Chapter 12

Ana

Elevators. Lips. Hands. Him. I feel like I'm waking up from the most pleasant dream.

Into the most unpleasant reality… Jesus Christ.

My head is pounding, my mouth is bone dry, and my body feels like it's made of lead. I can feel the crust around my eyes as I slowly blink them open, and soon my next jump-scare is a very unfamiliar but also maybe sort of familiar ceiling greeting me.

Where the hell am I?

I sit up in bed, slowly propping myself up with my elbows. The muted morning light through the closed curtains is still enough to make me squint. The layout of this apartment seems… familiar. But not recently familiar… kind of like…

Oh no.

I slowly turn my head to the side, and I see a nightstand with a glass of water and two Advil waiting for me. Oh. No. How on earth did this happen? What time is it? What clothes am I wearing? I lift the covers up and see that I'm in a plain T-shirt and boxers. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I sit up too fast, the sudden movement shooting a pulsing pain back up to my head. I reach over and snatch the Advil and water. If I have any hope of making it home in one piece, which I need to do as fast as humanly possible, I'll need the reinforcements.

As I sip the water, I close my eyes and run through my recollection of the night before. Pictures were released. Publicity stunt with Cam. We might as well just call it what it is, because he'd never wanted us to go out in public for something unrelated to a function before. Ugh… I move on. Mia and Kate decide I need a girl's night. We drink. And drink. And drink some more. I get tired. I call… Cam. He doesn't answer. I call…

Fuck.

Christian picks me up. I fall asleep in the car. The end? I think? Did he haul me up here himself? Did he undress me? Oh, God, I can't think about that. Did I throw up? I don't think I did, but you never know with me and him. I don't remember anything after the car, and here I am.

I realize this looks completely inappropriate, especially after what happened yesterday morning, and I realize that is completely my fault. I could have just called an uber after Cam didn't pick up, like I honestly knew he wouldn't. I do remember my drunk brain thinking about Christian telling me to come to him if I need anything. I really don't think he was talking about rides home, but I guess he still humored me.

Well, I've made my bed and laid in it now. Or someone made this bed and my unconscious drunk self got thrown into it… I have to go.

Where are my clothes? I guess that's priority number one. I gingerly slip out of bed, first making a trip to the ensuite to wash my face and relieve my bladder. I still don't feel particularly human, but I don't think a splash of water is going to change that.

Well, here goes nothing. I slip out the door, and any lingering thoughts I had that maybe this wasn't the apartment that I thought it was disappear. I have definitely been here before. I guess I should be grateful I wasn't put in the sub's bedroom. I stifle a shudder. No, that would have been the rudest awakening I've had in a while.

I hear some activity down the hall. I'm tiptoeing around like an intruder, and I peek my head around the corner. He's sitting there drinking coffee in a T-shirt and pajama pants. Is there any chance I get out of here unseen? Doubtful, given that I'm in his clothes, and wouldn't that look great on TMZ? Again?

And it turns out I can't avoid his spidey sense, because he turns around and looks at me while I stand there like a deer in the headlights. "Ana. How are you feeling?"

I clear my throat. "I've had worse."

He gestures at the seat next to him, a steaming cup sitting at its place. "I made you some tea. I wasn't sure how you liked your coffee."

I gingerly walk forward and climb onto the stool next to him. "Thank you." I take a sip, which feels healing to my dry mouth and stomach in knots. "Where are my clothes?"

He eyes me cautiously, as though I might burst into flames. "Mrs. Taylor washed them."

"Who?" When did he fire Mrs. Jones?

"Taylor and Mrs. Jones got married some years ago."

Oh. That's pretty cute. "Congratulations to them. Why are you making her do laundry on a Sunday? Doesn't she get a day off?"

He smirks. "She wanted to do it once she heard you were here."

My cheeks warm. I knew I always liked her. "That's very kind. Can I have them? And I'll get out of your hair."

"I think I left them in my room. But there's no rush for you to leave. I thought maybe… we should talk about last night."

Was I not just talking about setting boundaries the other night with him? Jeez, he must be so confused. I'm confused myself. The vivid and highly inappropriate dreams I had of him last night are fresh on my mind. Probably exacerbated by sleeping here. Maybe I knew even in unconsciousness. "The main thing is that I owe you a massive apology. I should never have called you, it was so inappropriate and unfair. And trust me, I'm mortified that I fell asleep before we even got here. I hope you didn't go to too much trouble hauling me up here. I swear I don't usually drink like this…"

"You… don't remember anything after the car ride?"

Anxiety prickles at me. "Should I? Oh, God, please tell me I didn't throw up."

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just…" He looks torn for a moment, then appears to put on his best poker face. "You were just talking here and there. Nothing important."

I feel the blood rush to my face again. I hope that my graphic dreams didn't show up in my sleep talking… jeez. "I should go. Again, I'm sorry. This won't happen again. May I have my clothes?"

He looks at me, his expression confused and something else. Maybe concerned? "You don't have to go yet, Ana. I was happy to be able to help you. Don't you want breakfast?"

"I really just want to get home. And I can't do that when I'm wearing your clothes. You know how people talk." My voice has an edge of desperation that I hope he doesn't catch.

He stares at me for a few beats, his expression unreadable, then he gets up without a word and goes off in the direction that I recall his bedroom is in. I take another glug of tea and shake out my hands, but neither of these does anything to dispel the nerves coming up around my being here, with him, in his state of messy morning glory, and my state of… this. For God's sake, he's getting my clothes.

He comes back and sets the folded clothes onto the bar next to me. "Did you undress me?" I blurt out.

"No. You undressed yourself."

"I did?" I have no memory of this.

"You did, I promise."

"I don't remember anything after you picked me up."

"I think what you're experiencing is commonly referred to as a blackout." His voice has a slightly bitter tone to it, if I'm not mistaken.

"I'm sorry." For so many things. It just feels like the right thing to say. Before he can answer, if he was even going to, I get up and make for the room I had just occupied.

I put my old clothes on and try to make some sense of my hair, but it's no use. Since washing the makeup off my face, I'm looking paler and younger. Even though I'm old enough to know better than to get blackout drunk. I really couldn't be more humbled in the worst way than I have been this morning.

Once I'm as presentable as I'm going to get, I return to the kitchen. "I'll call a car. I'm sorry that you had to deal with such… irresponsibility on my part. Would it be possible for me to assure you that this will never happen again, and for us to pretend it never happened?"

He turns in his chair as I speak. "Pretend what never happened? The drunkenness, or calling upon me for help?" I don't know what to say. The tone of his voice makes me feel frozen, and a sense of dread creeps up on me. I'm not sure what for. "Taylor will take you home," he finally says after my silence has stretched too long.

Now I find my voice. "I can—"

"If you're caught waiting for a car outside my building in last night's clothes, what do you think the press will say?"

I can't really argue with that. "Okay." He doesn't respond any further, staring into his coffee cup, so I just walk away towards the elevator. Taylor meets me there. He doesn't address me either other than a nod, and we go. I don't even say goodbye.

My thoughts are whirling as we exit the garage into the public streets, safely concealed behind tinted glass. I've never seen him act like that. He seemed so relaxed until I said I don't remember much. What does he remember? What happened in those gaps in my memory? I never even asked what it was that he thought we should talk about. Have I just burned a bridge with him? That makes the knot in my stomach twist even further. As confusing as the feelings I have towards him in the present are to me, I can recognize that I don't want that. I do want him in my life in some capacity. Maybe more capacity than I should…

I glance up and address the back of Taylor's head. "I'm so sorry. It's Sunday. I hope you have the rest of the day off."

"Don't worry, Miss Steele. This is all part of my role. There's nothing to be sorry for," he replies stoically. "Mr. Grey is very generous with overtime," he adds conspiratorially.

I smile. Mr. Grey has always been a lot of things, but generous does make the list every time.

We ride in silence for the rest of the drive. I feel a cloud of gloom start to hover over me as I catch a glimpse of my own residence. Reality can't escape that easily just from a night of delusional drinking. "Thank you, Taylor."

"You're welcome, Miss Steele."

I walk in to the usual stone cold silence. I'm sure Cam is at work. Oddly, I haven't even stopped to wonder about him. My phone is still in my purse with a bit of a charge, and I don't have any missed calls or messages from him. So it seems like he hasn't stopped to wonder about me either.

I throw my purse onto the kitchen island, then nearly hit the ceiling as I jump, hearing a voice behind me. "Are you as hungover as I am?"

I turn and Kate is sitting in my kitchen, looking somehow both bright-eyed and haggard at the same time, like she's used to being up early but not feeling like this. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a family and children you should be startling?"

"They have a dad. I'm checking on you. I wanted to see if you'd make it home alive."

"How did you know—"

"Christian told Mia he had you." She arches a brow. "Do you want to tell me how that happened?"

I wish I had about six more Advil. "Cam didn't answer."

"So… you called Christian? You guys seem to have been spending more and more time together."

"We see each other at events, Kate. I literally spend more time with his sister than him. What is your point?"

"You've been photographed looking awfully close, and now you just spent the night at his house, Ana. I don't know what's going on, but if it's what it looks like, you have to know that he's wrong for you. He's independent and he doesn't care about anyone. You need more than that."

"I need a fuck ton more than I'm getting lately, that's for sure," I snap, running my fingers through my hair. It feels like an emotional dam has just burst. "This is none of your business, but the problem here is not that I sometimes talk to and stand next to Christian. The problem is that I don't even know who my fiancé is anymore. The problem is that he may very well be wrong for me. I've just packed up my life and moved across the country for him, and this is what I'm left with. I woke up in someone else's house today, and he barely crossed my mind until I walked in here, because I know damn well I didn't cross his mind. I don't cross his mind. If I ever did, it wouldn't be like this."

"You and Cam are having issues? You guys just went out yesterday." She sounds confused.

"Because of the pictures. For his reputation. He's eating it all up, he wanted to be friends with the Greys, but he just didn't like how they spun it in the media. We haven't been on a date in months. I see him for maybe five minutes every day, if that. I know that's fallen into work and he's under a lot of pressure, but he's in so deep that he can't tell that this relationship is sick and dying. I'm dying. He's losing me, and I doubt he even knows."

She looks alarmed. "Jesus Christ. Have you talked to him?"

"If I see him for five minutes at a time, it's only because I am talking to him about this. Begging him to make more time for something, anything other than work. He says it will change. It doesn't. This is my new normal."

"Sheesh. How does Christian even fit into this? Why did he want you to be friends?"

"Clout, I guess. The Grey name is big around here. As if we didn't already have you, he'd rather go right to the source. He's pretty singular-minded these days."

Her brows knit together with concern. "Why didn't you tell me it was so bad? I knew you were going through some shit, but I thought it was just moving and finding new directions and, honestly, being in the same city as Christian."

Funny how that feels like the least of my problems these days. Although if my dreams last night were any indication, there's more to that story than I'd like to admit. But I can't go there right now. "I never want to talk about it. Talking about it makes it real. I've never wanted it to be real."

"Well, avoidance is all well and good for a while, but it sounds like that strategy is starting to backfire," she says gently.

"I know. Something has to change." I rub my eyes. "I'll talk to him whenever he gets home. I just feel like I need some food and more sleep before that."

"Do you want me to make you breakfast?"

"I'd honestly rather be alone. My head is pounding."

"Yeah… another reason to not be around my kids this morning."

"You can crash in one of the spares if you want?" It's not like they've been getting any use otherwise.

"You're an angel." She kisses me on the cheek. "I'll just see myself out later. But we need to have a real talk about this when we're not barely human, okay?"

"Yes, agreed."

"Okay." She goes down the hall. I throw together some eggs and slap them between a bagel with some cream cheese, scarf it down, feel vaguely nauseous, and then go upstairs to lay down. I close my eyes and try to put the events of the last day aside. Not behind me, because I know I need to come back to it. But not right now. And soon, sleep welcomes me back.

I feel nuzzling at my neck. "Mmm." It's nice.

"Ana. Wake up, darling."

That's not the voice I was expecting. "Cam?" I slowly blink my eyes open.

"Hey, angel."

"Why are you here?"

"I live here. What do you mean?"

Instead of answering him, I just roll over onto my side, moving my neck away from his lips. This kind of touch is unfamiliar to me these days. "Where's Kate?"

"I saw her. She left."

"Okay," I mumble into the pillow.

"Wake up, Ana."

"Why?"

"I miss you."

I open my eyes and turn my head to glance at him sideways. "What?"

"I want you, Ana. It's been too long."

Is this a fever dream? I roll onto my back so I can actually look at him. "Want me…?"

He starts to lift up my T-shirt. "Want you."

"Please, Ana. Don't you miss it?" He starts kissing up and down my neck like he used to.

"Cam, there is so much we need to talk about," I gasp. "This isn't going to fix anything."

"I know. We will. But can we get back to us first? This part of us?"

As my mind races trying to comprehend this turn of events, a thought I had just a moment ago comes back to me. Cam wasn't the voice I was expecting. So, whose voice was I expecting? And I think I know the answer. And I know it's the wrong answer for the situation I'm in. I feel a rush of guilt and confusion and sadness. For Cam, who doesn't know I feel this way, for the girl who once thought she loved Christian Grey, for the man himself and his dark, beautiful soul, and for the woman here today whose future is a blank page on the desk, neither of those versions of me feeling quite right anymore. These feelings threaten to overwhelm me, so rather than explode right here and now, instead I just kiss him back.

A/N: Ewwwww. I promise this is not endgame. Ana is just spiraling a bit, and it may get worse before it gets better, but it will get better! All will make sense eventually. Trust me through the ups and downs.