A week has passed. I now realise what a sheltered life I have led until now. All the people I have met so far have been good-natured, considerate individuals whose impressions get better and better every day. My recovering alcoholic mother, for example, surprises me with her perseverance and Penny, the mean little girl next door, has become more and more pleasant towards me. All the boys I've rejected, all five of them, have accepted my opinion of them and become relatively good friends with me. And Kate has been perfection from the beginning. And then… that monstrosity from last Monday destroys my image of this world.

What kind of character change was that, anyway? Was it even possible, to switch from nice business genius to slimy pervert trash-talker? Of course, these two descriptions were not mutually exclusive- still, I wonder, after every nightmare I wake up from... how did that happen? How? And how did I sit through it and let it go on? Regardless of my now regrettable wallflower act...

He must be sick. In the head, I mean. It is the only explanation I have- especially from the look in his eyes. I had seen that look before, the one he had when he started talking about control. It was deranged, but also in denial- and very hard to fully explain. There was an air of pretense, as if he wanted badly to achieve an image, when he spoke about submission. That was the only thing I had not seen in that look previously, when the man three doors away from me was taken away by the police for domestic violence.

That might also explain the nightmares. I keep seeing myself being chased through desolate landscapes by Mister Gray. He runs after me, an arm outstretched in my direction, doing his best to catch me. I don't know what will happen when I am finally caught, but I keep running and running. His eyes have the same expression in my dreams. There is something relentless and utterly disturbing, as if they were metaphorically burning with the need to fulfill some want. And, horror of horrors, I might be the one to fulfill it. I'm probably overrating myself now, though. I do that a lot. It's a cheap thrill. Sometimes I pretend I'm the Avatar because I want to save the world and glow with Avatar energy and stuff.

Anyway, as I sigh to look up at the ceiling of my room, there is a slight sound from outside. The clock beside my table reads twenty minutes past five. I haven't been able to sleep, but I yawn and just then, the sound repeats itself. It's a two-count thump, and whoever is at the door is knocking with a forceful fist. Or it could be an outstretched palm, as if he or she is slapping the door. Throwing on a cardigan, I make my way out of bed and towards the front door. It's a bit unnerving, to be honest, as I walk towards the door and the thumping continues, and I become slightly frightened as the sounds suddenly stop- just as I undo the lock. There is a soft sound from outside as the lock clicks open. In the hazy late autumn night air, I cannot see clearly out and, against my better judgement, open the door to look outside.

There is nobody. From the four or five foot distance between the gate and the door, I can see everything a little more clearly but... it's absolutely empty. Suppressing another yawn, I retreat back inside- when I spy, through the window glass, a dark car on the other side of the street. I can make out no more than the outline, but I know that it's a car. I mean, the shape looks like a car's, but I could be wrong. My eyes aren't accustomed to the light yet. Nevertheless, it's unnerving and I lock the door again, walking briskly back to bed.

Sometime later, sounds from outside bring me to the door a second time. This time, it's less violent and the beat steady. But it's barely six and the nerve I lost just now takes its toll as I curse, "Look, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you-"

I stop suddenly as I notice the shocked face before mine. The face stares back, wide-eyed, and finally blinks slowly at me. In the mellowed moonlight, I start to flush in embarrassment. Good old paranoid me. Deer in the fecking headlights, huh?

"Joseph," I stutter and trail off, "uh-h-hello..."

Wait. Hang on a second right there. This is my house. No, it's Kate's house. And I stay here. Yes. I stay here. I am standing at the door of the house I legitimately stay in. There's quite some time until the sun rises and I am at my door because somebody knocked on it. Why am I cowering?

Joseph leans in and says slowly, "Are we alright, Annie? No troubles, right?"

My head moves in automatic response to his questions as I process my position, before I snap out and shake my head frantically. Pointing a finger, I demand, "What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Go to sleep!"

Joseph keeps staring at me and then chuckles, "You're not alright."

I maintain my pose and repeat my statement. Verbatim, yes. Because.

"If you insist on it... Goodnight, Annie," he replies with an unsure look and turns away. Suddenly, I remember that his father hasn't been very well and he was in Chicago for a whole week. I am also relieved to see someone I know long enough. Kate is just unbelievably beautiful, but she is the typical blonde sometimes. I can't talk to her about nightmares or it will end up on that silly paper of hers. Yes, I speak from experience. But Joseph- he will listen to me without a word and comfort me with a solution.

"Do-do you want to come in first," I call out, "Walking back to campus with your luggage will be hard at this time of the night."

He smiles and picks up his bags and I close the door behind us. As I place the bolt on again, I ask slowly, patting his forearm, "Is Uncle Nathan alright?"

Stiffening at the sound of the topic, he makes a small sound and nods. Good, I assure him, he'll be fine. A minute or two passes before he sighs heavily, "I'm sorry, Annie. Holding everything in in front of everybody was tough and I... I'm sorry about that."

I shake my head sympathetically and steer him towards the kitchen by the elbow, "That's what friends are for, Joseph. If you won't break in front of me, you can't anywhere. Now let's get some milk."

As he calms down and comes back to character, Joseph begins to study me carefully. I stare back at him, "What?"

"You look like you haven't been sleeping at all," he said slowly, "What is it, Annie? What's eating your head away?"

I grimace at the memory of the abominable building, the blonde drones and the prince of creepiness himself. Sighing, I spill it. All of it. And throughout the length of my rant, he listens intently- oblivious to Kate giggling away to the sounds of Glee in her room, to the fact even that he had just seen his father more or less rise from the dead two days ago. I really admire this aspect of Joseph. It takes quite a little patience and character to be so considerate. No, wait. You know what? I take that back. He is not considerate at all and he is definitely not sympathetic. Nuh uh. Because after I finish crying to him, he is unimpressed. I wait for a reaction but all he can say is, "Is that it, Annie?"

"What…", I frown. That was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, Mister. Because of this one man, I will make sure my children never marry overly rich people and preferably be self-employed. Okay, that was a hyperbole. But still.

"I don't know, Annie," he shrugs, "he seems alright. A little slimy, maybe... but I'm sure he's bearable."

"No," I slam a fist against the table surface and hiss, "He's not bearable. He is sleazy and he is psychologically disturbed. I saw his eyes. There is something wrong with him. I guarantee you that he is no less than a sociopath."

"A psychiatric diagnosis can't be done just from a person's expression. Even if there is something wrong with him, Annie," he rises from his seat, "You shouldn't be worried about it. It's not like he's going to turn up before you again, right? So let it pass."

I look down at the table and consider his words. He's right. Why am I having nightmares of a monster I will never meet again? Silly me... but the nagging feeling is still there and getting stronger and stronger. I know my hunch is not wrong- no. No, Joseph is right. I'm thinking too much of it. I'm being paranoid.

"Do I sleep on the sofa outside or the one inside?", Joseph asks from the kitchen entrance. He has turned on a light and in the stronger brightness, I realise as I turn to look at him how much of his exhaustion shows on his face. Well, I would've seen it a lot earlier if I hadn't been preoccupied by nightmares of being stalked by a predatory rich man. You see, reader and/or listener, I was being stupid. I know that now and I'm sorry. Now you let it pass. Excuse me while I make sleeping arrangements for Joseph.

Wednesday mornings are... well, I don't know how to describe them. I'm usually asleep then. Today's pretty loud, though- in large part due to Kate slamming my door at half past ten. In my half-awake state, I realise why I sleep in. Kate is whining about how I didn't do a good enough job and the lack of pictures to accompany her stupid article. The morning is evil. I stumble out of bed with a heavy groan. She is fuming, as I observe after opening the door. I don't understand my physical fascination with her at this point. She's whiny and bitches about something she pushed on me without specifying her expectations. What am I supposed to do for her stupid interview, sculpt Christian Gray's bust and plate it in gold so she can stick in her room back in her mansion after she graduates? Fuck this, I tell myself, all of it.

Joseph's also gone as well, I notice. He's left a Post-It note on my door to say he left at... seven. Well, that's nice. Now to fix this brat in front of me... I huff a little, pretending I am a dragon for just a minute, as she goes on and then gesture to her to stop, "Hang on, Kate. Listen to me. Keep your pants on. You want pictures for your article, right? We'll get them. No sweat. Call up that guy and fix another date with him."

She pouts and protests loudly, "Another date, Annie? Another date! That date will come another six months later! I need this by next week!"

"So... "I suggest slowly, "Ask him for a date next week."

She looks at me incredulously, unwilling to believe her ears, "Are you serious, Annie? He is an incredibly busy man-"

Bullshit. He was playing solitaire on his computer when I came in.

"-and he is a major benefactor of the college WE go to get an education-!"

Life is my only teacher, Kate. And we go to a no-name college, Kate. Have you seen the campus? Can you believe our professors and students we know stay there?

"We can't just ask him for a date next week just like that! Do you have any idea what you're saying?", she heaves. She'll get into a fit if she goes on, so I give up mentally correcting her. An idea forms in my head just then. Mister Sociopath was looking at me strangely, like I was his next target. Project Wallflower was not a success, but I might have a chance at salvation now. Put two and some other numbers together… I mull over the expected turn of events and how to achieve them and stop her again, "Give me his number. I'll get you your appointment."

She frowns, "You? But-how?"

I smile at her, trying my best to hide the disdain I feel towards my future plight, "Don't ask me anything for now, Kate. Just do as I say."

As I rush her away and into her own room, I steel myself for my upcoming ordeal. I must think the best of people. I must give people the benefit of doubt at least once. I must not be intimidated by naturally slimy talkers. I will be brave and, as Joseph put it, let it pass. Yes. I will do that. I clear my throat and shake my head to get into character as she writes out the number on a piece of paper. Before passing the paper to me, however, she pauses and looks at me, "You want me to dial it for you instead?"

Well, damn you, bitch. I might not have a phone- it's a way of protesting against the hypocrisy of the system- but I know how to use one! And to think I want to kiss you sometimes! Forcing my thoughts away from expression, I decline and take the paper instead, "That's fine, Kate, I can handle it."

Right. Here goes nothing. Let's get into character, Annie, let's do this.

"Hello," I stutter cautiously into the phone as my call is answered, "Uh... uh, this-this is- this is Anastasia Steele-uh-could I uh... could I talk to- ah- Mim-mister Gray, please?"

"Miss Steele- Ana, if I may," the voice on the other end answers, "What can I do for you?"

Oh my God…