You need this."
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way," he says slowly, but not threateningly—thank God.
I bite my lip as fresh tears make their way down the familiar trails on my cheeks. I step forward and wrap my arms around him. "Go. Go call Flynn. Please. Let's go see him—together—tonight if possible," I order in a soft tone. He doesn't return the embrace, but as I let him by and he walks away, I see him pull his phone out of his pocket, dial a number, and run his hand through his hair.