Saturday, June 4th – 5:29am.
For a long while, it's just me and the hum of the lights.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I've really fucked up now. I am such a fucking moron.
I vascilate between complete numbness, and bouts of insane panic, for I don't know how long. Finally, I decide that I should go and find her. Talking, communicating, is the only thing that will remedy this—if there is any remedying. I have no idea what will happen from here on out. I've really fucked up. I've hurt her, and she's so, so angry with me.
But she's right.
I am a fucked up son-of-a-bitch.
I do need to sort my shit out.
But this is the only thing I know, and I've taken it too far, and now I've hurt the one woman I promised myself I would never hurt. I am so, so empty inside. I don't know what to do with myself.
When I've gathered my wits, finally, I exit the playroom. I think I heard her slam the sub room door, but before going to her, I head downstairs to gather some Advil, a glass of water, and the arnica cream from my bathroom.
Hands full, I head back up the stairs and down to the end of the hall. I pause for a monumental moment at her door, contemplating. I decide not to knock, ignoring the fact that she'd probably send me away if I asked for permission. As I click the door open, I see her shape, in the new light of morning—dim and shadowed—on the mattress, under the duvet. She is sobbing into her pillow, and the sound shatters my heart in pieces.
I set the supplies on her bedside table and climb in behind her, careful not to brush her sore behind.
"Hush," I whisper to her, pulling her to me. She is so still, and so rigid. "Don't fight me, Ana, please," I beg her. I bury my nose in her hair, kissing her neck. For a moment, I revel in this act of worship. I may never be able to do it again. I've really fucked up. Is she going to leave me now?
"Don't hate me," I breathe, realizing that her leaving is maybe not the worst thing that could happen to me—but if she comes to hate me, that will be the end. I am a worthless, worthless man if I've caused this marvelous woman to hate me. I don't know what I'll do if she hates me.
I am so, so remorseful. I've never felt this much regret in my entire life. It burns and aches and grinds my bones all at the same time. The pain of my betrayal to her is too much to handle.
I keep leaving small, tentative kisses on her skin, but she remains stiff and still, not responding to me at all. I cradle her in my arms for the longest time, knowing this is the only thing I can do for now, but more importantly never wanting to let her go. For, when I let her go, she may leave and never come back. So I hold her to me tightly, wishing and praying and hoping.
Eventually, her sobs quiet, and she relaxes, her muscles calming from their tensed state. The light in the room grows incrementally brighter, bathing us in its softness.
I don't know how long we lay there—hours maybe.
"I brought you some Advil and some arnica cream," I finally tell her. My voice cracks from disuse.
She turns, every movement miniscule and purposeful, and finally, I can see her face, as she lies on her back, her head on my arm. She stares into my face, and I stare back into those depthless blue eyes, desperate to know what she's thinking, what is running through her mind.
I don't want to show her too much, I don't want her to see how broken I am over all of this.
After a long time, her eyes soften, and her hand moves. Automatically, I flinch, thinking she's going to touch my chest, but her fingers are on my face, running stiffly over my stubble. I close my eyes. Her touch is so soft, and I just lay there, feeling all of it, reveling it and holding on to it. I'm so sorry.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, and my eyes pop open.
What? What the hell is she sorry for?
"What for?"
"What I said," she explains. Her voice is throaty and husky in the early morning, after the crying, and after such a long stretch of quiet.
"You didn't tell me anything I didn't know," I tell her, and I am so glad she's not angry with me. At least, for now. It wasn't the first thing out of her mouth. "I am sorry I hurt you," I tell her.
Her shoulders rise and fall, a shrug. "I asked for it," she justifies. Suddenly, she looks emotional, and she swallows hard. "I don't think I can be everything you want me to be," she confesses, and a dark, dark, enormous pit opens up in my belly. No. No. No, no.
"You are everything I want you to be," I somehow say through the clawing obscurity, which is suffocating me. The panic and the fear are crowding in, and I force myself to focus through them, to listen to her next words.
"I don't understand," she says, "I'm not obedient, and you can be as sure as hell I'm not going to let you do that to me again. And that's what you need, you said so."
She's right, as always. I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotion, a revolutionary war opening up inside me. On the one hand, I could try to give it up, the punishment, but I know that I can't do it. It's who I am, it's what I need. It's a part of me. But I don't know how we'll continue forward now. She's just told me she will never let me do that again, and though I will never do that to her, ever again, I will still feel the need to punish her. I know. And so, I know that this is it. This is the end. This is where we will part ways.
I open my eyes, hoping they don't convey the emotions stirring inside me, boiling my blood, knotting my intestines with my stomach, my stomach with my lungs, my lungs with my heart. Everything is jumbling up inside me, the worst kind of pain imaginable, but on my face, I need her not to see that. I force composure, hoping it's convincing.
"You're right," I murmur, "I should let you go. I am no good for you."
"I don't want to go," she whispers, and I watch tears rise in her eyes.
"I don't want you to go, either," I confess, and some of the emotion leaks through, into my voice. I sound too vulnerable, like exposed bone after a really bad break. I reach up to catch a falling tear off her cheek. "I've come alive since I met you," I admit to her, because for some reason, this seems like the perfect time to tell her. I run my fingers over her face, tracing her bottom lip with my thumb, memorizing her expression, knowing I may never see her again.
"Me, too," she breathes, "I've fallen in love with you, Christian."
The world stops turning, and that darkness, undiluted now, crowds in, blocking everything else out, and I can't hide from her—not anymore.
"No," I say, and I sound like I'm not breathing. Maybe I'm not. "You can't love me, Ana. No… that's wrong."
"Wrong?" she asks, "Why's it wrong?"
"Well, look at you," I demand, "I can't make you happy." The confession crushes me.
"But you do make me happy," she insists, her lips turning down into a frown.
"Not at the moment, not doing what I do."
And I can't not do what I do.
"We'll never get past that, will we?" she realizes aloud.
No. No, we won't.
I can only shake my head.
Her eyes close, and desperation yawns inside me. No, please. I need to see your eyes.
"Well… I'd better go, then," she finally says, and sits up. I watch her flinch as she does so.
"No," I panic, "Don't go." No, no, no. Don't leave me. Don't leave me!
"There's no point in me staying," she insists, and she sounds resigned, exhausted even. She climbs out of bed, and numbly, my body follows hers. I can't feel my feet, where they must be planted on the floor.
"I'm going to get dressed. I'd like some privacy."
She leaves me standing in the bedroom, my mind racing.
No. No, please. Don't leave me. Don't leave me, don't leave me. Don't leave me. I can't do this alone, I can't, I can't do it. Not without you here. You're everything to me. I can't do it without you.
Numbly, I turn, walking out of the room, down the hall and down the stairs. When I reach the bottom, my Blackberry buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to answer it. It's Welch.
I greet him, and my voice sounds empty.
He doesn't seem to notice.
A couple of days ago, I put him on duty to find Leila's husband, who was totally vacant at the time of her admission and subsequent escape. He tells me that Leila had left him, and that he had essentially abandoned her. That he hadn't had interest in her for awhile.
"Does he know where she is?" I demand.
"He finally admitted that he did, Sir. He'd been saying for two days straight that he had no clue, but he's finally confessed that he knows where she might be, but he'll only tell for a price."
That fucker.
"He said what?" I roar. What a fucking cad. To know that your wife is in serious mental trouble, at risk for her life, and to know where she might be, but—to want money? In order to tell someone where she is? I can't fucking believe it. This man is the scummiest of the scummy.
"Well, he could have told us the fucking truth. What's his number?" I demand, "I need to call him… Welch, this is a real fuckup." I glance up and find Ana standing in the great room, dressed in jeans—which must hurt like hell—and her hair is pulled back into a bun. Her skin looks sallow and pale, and she has bags under her eyes, swollen from crying. She looks awful, and I feel like someone's just punched me in the gut, knowing that this is what I've done to her. "Find her," I snap at Welch.
Ana walks over to the couch, where her backpack lays abandoned. She pulls the Mac out and sets it on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, as well as her Blackberry and the car key to the A3.
Oh, no you don't. Don't you even fucking try this.
No, no. This is really happening, and horror lances through me. She's giving everything back, and she's really leaving.
She turns to me.
"I need the money that Taylor got for my Beetle." She sounds utterly numb.
"Ana, I don't want those things; they're yours," I insist. "Take them."
"No, Christian. I only accepted them under sufferance—and I don't want them anymore."
"Ana, be reasonable."
"I don't want anything that will remind me of you. I just need the money that Taylor got for my car."
I can't help but gasp out loud. She doesn't want anything that will remind her of me? She really wants to cut me out of her life forever?
"Are you really trying to wound me?"
"No. I'm not. I'm trying to protect myself," she says, and this is something I can understand, but still I hear myself insisting.
"Please, Ana, take that stuff." What will I do with it all? It's hers. The least I could do is leave her with a few good resources. What will she do without a car?
"Christian, I don't want to fight—I just need the money," she urges.
She's really not going to back down, and I narrow my eyes at her. She stares back, incomprehensible.
"Will you take a check?" I finally relent.
"Yes. I think you're good for it."
I would smirk, but this is no time for humor. I turn and go into my study, heading over to my desk. I pull open the top drawer and take out my check book. I call Taylor and ask him what he got for the car. When he tells me the number, I write out the check, and slip it in an envelope. I tell him Ana will need a ride home.
When I return, Ana is staring around the great room, expressionless.
I hand the envelope to her.
"Taylor got a good price," I tell her, "It's a classic car. You can ask him. He'll take you home." I nod over her shoulder, where Taylor stands in the doorway. Something in my eyes is foreboding, and deeply saddened. I ignore him.
"That's fine. I can get myself home, thank you," she says.
Rage rips through me. I can barely control it. She doesn't have a fucking car! What the fuck is she going to do?! Fucking walk home?
"Are you going to defy me at every turn?"
"Why change a habit of a lifetime?" She shrugs.
To keep from yelling, I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut, raking my hands through my hair.
"Please, Ana, let Taylor take you home." My voice is even, controlled, and I'm surprised at myself.
"I'll get the car, Miss Steele," Taylor says, and I nod at him. He disappears through the door.
When she turns to find him, he's already gone. Her eyes are on me again, and something in them makes me want to hold her, just one last time. To kiss her, to feel those lips on mine, to smell her scent.
I take a step forward, and instantly, she's stepping backward, away from me. I stop, pierced through by her reaction.
"I don't want you to go," I beg her.
"I can't stay," she says, "I know what I want and you can't give it to me, and I can't give you what you need."
I find myself stepping forward again, and her hands come up, palms out in front of her.
"Don't please," she implores. "I can't do this."
I can't, either. Don't you understand, Ana? I can't do this without you.
She grips the handle of her suitcase, and her slings her backpack over her shoulder. She heads for the door and I follow her, careful to keep a few feet of space between us. I press the elevator button for her and she steps inside, turning to face me.
Immediately, I'm reminded of the first time we met, when she came to interview me, and my heart breaks at the memory. There was so much potential that day, and none of this bullshit which lies like a minefield between us now.
"Good-bye, Christian."
"Ana—goodbye."
.
The shower has run cold, but I can't move. I am curled in a ball on the floor of the shower, and I've run dry of tears.
I don't know when the last time I cried was, but it's been a long time.
Every muscle in my body aches. It takes a great amount of effort to turn the taps off and wrap myself in a towel. When I step out of the shower and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, I almost don't recognize myself.
I am a man in agony. It looks as if I'm being burned alive.
I can't do this, I keep thinking, I can't.
When I'm dressed and back in my bedroom, I see the box on my pillow, noticing it for the first time. How long has that been there?
I cross to it, and find a note on top, from Ana.
This reminded me of a happy time.
Thank you.
Ana.
I stare at the box for a long time, and resolve comes.
I pull out my Blackberry and call Taylor.
"Mr. Grey," he greets me, and something in his tone is careful.
"Taylor, I need some glider modeling glue, and a display case."
.
So sorry for such a short chapter for the conclusion of the first book, but I felt that this was the perfect place to stop.
I will be continuing with the rest of the books in the same fic, but please give it time.
I've dedicated a lot of time to this interpretation, and now I'm going to take a little bit to regroup.
This has been an amazing journey, and I want to thank everyone so much for all of your support and all of your reviews and all of your love.
It is so, so much appreciated.
See you all soon!
xo