Chapter Nine
~Anastasia~
The atmosphere in Carrick and Grace's living room is oppressive. Questions are being thrown at Christian from every direction. I sit on a loveseat beside Kate. One of her hands is resting on my thighs. She's obviously noted the strange compulsion I've developed since waking up with a skull that's screwed together. I can't help if it feels like ants are covering and biting me. The sensation only occurs when I get anxious or agitated. And right now, I'm both.
I may have been in the folds of the Grey family for over six months, to me, it's only been two, and I'm still not entirely comfortable around them and their wealth. Like Kate's family, it's staggering and it intimidates me. Elliot is even a millionaire; the worn jeans, muddy work boots, and a sweatshirt that reads 'Grey Construction', hide that fact well.
I still feel like a new college graduate and don't know my place with these people. Only the shy and tentative girl I was before I fell at the feet of a billionaire, has gone. I never got angry about the slightest things. Hell, I hardly ever got angry. Now, I feel angry every minute I'm awake. I never blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind like I do now. The shyness I once had was never full blown anxiety. People never got so far on my nerves that I'd leave a room, and I rarely broke down crying at the drop of a hat. I also feel a deep apathy about life. Just another feeling I can only thank my messed-up brain for.
Dr. Berman keeps telling me that sometimes people who've experienced head trauma can have changes in their personality that may go with time, or if one is unfortunate, they never leave. I'm afraid that these changes in my behavior aren't going anywhere. I already live in fear over the two psychos that are circling around my life. I don't need changes in my brain added on to that.
So, here I sit with Kate, who's basically protecting me from myself. and we're listening to my boyfriend explain why he had women in his life sign a non-disclosure to keep them from saying they were ever involved with him. Then he begins to explain why he never brought any around his family, or took them out in public. Right now, he's doing his best to explain to Grace why he had that Acton woman who works at Neiman Marcus, providing wardrobes for each of the women he was in relationships with. When he had to fess up to how this Leila Williams would know which parked car at my apartment complex was mine, I thought Carrick was going to have a coronary when Christian said he bought each of those women the same kind of car; a red Audi A3.
"So, these women were basically high-priced prostitutes?" I ask. I was thinking it, but wasn't planning on actually saying it out loud.
Every head in the room shoots in my direction and Kate's hand even goes slack. Christian expression is one that I haven't seen. No, I wait, I have. He looked at me this way when I asked him if he was gay during the infamous interview. As quickly as that expression crossed his face, it disappeared. It was like magic. Now, he looks as surprised as the rest of his family while their eyes rest on my face.
Grace crosses and uncrosses her legs, and takes a long sip of the second glass of white wine she's been drinking. Carrick tosses back what I believe is bourbon and I wonder if the pair handles difficult family situations with alcohol. Ray believes in partaking tea to diffuse anything unpleasant, but I think he just does it because I'm a female.
Moments pass without a reply. It's so quiet that I can hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Asking again seems like it would prompt Christian into finally replying, but after the reaction my question got, I'm keeping my mouth resolutely shut.
Mia's in a beige winged back chair holding a can of Diet Coke and Elliot is sprawled out on the carpet, his back on the loveseat that his girlfriend is sitting on with me. Never one to mince words, he speaks up first.
"Ana's right if you really think about it," he says.
"That isn't how it was, Elliot. You're off by a long shot," Christian shoots back, he sounds annoyed.
I imagine I'd be annoyed to if I had to explain my sex life to Ray and Mom. Well, Mom would cry and I'd want to strangle her, and Ray would threaten to shoot to people.
"Christian, dear. Do we know these women? Do we socialize with them? I'm thinking of every social event you've attended and you never had a date. My goodness, if you out fitted these women and bought them cars…why in the world wouldn't you be seen with them?" Grace asks.
I think that's an appropriate question. I'm not a part of this high society lifestyle, but if Christian spent a gazillion dollars on each of these women, why'd he keep them hidden?
"Mom, I just didn't want to get people involved in my private life. Tongues would have started wagging and you know how private I am," Christian answers her.
Grace doesn't look appeased whatsoever.
"Will any of this come out now that this woman you were involved with is now a wanted woman?" Mia asks.
Christian sighs like he hasn't thought of that scenario. Carrick, on the other hand, looks like he's been thinking about it from the moment he found out about this Williams woman.
"Excuse me for throwing out my opinion," Kate begins. "But unless the authorities come out and say that this woman was once in a relationship with Christian, I can't imagine how that information would get out." She pauses. "It's not like someone who is wanted by the police to come out and make a public declaration. She's laying low, and doesn't want attention."
Kudos to Kate. That makes perfect sense and if the cops do keep their traps shut, then Christian will be off the proverbially hook. For a while, at least. I really don't see how the rest of his private money for hire women can stay much of a secret. Well, at least for a while longer.
"Kate's got a valid point, son," Carrick mutters.
"Yeah, but what about the media? They're still on the info hunt concerning the arson and that woman from the SFD said they were putting out information about Williams," Elliot parries.
"Shit," Carrick thunders, causing Mia to jump.
Christian raises his hands in defeat. "I don't know which way this is going to turn out. If the women break their NDAs, I guess I'll deal with it then. The most important thing right now is safety. We know who we're up against, and all we have to do is find her," he says.
So, every woman that Christian met and wanted a relationship with had to sign an NDA first and couldn't discuss being involved with him. Did I have to sign one? Was I ever forbidden from talking about my relationship with Christian? Hell, he did tell me he bought me clothes like he bought those other women and I even drove the same car as they did. Holy, shit. I was a high-priced prostitute. How in the hell would I put myself into that position?
"Christian," I ask, causing him to turn and face me. "Was I like one of those women? You bought me a ridiculously expensive wardrobe like you did them, and I even had the same car, for God's sake."
He just stares at me. He almost looks helpless; however, he doesn't answer me.
"Should I take your silence as an answer?" I continue, growing agitated.
"Anastasia, things were never like that between us. You were unique and I didn't want to hide you from the world," he tells me, the tone of his voice is sincere, but those eyes of his are blazing.
"So, I was "unique." Was I 'unique' enough not to have to sign an NDA?" I press.
The temperature in the room plummets. Kate squeezes my thigh, and I watch Christian as he watches her do it. His eyes travel up and they stare at one another. Neither says a word.
The rest of the family is holding their breath. I'm sure they're asking themselves, "Did she, or didn't she?"
"Anastasia, do you mind if we discuss our relationship in private?" Christian asks.
The pressure of Kate's hand disappears. "Grey's right, Steele. I've heard enough and want to call it a day. You two should go upstairs and maybe talk about this without all of us listening," she tells me.
I narrow my eyes at no one in particular and finally agree. We all stand and scatter in different locations. Kate and Elliot follow as Christian leads me to his third-floor childhood bedroom. Before I open the door, Kate grabs me in a tight hug without saying anything. I'm puzzled, but pull away and walk through the door, which Christian shuts. Poor Sawyer is on the other side of the door; I finally made Christian give the poor guy a chair to sit on.
I go into the ensuite and wash my face and brush my teeth. Christian says nothing when he throws me one of his old t-shirts to sleep in. I crawl in between the sheets and wait for him to join me. He strolls into the room and climbs in beside me. I roll to face him. He's made me angry and I'm having a hard time not expressing it. I need answers to questions. Let's see if he's forthcoming.
"I was too 'unique' to sign an NDA, was I?" I begin.
Christian turns and lays on his back with his head resting on his folded arms. He sighs.
"No preamble, huh?" he starts without looking at me.
He smells too good and I can't help myself from burrowing my face between his chin and shoulder blade. Then I raise up and kiss him on the tip of his nose.
"Well, after all, you wanted to discuss our relationship in private. I don't think we can get much more private than we are right now," I reply. "Christian, I just want to understand some things. Is that too much to ask?"
He turns to look at me and his forehead is wrinkled. "No, Ana. It's not. This just isn't something I enjoy thinking about."
I wrap an arm around his waist. "I don't understand the reason that you kept those women a secret," I murmur nervously, but keep my eyes on his face.
"Is it that you don't understand or that you don't believe me?" he asks.
I blink a few times and swallow before answering. "Can I say that it isn't that I don't believe you, I just find it unbelievable. Does that make sense? And I'm wondering if you kept things out when you were discussing it with your family. You know, maybe there were things you didn't want to disclose to them and that you'd perhaps share with me privately."
Christian reaches over and traces the outline of my forehead with an index finger. I think he's annoyed, but since I've figured out his moods change like the weather, I can't really tell.
"Anastasia, I understand that you find these revelations strange because I'm the first to say that it's fucked up." He pauses and stares up at the ceiling. "I did want to keep my life private because I behaved in ways that I'm now deeply ashamed of. I didn't even want my family to know; I think they even believed the gay rumors," he says quietly.
We both roll over so we're facing each other. Christian puts a lock of my hair behind my ear.
"I lived a life that I wanted to keep secrets, and I did everything that I could to keep those secrets. Especially from my family. Does that sound strange to someone whose never behaved like that? Yes, of course it does."
"But it's obvious that your family loves you so much. I can't imagine them not accepting you as you are," I answer him.
He laughs bitterly. "That still doesn't quench your thirst for knowledge about this?" There's an edge to his voice that I haven't heard before.
I don't want to drop this, though. Maybe it isn't any of my business, but it's a weird puzzle that he's left incomplete and I want to finish it. A very large part of me wants to know if I knew about this before the accident. I want to know if he'd confided in me then. I'm beginning to feel anxious, but I carry on.
"No, it doesn't," I reply.
The tension in the room couldn't be cut by a chainsaw. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. Christian doesn't appreciate having to answer to anyone. However, if we're in a relationship, I deserve to know about him – and that includes his past. I especially deserve to know about this since I can't remember shit about our life together. Did he tell me about this or not? Is it wrong for me to ask him if he did?
We're still face to face and his jaws are clenched. He's not going to intimidate or deter me.
"Ana, just ask me what you want to know, but you can't get pissed off about the minutiae," he warns me.
I let the implications of his words sink in. Yes, he's now angry and the expression on his face is blank. It's the one I've seen right before he goes nuclear on some poor soul. I swallow, because I'm not sure how to word what I want to know. That, and anxiety is beginning to gather in my bloodstream.
"I can't wrap what's left of my mind around the secrecy. Were you doing something that you were ashamed of?"
Christian hasn't even blinked and my body feels like it's overheating. I kick the covers off of me.
"Yes, I'm ashamed of the fact that I used women for my own sexual gratification. That was the only reason they were in my life. Yes, they were fully aware of what was expected of them. The women wanted the same kind of arrangement as I did. It was all about sex. The reason I had them sign non-disclosure agreements was so they couldn't run their mouths to the press about fucking Christian Grey. That's why I'm embarrassed and ashamed, Ana. I kept god damned women on call for a fuck. No feelings were involved. I didn't want my family to know that I lived such a life," he says matter-of-factly, forehead crinkled, and frustration written all over his face.
His candor is straightforward and callous. He stares at me, gray eyes raw, and I know he's waiting for my reaction. I tear my eyes from his face, as I scour his body, trying to see this Christian, behaving like that Christian. That man isn't here. My stomach has been soured by images of him fucking dozens of nameless women, but I ignore it. After all, I'm the one who wanted to know. But there is still shock. I'm shocked. I can't imagine the man before me as the man he's just admitted to being – no, that is his past. My sour stomach is now churning bile that I have to swallow. Like he said; I asked and he answered. The room is quiet, so quiet that I can hear the soft whistle of the heat blowing from the vents scattered about the room. Tension is now thick waves around us.
Christian's words are on replay and unpleasant technicolor images are in my head. I also feel like he's disappointed me in some fashion.
"How many women were there?" I blurt out.
The filter that my head trauma stole strikes again.
Christian tenses and stares, seemingly impassive, into my eyes, but beneath his careful look, I see his unease. It's obvious from his expression that he doesn't want to answer that question.
He moves the pillow and takes my hands. He looks up at the ceiling.
"I never would have dreamed we'd be having this discussion again…" his words trail away.
Those gray eyes of his are dark and pupils dilated. From what? Fear? Anger?
He shifts us so I'm straddling him, leaning on his propped-up knees. He looks supremely irritated. I gaze down at our hands; they fit so well together. I close my eyes and realize that I've been holding my breath.
"You know that I'm not asking all of this to use against you, right? I'm not trying to find a reason to sabotage us, Christian," I tell him. "You do know that I would never hold your past against you, right?"
He kisses the side of my head. "Don't assume that the scowl I know I've got on my face is directed at you. It's just that having to tell you about our life together again, brings back the disturbing memories of why you can't remember. It frustrates and pisses me off." Christian's voice is hoarse.
His face is scrutinizing me. "You really want to know how many women I had these arrangements with?" Christian's body language is tense and reluctant. "Are you sure?" he continues quickly when I make no response.
I turn his words over in my head. Not because he answered my question with a question, but because 'these arrangements with' statement causes my ears to perk up for some reason. I let it slide though, knowing it's not the silent elephant in the room at this moment. Do I really want to hear this? This is me - Miss I've Only Had Sex With One Man, asking Mr. Sex on Legs how many women he's fucked.
"Yeah," I answer, my low voice echoes around the room.
He sighs and crosses his legs. "Fifteen."
Okay. Fifteen. Fifteen women. That isn't as bad as I imagined it would be, but it's also disconcerting.
My Christian has had sex with fifteen women. Yay, that's just great. I lick my dry lips and haven't let go of Christian's hand. I will not make him feel as if I'm judging his past. Everyone has a past – well, I don't - though most people don't have such an unusual one as my boyfriend.
I wonder how I reacted the first time he disclosed this shit to me because right now, I'm reeling. I clear my throat and stare anxiously at him.
"You never developed feelings for any of them? Not a teeny, tiny bit?"
"Absolutely not," he responds matter-of-factly.
God, I wish I had something to drink. My mouth has no moisture in it at all. I feel the huge knot in my throat, it feels as if it's a knot full of sand. My heart's pounding and I'm beginning to feel the adrenaline crash into me.
"Did you tell me about this? Did you tell me about your past when we first met? Did I know?" I ask sourly.
Sitting up suddenly, he drags me with him. He lowers his eyes and begins to trace his thumb across my neck. It's distracting. Christian looks at me, gray eyes burning with something akin to shame.
He nods, his expression wary. Putting his fingers under my chin, he tilts my head back.
"Anastasia, you found out everything about me on our first date," he murmurs.
His eyes soften, but he appears contrite.
"Oh."
It's all I have. All that I can muster. I'm momentarily confused, and I feel like I've lost track of what I want to know. Was I so taken by Christian that I easily ignored his colorful past? Did I push away my integrity for him? It had to have been love. This simple, and overwhelming love that know I have for him.
"Yeah. Oh," he whispers.
My wits are scattered, and I can see my reflection in two expectant gray pools. I stare at him as words fail me. I struggle to collect my thoughts.
"OK. Well, it seems you sharing your life's secret with me, didn't deter me from starting a relationship with you."
Christian has a small smile on lips, but he doesn't look happy, his brows are creased and I watch him press his mouth into a hard line.
"No, it didn't," he replies quietly.
I didn't think this would rattle me so. He looks like he's at bat waiting for me to throw the first pitch, and all I can think about is needing time to process all of this. I blink rapidly, feeling nauseous over what I'm about to ask of him. Curiosity did kill the cat, Ana.
"How does Christian Grey find women who are only willing to be on call for a quick fuck? Where did you meet them? Who were they? Jesus, did you hire call girls?" I sputter.
The filter's left the building again.
He gazes at me intently, but then closes his eyes and shakes his head. In disbelief that I'd ask such a question? He opens his eyes again, and his expression if forlorn.
"Anastasia Steele, I'd give my fortune away not to talk about this again. Fuck! I'm not pissed with you, Ana, I just know how you felt the first time we had this discussion, and I'm sure you're going to feel the same fucking way now."
Christian exhales a deep breath and his eyes widen.
"They weren't call girls, they were just women," he murmurs, shrugging his shoulders. "I met them in different settings, different places. There isn't anything interesting about how I how met them."
I skeptically stare at him, gaping. He's so exasperating. That's not a fucking answer, Grey. I argue with myself over what I should do. Call him out on his evasiveness, or trudge forward. Shit, does it really matter how he met them? Maybe none of the shit that runs through my mind should matter. I really should take Dr. Berman's advice and go see a psychiatrist.
"How did I react when you told me the first time?" I ask after deciding it doesn't matter.
This is the question that causes lightning to strike. It suddenly hits me that I'm an outsider to my past – I feel like I'm spying on this deeply personal conversation I've already had with Christian. I look up at his beautiful face, and for the first time, I wonder how he must feel dealing with this shit situation. Compassion for what he's going through expands my heart. Christian regards me intently, and I watch as he brings my fingers to his lips, kissing their tips slowly. His gentleness plucks at the electric strings that pull us together. I could easily give in to my yearning, but I know there are answers I'm searching for, and only Christian can give them to me.
My mind drifts while lost in his gaze. In a short smattering of time, I've met all manner of confusing and deeply intense feelings for this man. I've come to know every inch of his face, the way his lips twitch in a smirk, and how his eyes sparkle when he laughs. I feel the warmth of those eyes when they're turned on me. I am still stunned by the realization that this brilliant and beautiful man is mine. I'm amazed that we both fell in an ocean of love for one another. What could I have done to catch the eye of Christian Grey?
There are days when I find the sensitivity in him that allows him to be capable of perceiving my every need, and taking care of me with soft tenderness. I've spent many nights just sitting with Christian, lost in silent moments, his arms folded tightly about me. I love being nestled in his arms, feeling the brush of his lips on my forehead, and on the tip of my nose. Oh, his nuzzling kisses against the back of my ear cause me to melt. Every time that he tells me he loves me, I want to ooze out of my clothing now that we're able to be intimate. He's still bitching about condoms, but my shot hasn't kicked in yet.
Then there is the extremely different and downright weird side of the spectrum. My wary feelings that have left me with the thoughts of packing a suitcase and running away. Running far, far, far, away from Christian. The reason is so crazy, because it's nothing that I can see. It's just feelings that make no sense whatsoever.
Sometimes, a feeling will pass through me and I'll feel humiliated. Like I've done something wrong, but then I can hear Christian praise me. His voice is loud and clear in my head. But sometimes he sounds stern and mean and I don't know what I've done. Only to then feel like I've pleased him, because I can hear him in my head calling me a "good girl." Christian's never referred to me as a 'good girl' once. Yeah, I really need to find a psychiatrist. The feelings leave me frightened and keep me up at night. I have nightmares about them.
Christian breaks contemplation. His intense gaze darkens and he blinks, before answering the question that I'd forgotten I'd asked.
"You were quiet for a long while, when you first found out. It took you a long time to wrap your head around it all and around me. You weren't expecting to discover the man I was back then and were ambivalent about starting a relationship with me."
He takes a deep breath and exhales before continuing.
"It went against everything you believed in and wanted for yourself. It wasn't how you envisioned your first relationship to be. I understood that, but wanted you, just the same. I was selfish and I still am, Ana. But we worked it out from the beginning."
His eyes widen and I think he looks panicked.
"I was blown away every time you reminded me that I was deserving of love. I still am blown away when you tell me that I am. Being a better man wasn't anything I ever aspired to be until you came along. You took me as I was, Anastasia. You accepted me and all of my baggage. You're my miracle," he says quietly, his tone is emphatic.
Christian's expression is full of an unnamed emotion, and my heart is swells. I feel like a dam of tears ready to burst, I launch myself at him, and he catches me, slipping his arms around my body. My arms are trapped, palms landing in the center of his chest. His heart is beating wildly under my hands.
"Oh, Christian, how could you ever believe you didn't deserve love? Your existence alone is perfection," I whisper in his ear. "You know how much I love you, how much your family loves you. You're more than deserving of affection and unconditional love."
Tears begin to trickle down my cheeks, but slowly, before another word falls off of my tongue, something strikes me like a thunderbolt.
I pull away from him; I keep my hands on his chest, and my mouth drops open. I look him in the eyes and frown. I'm suddenly perplexed.
"Christian, you said I'm the only person who has been able to touch you. You claim, and your family claims that I helped you overcome your touch phobia."
He stiffens and blinks with uncertainty. Eyes wild and cautious, Christian takes too long to respond, so I pounce. I slowly pull my hands off his chest and stare at them.
Shuffling away from him, I start shaking the unpleasant thoughts from my mind. Surprise reflects in Christian's eyes, his expression guarded and unreadable. He doesn't understand my behavior, and I can't make sense of what occurred to me.
My hands. His chest. I could touch him. No one else could. No one.
The penny must drop in Christian's mind, too. He swallows and goes to grasp my hands again, but I pull away from him, shuffling further back on the bed. He drops his hands on the bed, staring at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to speak. Waiting for me to say what I know he believes is running through my mind. He's staring at my hands, and his expression changes.
Christian's expression says it all. I inhale a gulp of air and blow it out through pursed lips. Heat is rising through this t-shirt I'm wearing, and I'm nauseous from my suspicion.
Christian's jaw is tense, I can see that his teeth are clenched. They damn well should be.
The rhythm of my heart is skipping. Once more, Christian reaches out for me, but I hold up both of my hands, palms out, and shake my head. Is there a word for a sucker-punch to the heart?
"Christian, if I did what you claim, help you overcome your fear of being touched, how did you have sex with those women? I might be a little naïve, but I know sex involves god damned touching. You say no one could touch your chest or upper back, so how did you manage to fuck those women, any other woman, in fact. Me…I want to know how you fucked me, Christian, before I 'helped' you, that is?"
My eyes are screwed tightly shut. When I open them, Christian has tilted his head to the side and is regarding me like a rabid wolf, one he's attempting his best to escape. He's trying to hide the glint of fear I can see in his eyes. But it's there. It's there.
"Answer me, Christian. Even your family says I'm the first person you've ever allowed to touch you, so I know what you've told me is the truth. Tell me, Christian! How? How'd you keep me, and those women from touching you, while you fucked us?" I bellow, and rise from the bed, clumsily.
Christian remains kneeling in the center of the bed, staring me dead in my eyes. His eyes have grown larger, and he appears completely desolate. He shuffles off the bed and makes a step toward me, but I take a step back. He stops, still not uttering a word. He looks angry; he looks like a man at war with himself. Christian's fists are clenched. Flexing one, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
"Please, Christian," I plead, my voice tremulous.
Tears are dripping off of my face because I know this cannot be good. Whatever it may be, it cannot be good. I'm now on the other spectrum of my feelings for this man, there is that faint whisper to run far and to run fast.
"By tying your wrists together," he says it so quickly, and so softly, that I nearly miss the words.
"W-What . . . did you say?" I breathe or at least try to, my hands dashing away tears.
Christian blanches, and steps toward me again. This time, I'm too shocked to move.
Why in the hell would he tie my wrists together? Why would he tie anyone's wrists together?
"I tied your wrists together."
I try to dig my way through his luminous gray eyes and uncover what the fuck he's talking about.
What in the fuck does he mean?
Why in the fuck would I allow him to do to me? Why would he do that?
"You tied my wrists together when you took my virginity?" I nearly choke on the words.
"No," he tells me.
I stumble forward, our toes are touching, and look up at him.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why tie a woman up?"
"Because I couldn't trust anyone not to touch me, and some of the women liked kink."
"Kink? They must have all loved kink."
"Yes, Anastasia. They liked kink," he answers me. "They just liked having their wrists restrained, that's all. Nothing else."
"They liked being tied up?"
"Yes," he replies.
"Have you ever tied me up?" I ask him. I'm scratching my bare thighs.
"Yes, I did. Anastasia, you're hurting yourself." Christian tries to grab my wrists, but I wiggle away.
"In the beginning?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies.
"But not when you took my virginity? Why not then?
"No. Like I said earlier, because you were unique. I already knew that you were the one."
"Unique? How was I unique?" I demand to know.
This doesn't make sense.
"For many reasons. You were the only woman I've ever had to pursue," he tells me.
"I was the first woman not to throw themselves at Christian Grey?"
"Yes, please stop hurting yourself, baby." His eyes are on my legs. This time he grabs my wrists and doesn't let go.
"And you found that 'unique'?" I say.
"I found that refreshing."
"Did you make me sign a non-disclosure agreement before we became involved?"
"No," he replies vehemently.
"Why? Because you found me 'refreshingly unique'?"
"I suppose you could say that. It just felt different with you. I was in love with you at first sight, even if I didn't know it at the time."
"Well, you didn't know those women before you became involved with them. That doesn't make sense," I point out.
"It's the truth. And I know that you're reacquainting yourself with me right now, but I don't like having to repeat myself. Or to be doubted."
"That's your problem, Christian, not mine," I snap.
"Touché, Miss Steele."
"Kate says that I never talked about private things concerning us in the beginning. She said that I wouldn't answer when she asked me things about you. That's strange, I've never kept anything from Kate. If I didn't sign one of your NDA's, back then, did you ask me not to discuss out private life with her?"
"Yes, I did. I told you that I like my private life to remain private," he tells me.
"I don't see me not telling my best friend about my new-found sex life. But if I didn't, that's why Kate always thought you were hiding something," I say.
A strange look crosses Christian's face. I don't know what it is.
"I can only speculate about Kate's ambivalence toward me, but she didn't like me from the beginning. What else has the lovely Miss Kavanagh told you about me?"
Why does he sound pissed at Kate? They're friends, for fucks sake.
"That we had a rocky beginning. That I cried a lot after I met you. She said that one night, I was very upset, and you showed up at our apartment, where the two of you argued about me," I say.
"That's true. Ana, neither of us had ever been in a relationship before. It was a frustrating and confusing time. We didn't understand what was happening to us. It's hard to navigate the unknown. Hence, you were distressed, and the over-protective Kate disliked me," he tells me.
"How long did it take us to navigate the unknown?" I ask. "Because Kate said that when she returned from Barbados, we were fine; we were blissfully in love."
"Kate's right. I'd say it was a month before we realized what we were doing," he confirms Kate's words.
"So, you only had those unconventional relationships once you were in the public eye?"
"I've already told you, Anastasia, but yes. Please, drop this."
"But you started GEH when you were twenty-one. How did you handle being intimate with women before then?" I yell.
"Ana . . . " Christian looks away.
"How?" I keep on.
"Does this really matter? What does this have to do with our relationship?" He's still holding my wrists.
"Because I want to know. If I knew about this before, I deserve to know now."
"I handled it—"
"Tell me, Christian," I interrupt him.
"I'm done discussing this bullshit. It's in the past. It's old news," he says loudly.
"Old News? Old news! It's not old news to me, Christian, I can't remember it!"
"Enough, Anastasia! Drop it, please!"
"No . . . Why should I? What's the fucking big deal?" I ask, loudly.
"Language, Anastasia," he warns me.
"Fuck my language. Just how many women have you 'handled' being intimate with? Huh?"
"Jesus fucking Christ! How in the hell do I know? I didn't count them all," Christian's practically screaming and there's no doubt that others in the house can hear us.
"What? Did I know all of this? Look at me. Look me in the eyes. Answer me. What's the big secret?"
"Yes, you knew. OK? You knew everything, but I don't want to have this discussion right now," he says, dropping my wrists and walking to the door.
"Oh, no! Don't you dare leave this room-"
I can't finish what I was saying because there's now a white mist covering my eyes and the left side of my head feels like it's being stabbed. I cry out, and sway. Christian grabs me before I hit the floor.
"Fuck, Ana! Breathe, Ana. Sawyer!"
I barely hear Christian screams before the world disappears.