Note from Riottori: Can I just say "Wow!" I woke up this morning to over 50 messages! I'm new to this and hugely flattered that you guys have taken the time to read what I've written and commented. I realise this is rather controversial but I was so inspired by the original that I felt compelled to explore A and C's paths. I'm writing this as I go so I will definitely take comments and suggestions on board. Right, back to writing.
Dr Flynn and I had always been worried about this, – me more so than him but then it was my happiness at stake, not his – the heavily-mercurial side of my Fifty, the side that needed the constant but simultaneously craved the new.
He won't touch me like he used to. I first noticed it when I was pregnant with Teddy. He reigned himself in, didn't let himself go as he used to. We had more and more 'vanilla' and even then he was worried about hurting me. I tried not to feel rejected, but it was hard considering my body was changing. Funny that all those years ago I'd needed more and now the 'more' that I so desperately needed was the thing that had almost had my 22-year-old self running for the hills.
I convinced myself that we'd return to how we'd been and we managed it to a certain extent but it was hard with a baby: a competitor for my body, my attention. You don't feel much like going into The Room when you smell of baby vomit and have had three hours sleep in two days.
And then I got pregnant again. And I could feel him slipping away. We hadn't had enough time to be Ana and Christian, now we were parts of 'a family'. Flynn told me that Christian didn't need 'that way of life' anymore, that he had 'put his demons to bed'. It was his attempt to reassure me; he believed that Christian was happier than he'd ever been and his need for control had been quelled. I wanted to believe him, he knew my Fifty so well. Certainly Christian still always looks at me with love in his eyes – I was the first girl he'd ever loved – but that burning candle of desire that so controlled our relationship was now nothing more that a flicker. It was waning and there was nothing I could do.
I wake early in the morning and hear the steady breathing of my husband beside me. He's home, I think. A small victory for me but then he always has been discreet. I turn to face him, watch him in his contented slumber, his heavy eyes flickering in the thrall of a dream. He doesn't have nightmares anymore, I've cured him of that. Another thing he loves about me.
I slide out from beneath the satin sheets and my feet find my kitten-heeled mules. I note with a surge of disappointment that the flimsy, sheer night-gown I have worn is intact, in place, still clinging to the curves of my body. Years ago he would have woken me if he'd found me in something as revealing as this. Now, he climbs into bed beside me and turns away.
My head starts to thud, dull and heavy with the after-effects of last night's alcohol. Coffee is my only cure and I head to the kitchen to make it. My movements are fluid and precise as I focus on the job at hand and attempt to push thoughts of him and her from my mind. Should I be consoled by the fact that she looks so much like me or disgusted by it? A small whimper of hurt escapes and I place the back of my hand to my mouth to silence myself, the huge diamond of my engagement ring biting into my lip. I will not cry, I will not cry, I repeat my morning mantra to myself.