A/N: There are a couple of flashbacks in this chapter. Even though Elena is in one of them, she can do no harm in the present moment since she's incarcerated (YES!)

Chapter Four: The Enabler

Christian POV

Monday evening

"So what did you think of Anastasia Steele?" Grace asked Christian, closing the door behind her and motioning him to sit across her spacious mahogany desk.

"There's nothing concerning in her background, and she signed the papers," he replied vaguely. In truth, he'd never met a woman that irritated him as much as his sister's friend. Women usually granted him easy access to their bodies and soul; Ms. Steele, however, was like a fortress with high walls and high-security gates.

"Except there's still a lot we don't know about her family," he added as an afterthought.

"That is typical of most childhood abuse victims. They either clam up or overshare. Sometimes they fluctuate between the two. They struggle with trust, shame, and self-blame ...and sadly, they don't realize that keeping the abuse under a shroud of secrecy is what's giving it power in the present moment."

Christian nodded.

He was well aware of this. Dr. Flynn had pointed this out in times past.

"Anastasia is one lucky woman," Grace continued, "things could have gone wrong that night if law enforcement had taken her to a shelter instead of bringing her here."

Once again, Christian nodded his head in agreement.

"I think the officers considered her attire and realized she hadn't been out on the streets long," she went on, "and it certainly kept her from becoming another statistic... or worse, a victim of human trafficking."

Christian shuddered at the thought of Anastasia in the hands of such monsters. Saving vulnerable adults and children from the horrors of human trafficking was a cause dear to his heart.

Once upon a time, when he was only a preschooler, he was found in deplorable conditions next to his mother's dead body.

Thankfully law enforcement found him when they did instead of the Pimp. Who knows what would have become of him otherwise? No doubt, he wouldn't have lived past his fourth birthday, the unfortunate victim of homicide in the hands of an organ harvesting ring.

Grace nodded. She was proud of her son and his war against human trafficking and his funding of programs to educate the public and the capture of such soulless criminals.

"Mia is quite fond of Anastasia for some reason," Christian said, pondering the thought as though it was a puzzle he was trying to solve. Anastasia. The sound of her name alone was like an unexpected knock-knock on the side of his head.

"Mia is happy and that's all that matters."

"I agree. This pet project is giving her a sense of purpose..."

"I hear a big but in your voice, Christian."

"I worry Mia could be biting more than she can chew."

Grace cocked her head. "I think I know where you're coming from. But I don't see it that way. Anastasia Steele does not have a serious mental illness... she has PTSD," she paused. "Her long stay here was due to her not having a stable place to live. When her next of kin had the opportunity to take her home, they refused; instead, they filed a legal motion requesting her transfer to a long-term facility."

"Yeah, I know, you told me. Still, why would her own parents want her in a place like that unless there was something to it?"

"I have two words for you: Narcissistic parents."

"Huh," Christian thought about it for a minute. "Her folks did seem odd, overly concerned about how Anastasia's situation affected THEM. They cared more about convincing me of their struggles than what was best for their daughter..."

Grace nodded.

"I believe this young woman is the scapegoat in her dysfunctional family. Scapegoats get blamed when things go wrong, punished for speaking out against the family norms, and ostracized for 'causing trouble'. We can only guess the extent of the abuse she suffered."

"What about her brother...was he also abused?"

"Anastasia wants nothing to do with him. I'm guessing he's the Golden child and deeply invested in perpetuating the cycle of dysfunction. Most golden children are groomed to feel and act superior to the scapegoat."

Christian shook his head in disgust. "So her brother joined in 'the fun' while his parents acted like bullies on the playground."

"Sadly, narcissistic parents need someone to bear the brunt of their intolerable feelings and escape taking responsibility. Their pathological need to be perfect makes their children an easy target to carry the burdens of whatever goes wrong in their lives.

"So then both of her parents are narcissistic then? Christian asked, "Their backgrounds are as clean as a whistle, not even a single report from the neighbors."

"Usually, one of the parents is the enabler."

Christian frowned, thinking of the Crack Whore who had brought him to this world, "I think I know who the enabler in Anastasia's family may be."

Grace cocked her head, prompting him to continue.

"Raymond Steele. According to Barney, Mr. Steele had hip replacement surgery the day before Ana moved in with them... I'm guessing she that to help her father recover from the surgery."

"It's possible, yes. Scapegoated children tend to see the enabler as the better parent, the safer alternative. In reality, these parents are even more damaging than the overly abusive parent. They're spineless, and their entire identity is wrapped around their partner. But because they give the scapegoat a semblance of love, the enabler often gets a free pass for not standing up against the narcissist."

Memories of the Crack Whore filled Christian's mind. How many times had she allowed the Pimp to abuse him? His heart filled with rage at the enabler who stood by while that poor excuse of a man used him as his personal ashtray.

Yet, as much as he hated to admit it, Ella always had a piece of his heart. Even now, as an adult, Christian had trouble reconciling the mother that had consoled him when he was hurt with the one who had failed to protect him.

FLASHBACK

Climbing on top of a wobbly chair to reach the freezer, four-year-old Christian nearly fell as he retrieved a bag of freezer-burnt peas.

Tearing the package was difficult, but he managed to tear a small hole. His stomach growled as he shoved a fistful in his mouth. The mix of ice and texture was a surprise. Still, his tummy was grateful. After leaving the bag on the counter for half a day, he discovered that the peas tasted much better at room temperature.

He excitedly went into the living room to share the good news. His mother lay on the bare floor motionless.

"Mommy, you hungry?" He asked, bringing the bag closer. Perhaps, if Mommy could taste the peas, she would finally wake up. "Look it! Peas! They're good!" He said, "Open your eyes, Mommy, open your eyes!"

Once again, she refused to answer him. Still, he couldn't lose hope. And the only thing stopping him from getting help was that Mommy had warned him about the neighbors being weirdos.

Nighttime was the worst. There was nothing good on TV, just a bunch of grown-ups talking and screaming at each other.

"Time for a bedtime story," Christian said, bringing his blanket over to lay beside Mommy along with his favorite Teddy bear. "Oops, forgot your blanket, Mommy!" he ran into the bedroom to get another blanket to wrap around Mommy's cold body like a burrito.

Cuddled next to Mommy, Christian trembled. Tonight, there was nobody to tuck him in. And even though a lamp illuminated the room, he was terrified of the darkness outside the large floor-to-ceiling window in the small living room.

He imagined an army of men climbing up a ladder and breaking the glass on the bare window, their large machine guns pointing at him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed their ring leader's ugly sneer and cigar-stained teeth to disappear.

"NO! NO!" He cried, kicking his arms and legs, "Don't kill me! don't kill me! He sobbed until, at last, the light of day shone through the tall windows.

"Christian," Grace said, "You spaced out..."

"Hmm, nothing...actually, I was just thinking of how lucky I am to have you and Dad."

Grace smiled the most brilliant of smiles, "Oh, Christian," she muttered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Mindful of his Haphephobia, she wordlessly asked his permission before placing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

He briefly leaned in to press his forehead against hers before pulling away.

"I got to get to work."

"Of course."

"But before I go...what is Anastasia's prognosis?"

"When it comes to PTSD, a good therapist can make a big difference. This facility only offers group therapy sessions, you know how it is," she sighed, "the state doesn't have the funding for individual sessions. Anyway, all that is going to change for Anastasia. I will refer her to a couple of colleagues of mine."

"Sounds good," he replied, thinking maybe he should get going. However, her next words made him forget about work.

"Wait...before she goes home with you, I was thinking of sending her to Esclava to get her hair done. I think it will go a long way to helping her feel human again. She's been in this place long enough to knock down her self-esteem a few notches."

Christian nodded. Escala. The place where Grace gave Elena the unforgettable Grace Trevelyn-Grey special.

FLASHBACK

After receiving a frantic call from Elena, seventeen-year-old Christian walked into Esclava to find Elena in a state of hysteria.

"What's going on?" He asked, walking into the salon Carrick had purchased for Grace years ago as an anniversary present.

"Christian!" She cried, motioning for him to join her in the ranting against the personnel, threatening to sue them for everything they owned. "Look what they've done to my hair!" she exclaimed.

Christian was speechless. Elena's once blonde hair looked somewhat clownish, as though she was trying hard to give Ronald McDonald a run for his money.

Granted, the bright orange color wasn't what you would call flattering, Christian thought, but still...it wasn't the end of the world.

"Elena, calm down. I'm sure they will be able to fix them; give them a chance," he said, embarrassed for her.

"Calm down?" Elena glared at him

, "Don't you see what these people have done!"

Right then, Grace casually waltzed into the reception area.

"Oh, Grace!" Elena screeched, your negligent staff! Look! " she turned around to show Grace different sections of her scalp exhibiting hair loss in small round patches.

Realizing that the woman he had once worshipped as a goddess was a grossly unattractive woman with premature alopecia, Christian turned away in disgust.

….

"Christian? I asked whether you thought the salon experience could wait."

"It all depends on the type of beauty treatment you had in mind," he smiled, 'not the Grace Trevelyn-Grey special, I hope."

Grace chuckled at the reference; she loved her son's humor. This was a side of him that only family got to see. The rest of the world saw Christian Grey as aloof and hardened.

Grace shrugged innocently, "You mean the voucher for the 'Grace Trevelyn Grey special I gifted Elena?"

"Huh-huh."

"No, heavens no!" She laughed, 'that was a one-time-only non-transferrable special. By the way, honey, did I ever tell you the full story?"

Christian cocked his head just so. He glanced at the clock and decided what the heck, Grace was obviously itching to launch into the retelling...and who was he to stop her?

"Elena's day started with a standard Brazillian. Elena did her usual complaining about the wax being too hot. Our beautician then let it cool. Unfortunately, it cooled too much, and the hair became twice as hard to remove," she paused for effect. "The bitch screamed so loudly... you would think she was delivering a 15-pound baby drug-free!

Christian couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Even though he had nothing against Elena, he understood Grace's need for revenge.

"After that, our cosmetologist dyed her hair, and Elena insisted on getting a 45-minute massage session while waiting for the dye to set in," Grace shrugged.

"Do you remember Roger, our Russian masseur? His strong hands were perfect for applying unnecessary pressure in all the right places if you know what I mean.

Anyway, to make a long story short, over an hour had passed...you should have seen the look on Elena's face when she discovered the hair dye was 'ACCIDENTALLY' left on too long," Grace continued with a smile and a tiny shrug. "So by the time the color was rinsed out, her hair started falling out in chunks."

This time, mother and son chuckled in unison, recalling Elena's attempt to slap Grace.

"And you know the worst part is? Elena's salon experience was my parting gift, a gift that was never appreciated."I, for one, will never forget the look on her face," Christian mused, "especially when law enforcement came in and pinned her to the floor to handcuff her."

Presently, Elena was in prison, serving a 15-year sentence on charges of statutory rape and corruption of minors.

"Oh, yes, and that bald spot on the back of her head glowing under the fluorescent lights. That was the best part, wasn't it?" Grace chuckled. "She was more concerned about THAT than the charges being brought against her."

...

It was half-past midnight when, at last, Christian arrived at the High Mile Club.

"Welcome, Mr. Grey. Ms. Williams is waiting for you," a female voice greeted him.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself. He'd been looking forward to this all day.

A/N:

I'm still in the midst of moving. I've found, however, that posting my chapter progress on my profile page is helping me write amid the chaos. So I will keep on updating it for now. Thanks, everyone, and have a nice week.