Chapter Eleven
~Anastasia~
Six days ago, in Carrick and Grace's kitchen, I had what had to be an award-winning panic attack. The entire family was around a farmhouse table eating lunch, and quickly, all of their voices drove me way past anxiety. Kate and Christian frantically searched my purse for my bottle of Ativan the minute I began to experience symptoms. I'm still not sure which one of them shoved the pill down my throat.
Christian was beside himself and wanted us to spend the night so Grace could keep an eye on me. I objected because it was ridiculous and thank God, Grace agreed with me. We ended up leaving earlier than expected anyway because the Ativan makes me sleepy; I just wanted to go home. My emotions were still everywhere, though. I was angry, anxious, and wanted to crawl into the fetal position and go to sleep. Thankfully, the Ativan won once we got back to Escala.
Since I didn't eat much at lunch, Christian started pleading with me to think of somewhere we could stop and buy me lunch. The anti-depressant is messing with my appetite and I'm eating even less than I was before. But Christian doesn't want to hear that, so I told him that I wanted a Big Mac from McDonald's. He refused to take me there. I'm aware he's a billionaire who doesn't eat anywhere unless it's a five-star restaurant, but can't he sometimes slum it like the rest of us mortals? So, I couldn't eat McDonald's because Christian doesn't like McDonald's. Who in their right mind doesn't like McDonald's? He wouldn't even try a McFlurrry.
Anyway, I ended up with three different pasta dishes from the Fairmont Olympic and I could barely swallow any of them. What a waste of money. And food. I picked at the dishes, confided in Christian that the anxiety meds and anti-depressant have helped kill my appetite. This news nearly brought the big CEO to a breakdown.
He told me how helpless he's felt since my attack and it gets worse every day since no one can find Jack Hyde or Leila Williams. He said he felt impotent, and I began to laugh at the thought of Christian being impotent. That caused the Grey glower. We spent the night reassuring each other that everything was going to turn out fine. I was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. The whole damn world was going to be fine.
But I don't feel fine. The last few days have been a bitch. I physically don't feel well. I'm exhausted and when I do try to eat, I get nauseous. Having gray eyes watch every bite you try to take doesn't help an appetite either.
I canceled my appointment with Dr. Powell because I honestly feel like dog shit. It's a shame, because my emotions are smeared all over this penthouse. I'm anxious and want to hide in a closet. I'm angry because everyone is tip toeing around me and the depression that I now admit that I have, makes me want to lock myself in the laundry room and cry while the dryer is on so no one can hear me. I'm on an emotional rollercoaster I envisioned rolling up all those feelings and tossing them down an embankment – one that would crack like my skull did.
Christian is going out of his mind because he doesn't know what to do with me. He can't force me to eat and that makes him mental. Personally, I know that he's already mental. He doesn't want me to leave the penthouse because of the psych ward patients that are out there, somewhere, lurking. I seriously think Christian should be on a anti-depressant.
Sawyer, bless that man's heart, follows me around the apartment. He even refused to take his weekend off so he could keep an eye on me, but I threw a fit on him and forced him to go. Prescott, on the other hand, could go to Mars and I'd buy her the ticket. There's something about the woman that I don't trust. At first, I just didn't like her. She annoyed me when she grabbed my elbow and would lead me to a vehicle. I can tell that she doesn't like me either. Maybe that's why I no longer trust her. If I had to go somewhere with her and it would just be the two of us, I'd refuse to go. I've kept that to myself, though. The minute I said I didn't like her, Christian would fire her, and then I'd feel bad because I know that she helps support her mother, who lives in Portland.
I'm the only person who doesn't like or trust someone, and also feels bad to think of them losing their much-needed job. Kate's always said that I'm too nice and trusting for my own good and this is a prime example.
No matter how badly I feel or how haggard I look, I'm sitting in a chair in my dressing area being dolled up by Make-up Barbie and Fix My Hair Barbie. It's Grace's sixtieth birthday party and there's no turning it down. I'm not sure Make-up Barbie has enough concealer to cover up the dark circles under my eyes. I've never been one to wear make-up, so I feel like my face is being shellacked. Even though it felt like she was applying a ton of goo on my face, it doesn't look like it. In fact, I like it.
Fix My Hair Barbie is blowing out my hair straight. Since they decided I'd wear a strapless gown, they said my long hair should cover my back modestly. I say they decided what gown I'd wear because they went into my closet and brought out a silver, strapless gown, held it up for me, and I just shrugged. The grey stilettos are no doubt doing to be the death of me, so that's why I'm going to sit at the table all night. I'd already decided about that. I'm fully aware that Seattle's elite are going to be searching for Christian Grey's post-coma girlfriend. So, I'm not circulating that crowd. It'll be like throwing myself into a shark tank.
Let the vultures come to me.
Hopefully, I can end this night early, especially since I'm going to feel like a sitting duck with Hyde or Williams possibly lurking behind a bush. Christian keeps reassuring me that Taylor and his security team will be crawling all over his parents' property and that I'll have 'close body protection' around me at all times. I already know that I'm still going to feel exposed and afraid and that I'll probably have a terrible panic attack.
Thank God, Ray accepted his invitation and will be there. Dad calms me, and being told to relax a hundred times a day has gotten old. It also doesn't help, because relaxing isn't possible for me. Months have passed since all of this shit began, and both lunatics still haven't been found. How can anyone expect me to relax?
I don't understand how Christian is dealing with the search for Hyde and Williams, running GEH, and fretting over me every second of every day, without losing his mind. He's the king of multi-tasking and compartmentalizing different aspects around him. All the more reason Christian Grey confounds me. He's a dichotomy.
Two hours later, the woman staring back at me isn't Ana Steele. I've got to give it to the Barbie's – they know their shit. My face is flawless - no dark circles in sight. Instead, my blue eyes are wrapped in silver eyeshadow and matching eyeliner; they are shining.
Make-Up Barbie kept my lipstick an understated nude color. Hair-Barbie gathered some strands of hair from both sides of my head, braided them, and left them to hang down with my now straightened hair. I have to admit that I love it. There's no telling how much Christian paid them.
After finishing me off, both women hurry out of my dressing area, and Christian steps in. He looks beautiful. I don't mean handsome, hot, or gorgeous. I mean beautiful, as in the epitome of beauty. The definition of beautiful in the dictionary should be a picture of Christian Grey. His dark copper unruly hair is calling out for me to run my fingers through it, even when I feel like yelling at him over McDonald's.
He's wearing a black dinner suit with a black bow tie, and he's staring at me, smiling. I haven't seen him genuinely smile in days. Christian meets me in the middle of the room and hands me my silver wrap and clutch purse. The clutch only contains my tube of lipstick and the bottle of Ativan.
"No woman has ever been as beautiful as you," he whispers.
"Thank you." I smile in spite of myself. "You look very handsome yourself."
"Compliments will get you everywhere with me, Miss Steele. I'm happy you decided to wear the sapphire earrings. Not only do they look good with your gown, they also make your eyes glow."
"Again, thank you. I'm coming to believe that you enjoy spoiling me."
"You would be correct. I've made spoiling you my life's mission." Christian takes my hand.
"Let's go find your father," he says.
Our posse of Audi SUV's pull up at Grace and Carrick's home around nine. We're an hour late, all due to Christian forcing Taylor to go over his security strategy for the umpteenth time. From what little I was able to discern, the perimeter of the entire property will be covered with security team members, along with two-dozen posing as guests. As we exit the vehicle, we are immediately surrounded by Taylor in the front, Sawyer, and Prescott on either side of me and Christian, with Ryan and some man named Reynolds behind Ray. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd be laughing at the sight of us – we must look ridiculous. I don't believe any world leader has this much 'close body protection'."
Dad told Christian he didn't need anyone to protect him and said that he'd beat the shit out of anyone that tried to touch him. Christian didn't heed my father's words; he's engulfed by men carrying firearms, although I'd bet money that Ray is a better shot than any of Taylor's guys, and perhaps, Taylor himself.
I told Kate that Mia planning Grace's party would end up as a three-ring circus and I was correct. This is a gala. An extravaganza.
A pergola, long, and blush in color, serves as the entry way to a massive heated tent, each of its four sides is covered with pale pink peonies. It's already littered with congregations of Seattle's elite. The shiny floor is the same blush color of the pergola, and I wonder if the hue is Grace's favorite color or Mia's.
There are ice sculptures, a stage for a big band, a bar, and too many tables for me to count. Looking up, I see that the ceiling is covered in balloons – some that are blush, and the others are white. It's ostentatious and tasteful at the same time. I'm grateful that Ray is with us, though he looks as overwhelmed as I feel. Christian keeps his hand gently placed on the small of my back, leading our way, and introduces my father to a few men who greet us. Christian is reserved and polite with them, and that's the telltale sign that he doesn't like them. I'm grateful that he hasn't introduced me to anyone, although they're pointedly staring at me. That's probably why Christian isn't introducing me. I'm surprised that either he or my father hasn't punched anyone yet.
I just want to leave already.
Scowling, Dad takes a glass of proffered champagne. Despite my mood, l can't help but laugh, because he only drinks beer. He refers to any other form of alcohol as 'the drink of a pussy'. Mia promised she'd ordered his favorite beer, so I'm sure he'll be served one once we find our table.
I'm not allowed to mix anti-depressants with alcohol, so I politely decline servers. I note that Christian didn't take a glass either. He guides us to a large table, deep in the center of the tent. It's where the entire Grey family, and both sets of Christian's grandparents are sitting. We're at the same table, and I'm between Dad and Christian. Kate is by Elliot and the chair beside Ethan is empty. I assume that's where Mia will be sitting.
Carrick looks annoyed, and when we reach the table, he raises an eyebrow at Christian; he must be pissed that we're late for Grace's party. Christian looks at him impassively.
Greetings and pleasantries are hurriedly exchanged. I'm embraced, and then passed along to another pair of waiting arms. We sit, and as Mia promised, a bottle of Ray's favorite beer is placed in front of him. I'd thank her but she's nowhere in sight.
Grace looks beautiful as always. Tonight, she's wearing a dark red gown, her sandy-blonde hair is swept up in a chignon, that allows the long ruby earrings she's wearing to be on prominent display. I bet they cost more than a luxury car.
Carrick and Grace are so down to earth that I forget how wealthy they are. The same goes for Elliot- the big kid with muddy boots. Underneath those boots is a serious businessman that owns a multi-million-dollar construction company. I still don't understand how I ended up among all this otherworldly wealth.
Looking around, I notice that we're on the side of the table facing the guests and two exits. That has Taylor written all over it. Ryan and Reynolds disappear into the crowd, but Sawyer and Prescott sit at a table directly beside us. I don't know where Taylor is.
"Happy Birthday, Grace. You look lovely," I say, standing, and hugging her tightly. She smells of lavender.
She pulls back and looks me over, grinning broadly. Grace does not look like a woman who's turning sixty.
"Thank you, sweet girl. You're just gorgeous," she replies.
"Only because your son hired professionals to get me ready. They even chose this gown and jewelry that I'm wearing."
"Well, you don't need make-up or a fancy gown to look beautiful. You're a natural beauty," she says and kisses my cheek.
Kate, who knows I hate compliments and don't know how to respond to them, must have heard Grace, because she rushes to my side. She's a vision in a slinky green dress that matches the color of her eyes. Her long hair is pulled up in a high pony tail, and I'd hate to know how much the diamond solitaires in her ears cost.
"Oh, Grace, you're right. Our Ana doesn't need to waste her money on make-up. I wish that I could say the same; it takes me half an hour to put on my face." She abruptly pulls me away and I mouth thank you. She flashes me a full-on Katherine Kavanagh smile; this woman knows me so well, but that doesn't mean we're not going to be having a discussion.
Soon.
"Come on, Ana, let's sit," Kate says. She leads me around the table, gives Ray a big hug, and then talks him into switching seats with her, so now he's seated beside Elliot.
I'm glad she's beside me, even though Christian told me to follow his lead with the mass of silver and glassware before us. Now that I'm between him and Kate, I'm almost sure it's guaranteed that I won't fuck this up.
"OK, Miss Kavanagh, you've got to help an old man out when it comes to eating with the right fork tonight. I only use one at home," Ray tells her.
"No worries, Ray. I've got your back. I think all of these utensils and glasses are silly. One fork and one glass are all I need, too," she whispers to Ray.
I suspect she's whispering because she doesn't want to offend the Grey and Trevelyan families.
Seated safe and sound between Christian and Kate, I take in my lavish surroundings and the mass of impeccably dressed bodies. The setting down right intimidates me and reminds me of how I felt whenever I would attend events such as this with Kate and her family.
Every table is drenched in pale, blush pink, and decorated as beautifully as the interior. The table has an enormous centerpiece of flowers and lit candles. Christian's grandparents are out of view, but I can still hear Grace's mother talking with her. I'm jealous that Christian has such a large family that gets along so well with one another. Growing up an only child, and one of divorce was a lonely existence. I won't dwell on my vagabond adolescence due to my mother. God, I love her, but I craved stability, not her flighty and nomadic lifestyle that I now vehemently resent.
Hence, the fact that I consider my step-father my only parent. Mom is more like my sister; a sister that I only see a few times a year. However, when the time comes for me to be a mother, I will definitely have more than one child. I'd never want a child of mine to be as lonely as I was.
I'm jolted from my thoughts by a voice addressing me. It's coming from down the table and I believe it's Grace's mother.
"Ana, dear, how are you feeling? I heard you had a rough week."
Yes, it's Mrs. Trevelyan, and her loud voice has just told the tables closest to us that I haven't been feeling well.
"Mother, Ana's fine. She's been tired from her and Christian's stay in New York," Grace tells her, thankfully, her voice is low.
"Christian and Ana went to New York?" her mother asks. Her voice is louder than before.
I try to remember if it's her, or Carrick's mother who is hard of hearing. My money is now on Mrs. Trevelyan.
"Yes, mother."
I don't want Grace to say we went to New York two months ago, because her mother will probably make a remark about how I should be looking well by now.
I don't feel like having my health, or any other aspect of my life loudly discussed around strangers. The idea annoys me, so I try to distract myself by taking in my surroundings again.
I'm beginning to feel queasy and I dread what that may bring on. Christian has draped an arm around the back of my chair, rubbing circles on my back, while listening to the now present Mia, tell him the flavor of each layer of Grace's birthday cake; all six layers.
He's telling her she's crazy for having such a cake, and then gives her a lecture on how much of it will go uneaten, and what a waste of food it will be. So, she goes on about him not being any fun.
So, it begins. . .
"I see that Grey re-hired your old CPO," Kate has leaned close to whisper in my war. She drains her glass of champagne.
"What?" I softly mutter.
She raises an eyebrow, knowingly.
"It figures the mogul wouldn't tell you. It's Parson. Look to your right. He's four tables down - the hottie sitting on the far end. He has a great ass, but was always a pain in ours. He's the one who was your CPO the night Hyde attacked you."
"No, Christian didn't tell me. I know that this place is crawling with security, but I don't know anything about that Parson guy being re-hired. He looks nice"
Kate grimaces. "Nice? Steele, you would look at him that way, but you flipped your shit when Christian said you had to have security with you all the time. I wonder why Grey re-hired him."
Thinking about needing any type of security is beginning to bother me, and I recognize the anxiety blooming in my gut. I feel a faint sheen of sweat forming on my back. Attempting to shed the feeling of impending doom isn't working.
"No clue. Maybe I should go over and thank him for saving my life."
"You're not going anywhere, Anastasia," Christian murmurs, glaring at Kate. He heard our conversation. "Now isn't the time or place to be discussing this, Kate."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Being an eavesdropper doesn't look good on you, Grey."
"Why did you re-hire him?" I inquire, genuinely interested.
It's usually one strike and you're out when it comes to Christian.
"Not now, Anastasia," he replies.
Oh, he's calling me Anastasia. I roll my eyes.
He's looking everywhere but at me, and I don't appreciate being blown off. This is just another damn reason I don't want to be here and a reason to be angry at Christian.
"Oh, it would be now, if I didn't mind embarrassing your family. This is one discussion we will finish," I say over the top of my glass of sparkling water.
I feel nauseous. My face feels warm like I'm flushing, but there are too many reasons for me to guess why it's happening. I should throw up in his lap.
He doesn't reply, and Kate, probably feeling the rising tension, opens her mouth and asks the question I'm fucking sick of hearing.
"Are you OK, Steele?"
"Yeah, I'm good. Tired, but otherwise, good."
I don't want to talk about how I feel or how I'm fucking doing.
"How many of those have you had?" I gesture at her empty champagne flute with my chin.
Anything to draw attention away from me. She tosses her head and hits me in the face with her pony tail.
"Just two, Mom. Speaking of mother's, did you see mine when you were making your way in?" she asks me.
"No. Why?"
"She's been on my ass about living with Elliot," she whispers.
"I thought your parents loved him."
"Oh, they do, but out of nowhere they're constantly bringing up our age difference."
"Nine years, right?" I ask. "Why is the age difference an issue now?"
Kate looks around us. "Well, on New Year's Eve, Elliot got smashed with Dad and Ethan. He started running off at the mouth about being ready for marriage and kids. Mother nearly had an aneurysm. So, all week, the only shit I've heard is that we need to slow things down." She hisses in my ear. "We've been together for eight months, basically living together for the entire time, and now she's on my ass about taking things slowly."
She holds up her empty glass at a server and grabs another one. Jesus, she'll be drunk before the first course.
"Don't you think that's stupid?" she asks me.
"It doesn't make sense that they no longer approve of you living together, but I understand their concern about the two of you getting married and having children. God, Kate, you're only twenty-two, and your career is taking off. Do you honestly believe that you're ready to be a mother? I ask. "Where's the Katherine Agnes Kavanagh who swore off marriage until she was thirty?"
"I left her in Harborview," she replies, sounding dead serious.
Turning in my seat to fully face her, I twist my mouth, raise my hand and use it to lower the glass of champagne that she's bringing to her lips.
"What does that mean?"
As if I don't know what she's going to say.
Irritation is brightly flaring.
"It means that you nearly dying on me has made me look at life differently. You only live once, and you don't know what could happen, or when. Life's too short, Ana." She goes on like I don't know that.
"I don't want to squander a minute of time that I could be living with Elliot." She continues. "I also don't want to die having regrets. Seriously, you should be thinking along the same lines. I'd marry Elliot in a heartbeat, and I might not feel ready for kids right now, but who is to say that I won't be in six months? Life's too precious…You taught me that lesson being in a coma, Steele."
"Well, I'm thrilled my near-death experience gave you a come to Jesus moment. You're blaming me for your newfound outlook on life?" I reply, my voice full of sarcasm.
Fuck, irritation. I'm getting pissed.
"No, I didn't have a come to Jesus moment, Ana. I'm giving you credit for how I now feel." Kate leans over, smiling, and downs the champagne. She missed my sarcasm.
I want to strangle her.
Drunk Kate is rapidly approaching, and drunk Kate gets on my nerves.
"Whatever," I reply sardonically. I'm trying to whisper so no one else hears our conversation.
The voices and laughter around us is deafening.
"You're cut off of the bubbly, Kate. I'm not in the mood to hold your hair back while you hurl into your Louboutins."
Does she think I'm supposed to be honored that my near-death experience has her wanting a rock on her finger and pushing out a baby? Because I'm not. I'm really, really not.
"What are you two ladies discussing?" Christian turns his attention back to us, looking at me intently.
"Getting married and having kids," Kate replies, then throws her head back, laughing.
"Who is getting married and having children?" he hesitantly asks. He pales.
His reaction makes Kate laugh louder. "Hell, Grey, you're as white as that little ghost, Casper, or whatever his name is. Chill out. I was just telling our Ana that her nearly dying on us changed my view on life."
I watch Christian visibly relax. We've never discussed children. Well, in the 2.0 version of our relationship, anyway. Based on his reaction, he must not want any. I wonder if we ever discussed that subject because I definitely see children in my future.
Shaking my head, I know my mouth must be a thin white line. I love how our discussion at a birthday party is about me nearly dying. What a great conversation starter, Kate.
Now I want no part of her either. God, these two have me fuming, and I feel sweat rolling down my back. My heart is beginning to pound out of my chest and my legs are itching.
"Excuse me, but the person who nearly died on you is present, and she doesn't enjoy hearing that her ordeal was so beneficial for anyone, OK?" I say, louder than intended. "In case you've forgotten, I nearly died . . . not you, Kate . . . not Christian . . . I'm the person who was nearly killed." I take a deep breath. "I. Was. Almost. Killed. Dead. Lights. Out. And, Kate, I don't appreciate you saying that I 'nearly died ON' anyone. You do know that everything isn't always about you, right?" I blow out a deep breath, push my seat back, and stand. Ray is staring at me and giving Kate a dirty look.
My boyfriend and best friend look at me, startled. At the same time, they both touch one of my arms. I pull away and shrug off my wrap. I feel terribly hot and sick to my stomach. I've got to get the hell out of here.
"Anastasia? What are you doing?" asks Christian, quietly. He scowls at Kate.
"God, why does everyone keep asking me that?" I hiss under my breath. "I need to use the restroom. Is that all right with you? Is that fine with you, Kate?"
"Ana…" I don't hear what else Kate says because I'm quickly stomping away from the table.
I'm surprised I'm walking so well in these heels. I'm clueless as to where I'm going. I'm walking, and weaving my way between tables. Well-dressed bodies are just a blur.
I sense Sawyer and Prescott by my side before I see them.
Fuck. Fuck.
"I can't even go to the bathroom alone?" I bite at Prescott.
I don't even know where I'm going, I'm just rushing to find where we entered the tent. I need fresh air.
"Mr. Grey prefers we accompany you, Miss Steele," she answers.
"Anastasia, where are going?" Christian's voice is in my ear. He's caught up with me and takes me by the elbow.
I'm angry, and by looking at him, so is he. I glare at him. His jaw tenses; I know he isn't happy with me, right now. But I'm not happy with the world. Why did he even think I should be here? Surely, Grace would have understood if I'd stayed at home.
"I need the powder room. That is what the elite call a bathroom, isn't it?" You, and the rest of the one percent," I say unkindly.
He furrows his brow at me, puzzled. He momentarily gazes at me like I'm a three-headed monster, or perhaps Medusa.
Christian snaps out of it and looks around us. The party is at full speed, and no one seems to have noticed my attempted maniacal escape, or the staring contest Christian Grey is having with his girlfriend - in the middle of the three-ring circus that his sister planned.
He lowers his six-foot-two frame to look directly in my eyes. Even in stilettos, I don't reach Christian's shoulders.
"You can use the one in the house. Come," he tells me, taking my hand and leading me to an exit at the opposite end of the tent.
As we walk, countless men stop us, shaking Christian's hand, and trying to engage him in conversation. He is curt and succinct with his replies, but none of the men seem to be surprised. They must be familiar with the asshole CEO side of him. But I want none of these pointless exchanges. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian's hold, but he only tightens it. I stare up at him, blankly. Inwardly, I'm concurrently fuming and feeling like passing out.
He leads us out of the tent, and the cool air hits my face. I breathe it in deeply. We're on the lawn, close to a set of French doors. It's chilly, and Christian quickens his steps so we can escape the drizzling rain.
Suddenly, I realize that Taylor and Reynolds are at our sides – followed by Sawyer and Prescott. The French doors open up to reveal the living room. Once inside, our security scatters, and Christian leads us to the foyer, where I recognize the polished staircase that leads to his childhood bedroom. We ascend three floors before we reach it. He opens the door, ushers me into the room, and flips on the light.
"Would you like to share what's going on, Anastasia?" he quietly asks, not moving from the door.
I don't answer and stalk into the room's bathroom, shutting the door behind me. In the large mirror over the sink, I take a hard look at myself. Despite my make-up, I'm paler than usual, save bright flushed cheeks. Fanning myself with one hand, I use my other to lift my long hair off of my back in the hopes of cooling down. I take a deep breath and grab a hand towel. Turning on the sink's faucet, I wet the towel with cold water, and place it around my neck. I sit on the closed toilet seat and take slow, deep breaths.
Christian raps on the door. "May I come in?" he asks.
"Why are you asking me? It's your bathroom."
He opens the door, a frown on his face. He cautiously approaches me, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few paces towards me before he stops.
"Ana, what's wrong?" he asks softly.
I close my eyes and swallow.
"Everything," I answer, shaking my head.
When I open them, I see that Christian has squatted down beside me, and is resting on the balls of his feet so we're at eye level. He is scrutinizing me, and he looks utterly lost.
"Care to expound?" His voice is low and soft.
"Not really," I reply.
He reaches out and takes the wet towel from me, rubbing it on throat. My heart is pounding as I stare in his serious gray eyes.
"Please?" His sincerity is palpable.
Frowning, I blow a long breath in his face.
"I don't want to be here, Christian. I'm a ball of nerves and wrought with anxiety, and don't you dare suggest I take an Ativan. I'm hot and sweaty and I feel sick. I don't feel like I fit in here. This is your world, Christian, not mine. Everything else…" My words trail off, and I push his hand away.
"What's everything, Ana? I'm at a serious disadvantage here."
Pulling me up with him, he leads me to the bed.
"Rest if you don't feel well. I can get my—"
I interrupt the words that are about to escape his mouth.
"You are not getting your mother, Christian. It's her birthday party, for God's sake."
He sighs, sitting beside me on the bed.
"We can leave. Mom will understand that you're ill," he tells me.
"No, I'm staying. We aren't leaving. This is a big deal for your mother and I want to be here for her. I just need to get my shit together. You and Kate made me angry, and I already felt awful. I'm tired of everyone asking how I'm doing."
Christian's forearms are resting on his knees, he's looking at the floor.
"Just tell me how I can help you? I love you, and this is killing me," he says.
"You can't. Look, I know that I'm all over the place, Christian, and I'm really trying to keep it together, hell, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping it together," I tell him.
"You're doing a great job keeping it together. I'm so proud of you." His expression is pained.
I sigh. "Everything is exhausting. I'm just so tired, Christian."
His expression softens.
"Why did you hire Parson back?" I blurt out of nowhere.
He groans, and rubs his hands down his face.
"Do we really have to get into this right now? He groans, and rubs his hands down his face. I wanted you to have fun, not discussing all of that shit," he replies.
"Christian, I really do want to know. I've heard how you nearly killed the man before firing him. So, what's he doing downstairs wearing an ear piece?"
"You saw the ear piece?" He's stifling a laugh.
"Who in the hell didn't? Can't Taylor find smaller ones for his guys to wear?"
Now, he does laugh and pulls me close to him.
"Baby, you'd have to ask him. I pay him to be in charge of all of the security. I don't oversee it."
"So, you won't tell me? Maybe I want to thank him for saving my life?"
"Baby, I don't want to talk about all of that shit tonight. I want you to be carefree."
"How can you possibly expect me to be carefree? Hell, I live in apprehension, just waiting for some loon to jump out from behind a corner and grab me."
Christian runs both of his hands through his hair. I predict that he'll be bald by thirty.
"Taylor re-hired Parson because he accompanied you to SIP when Sawyer couldn't. Parson, like Sawyer, were the only two who are familiar with the way Hyde walks, his mannerisms and body type. Taylor thinks that Sawyer and Parson are the ones who could easily spot him. I agreed, and re-hired him because it would be better for two guys familiar with him than one." He says, stroking my neck. "Don't get pissed off, but he's been tailing Sawyer and Prescott, too. Before you go off on me, it's in case Hyde is following you. Hence, he'd be following you even with security present, and Parson would spot him."
Christian looks like a man headed to the gallows, however, he shouldn't, his decision is rational, and I understand it.
I smile and squeeze his hand. "I'm not angry. It's a smart move and one that I appreciate. Hopefully, that will ease my fears a little bit. Thank you for protecting me, Christian."
I kiss his cheek and run my knuckles down his cleanly shaven face. Watching his body relax and expression soften proves that he's carrying a heavy burden.
How can I put up a fight when it comes to allowing him to keep me safe?
I can't.
"I would move the moon and the sun to make sure that you're safe, Anastasia. There isn't a single reason for me to exist if you ever leave me. I love you beyond reason," he breathes.
"I love you, too. And I don't care if I ever recall a single thing, as long as we're together now."
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Ana. That's the God's honest truth. Don't ever doubt that." He kisses the palm of my hand.
"Never." I smile at him and quickly kiss his lips.
"Can I tell you something?" I ask.
Of course." Christian nods.
"I have a theory about this Jack Hyde," I reply.
Christian continues to nod and I keep talking.
"We know that he's a disgusting piece of shit who hurts women, and that in itself, makes me sick. But I don't think the fact that he's a sexual predator that preys on women, makes him a killer who is out there waiting for a second chance at getting his hands on me. I'm not saying that the thought of him doesn't scare me shitless, I'm just saying that I don't think he's out to kill me." I square my shoulders so he knows that I'm serious. "I don't believe he's in hiding, biding his time until he finds me vulnerable and on my own. Now, I don't know what happened the night he attacked me, but I have a theory."
"What is it?" Christian asks.
"I actually don't believe he was trying to rape me." Christian frowns at me. "No, listen. Why would he have thought he could get away with raping me while there were other employees in the building?"
"Anastasia, who knows if Hyde was aware those women were still in the building? That's the question no one can answer. Has that ever crossed your mind?" he asks.
I've never thought about that. It makes sense. But I still haven't finished telling Christian what I think about Jack Hyde.
"Just listen to the rest of my theory. I think that he's left Seattle to escape being arrested. I think he's long gone and we won't see his face again."
Christian's body has tensed and he's narrowed his eyes, although he looks angry, I don't think his anger is directed at me.
"That's plausible, but no one, myself included, is willing to lower their guard when it comes to Hyde. I don't mean to frighten you, Anastasia; I just want you to realize Hyde's a sick fuck, one that I'll never allow the opportunity to put his hands on you again." I nod and say nothing. "And I'm going to hunt him down to the ends of the earth and make him suffer for what he did to you," he finishes, his voice low and serious.
He kisses me chastely and we stare at each other in silence for a long time because there's really nothing to say.
"Let's go back to the party. Everyone is probably wondering where we are. Plus, I want you to have fun and be happy,"
"Happy," I murmur. The word falls flat on my tongue. Am I happy?
We're trapped in silence, and the longer it drags on, Christian's expression becomes one of alarm. He takes hold of my chin and pushes my head up. His eyes are wide and fearful.
"Anastasia, you are happy, aren't you?" he breathes.
That's a million-dollar question. God knows I ask myself that very same thing every day.
We're staring into one another's eyes, but my eyes aren't focused, so I'm not seeing him at all. My mind is elsewhere.
Am I happy? Have I been happy since I woke up in a hospital room with two doctors by my side, and a nurse barking at me? I've had happy moments since then. I've had happy days. I've spent time with people I love, and those who love me, but did those times make me happy? Sometimes, I feel like the time I spend with others is just bearable.
Am I happy?
I don't fucking think I am. People keep telling me that I was happy after meeting Christian, and I've seen proof of it. I've watched videos of the two of us, and that couple looks happy. But am I happy now? I haven't been tonight. I haven't been all week. Oh, shut up, mind.
"No." I said it, and I said it out loud. Mother fucker, I said it out loud.
Christian looks crestfallen, and his hand falls from my chin, landing dully between us.
"You aren't happy being with me? Do you still love me, Anastasia?" I can barely hear him speaking.
Sighing, I put my head on his shoulder, careful not to get make-up on his dinner jacket. I take his hand back and hold it tightly.
"Yes, I love you, Christian. I am in love with you, and knowing that you feel the same, makes me happy. I'm happy when I'm in your arms, and when it's just the two of us." I stop, trying to find words that fit my thoughts.
"But do I think my life is even-keeled, or even has a purpose that I'm proud of? No, I don't. And I think a person who is truly happy has to feel that way. I'm not saying that my life is miserable, I'm just saying that while I have happy moments and happy days, generally, I'm not happy. Don't think it has anything to do with you or reflects shit to our relationship because it doesn't. What happened to me may be why I feel so unsettled. I'm just present in my life. I think that I'm missing a puzzle piece. I'm not referring to my memories, I'm talking about something bigger than those. Actually, I'm debating if I even care if I remember anything. I just don't know. I just don't know anymore." My voice is hoarse and quiet.
"You're scaring the shit out of me, Ana. What should I do? What can I do to make you happy?" he asks me, his chin is quivering. "Tell me, I'll do anything."
Placing a finger to his lips, I shake my head. My eyes are beginning to water. Bless this man.
He's trying so hard, and I'm beginning to think I'm going crazy; I'm beginning to think I'm too broken to meet him halfway.
"Shh, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm in love with you, Christian. There isn't anything you can do. This isn't about you—"
He roughly pulls away. He looks incredulous. Puzzled. Angry. "The fuck it isn't! We're in this life together, Ana. If you aren't happy, then I'm not making you happy."
"Christian, calm down. Please, don't make this about you, or us, please. I can't nail down why I feel this way. I'm just out of sorts and don't feel fulfilled. I want to work, or get out more. I'm always in the penthouse," I explain to him.
"Fuck no, you aren't going back to work," he loudly exclaims. "The fuck you will. The last time you had a job, you had a lecherous boss that you never told me about, and he nearly killed you! Do you realize if you'd have told me about Hyde that we wouldn't be having this conversation?"
I jump to feet and loom over his angry face. He's grinding his teeth together and tearing at his hair.
"Are you fucking blaming me for what happened? Is that what you think, Christian? You really think that?" I yell at the top of my lungs.
Christian blames me for being attacked? He jumps to his feet and yanks his bow tie off. Fists are clenched and his body vibrating. His face is set in pain.
"For fuck's sake, Ana, of course, I don't! I didn't mean to say it. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. Baby, I've never blamed you, I never would, please believe me," he pleads with me, his eyes are beginning to water. "Please, forgive me, please, please, forgive me for implying that."
"W-Why would you say that then? Have you ever thought that I could have prevented this from happening?" I ask.
My heart's hammering – yet, I stay firm. Still, tears begin to flow down my face.
Christian grabs me, pulling me to his chest roughly, and burying his face in my hair. My arms are dangling by my side, and even when I feel his body shudder from crying, I still don't have the want to comfort him.
Saying nothing, I remain stock still, while he uses my hair to hide his pain. He pushes himself back and grabs hold of the sides of my head. Tears are pouring down his beautiful face, and I can see shame burning in his gray eyes.
"I don't know why I said it. Maybe because your words hurt me because I'm devastated and have been since September. I already feel helpless, baby, and now you're telling me that you aren't happy. I'm at a loss, Ana, I want you to remember…I want to tell you. I honest to God want you to remember. The only time I've felt momentarily angry with you over Hyde assaulting you was the night of the attack, and that's when Kate told me how Hyde had been treating you." He takes a breath and shudders.
"I felt out of control and I didn't understand why you hadn't told me about Hyde. But I have never, ever thought you brought all of this to happen. Never, Ana."
Every ounce of anger, irritation, and unease begins to slowly evaporate like air leaking from a balloon. There's no way this man would blame me, he's too quick to blame himself for everything. I know that he's sincere because I can see the sincerity glowing in his eyes. His expression is one of torture. Does he always look tortured?
Oh, how this fresh hell is tearing us both into pieces. It is undermining our relationship, our connection. Neither of us asked to be overcome by this hurricane, but it's sapping all of our strength, and we can't figure out a way to fight it.
Something much bigger is attempting to sever our coupling, and I don't want to allow it to happen.
Fuck thinking that every day should be full of happiness and sunshine. I know that's impossible.
Fuck whether or not I remember jack shit. I'm all too aware that I probably won't.
What I am aware of, is that only Christian Grey can jerk my heart strings, and make my blood bubble. He's the only man who torments himself over the fact he can't control what I'm going through, how I am admittedly suffering. He's suffering too.
Christian wants me to remember him because I loved him the way that he was, and I feel his fear, even if I'm still not sure of what he's afraid of.
We stand, facing one another, staring in each other's eyes. I clearly recall the first time I saw these beautiful gray eyes. They made me long for something that I didn't know I wanted. I had no idea that the first time Christian saw mine, he thought I'd seen right through him.
I have to comfort him. Comfort myself.
I have to remind us both of the deep connection we have.
Pulling his head down, I smash my lips on his, tasting the salty tears on them. We're quickly all fingers and tongues, soft moans, and coarse breathing. I know that we should probably talk like adults, and not grope each other like teenagers, but I'm in too deep, and everything around us fades away.
Christian and I missed dinner, and very nearly missed Grace cut the cake. Thankfully, when we returned, despite everyone's curious glances, no one asked where we'd been. I shook my head when I saw a drunken Kate raise an eyebrow at me, and I didn't miss the concern etched on Ray and Grace's faces.
There are just times when two adults deserve to not be held accountable for their behavior. Tonight, is one of those times.
Later, Christian and I saunter to the bar and are joined by his siblings, along with Kate and Ethan. Kate's so drunk she's only able to sit on a bar stool because Elliot is holding her up. I look at him and shake my head. I'm so glad that I no longer have to deal with her when she gets like this.
Mia's also clearly riding a buzz, while the three men are soberly nursing bourbon. I'm sipping ginger ale.
"Congratulations, Mia, you made this night spectacular for your mother," I tell her. She's perched beside me. Even while sitting, Mia towers over me. She looks gorgeous tonight; she's all legs and a sequin blue gown.
"Do you really think so, Ana? I was afraid Mom wouldn't like it. Although she effortlessly throws huge charity events, her style is understated and she isn't interested in having a fuss made over her. You know that I'm the complete opposite of that." Mia stops to laugh at her own words. Her giggle is so infectious that I join her. "But I wanted to do something special for her. She seems to be enjoying herself, don't you think?"
"Absolutely. She hasn't stopped smiling all night; she even smiled when she cut that massive cake."
From the other end of the bar, I hear Kate snort. "You nailed it, Mia. I'm going to have you plan everything when Elliot and I get married."
Everyone's heads snap in her direction. Elliot's grinning like a fool and shrugs his shoulders.
"What?" Mia screeches. "Elliot Trevelyan-Grey, have you proposed to Kate and not told anyone?"
She's craning her neck to catch his eye and find Kate's left hand.
"He hasn't… yet!" Kate replies, in a voice so loud it pierces through me.
"Pipe down, Kavanagh. You're in public, for God's sake," Christian lowly grumbles. "Elliot, do something with your girlfriend."
"Pardon me, mogul, but you aren't a part of this conversation. This is between me and my future sister in-law," Kate drunkenly hollers.
"Katie girl, take it down a notch, OK? I don't want my mother coming over here and kicking our asses. Drink this water and chill," Elliot slides Kate a glass of water, and I watch her push it away.
A trashed Kate tries everyone's patience. And sanity.
"Ana, do you want to go? You look tired," asks Christian. He tucks me under his arm and kisses the top of my head.
"I'd be offended by your question if I actually wasn't tired, Mr. Grey. Don't you know you never tell a woman she looks tired?" I kid him, as I fight off my malaise.
"Seriously, Ana. I'm ready to cut out of here. I hate this shit," he whispers in my ear.
"No, whispering, Christian!" Mia butts in. "Just because you act like an old man doesn't mean that Ana has to behave like an old woman. Let her have some fun." Another loud shriek from Mia.
"Shut up, Mia," he playfully growls at her.
"No, you shut up!" she childishly retorts.
"Why don't the both of you shut the fuck up?" Elliot interjects.
I'm beginning to re-think my theory about only children. I'm also ready to go home and crawl under the covers.
"Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck," Mia loudly hisses. She's looking to the right of us all.
"What is it, babe?" Poor Ethan finally says something. Mia has ignored him most of the night.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Elliot asks, placing the glass of water back in front of his drunk girlfriend who ignores it.
"Look to your right. Fuck," Mia mutters, then downs her glass of red wine in one swallow.
Christian is set to open his mouth, probably to chastise Mia for swearing, but his eyes follow those of his siblings. He stiffens and tightens his hold on me. Throwing back his drink, he quickly turns his head back to me.
"Aw, fuck!" Elliot exclaims, not caring to lower his voice. "Why, Mia, why?"
I'm trying to see what all of the fuss is about, but Christian has me firmly implanted under his arm.
"You know why, El. I fucking had too. I just hoped we wouldn't have to deal with the bitch."
"Christ, I hate that bitch! My mother hates that bitch. Why is she coming over here?" Kate slurs, finally paying attention to the action around her.
"Probably to highjack money off our brother, as usual," Elliot answers Kate.
Now, my interest is really piqued. I curiously look up at Christian and extradite myself from his grasp to look for the reason that has Christian's siblings and my best friend in such a disgusted uproar.
"Ugh, I haven't seen her all night, thank you, baby Jesus. God, please let her pass us by without stopping," Kate groans.
Directly to the right, a tall blonde woman is walking directly to where we're all sitting. She's a beautiful, bottled blonde, her hair is a sleek, shiny bob. She's an older woman, maybe in her early fifties, and has a warm and beaming smile. Her strapless black gown hugs her body like a second skin. I'm surprised that anyone in such a tight dress can walk as quickly as she can.
The woman everyone around me hates is beside Elliot before I could blink while everyone else is swearing under their breath. It's almost funny.
"Hello, Elliot, Katherine," she says in a soft and pleasant voice. "I was leaving, but spotted all of you, and wanted to say hello."
Kate pointedly turns away from the woman heightening my interest. Elliot stands, but doesn't look pleased.
I note that both Ethan and Christian seem to have forgotten the ingrained gentlemanly manners I know they both have. Neither stood up to greet her. I guess Ethan doesn't like her either.
"Elena," he greets her, stiff and curt. She makes a show of air kissing both of his cheeks, and I hear Kate muttering the word 'bitch'.
"How are you, my dear? I haven't seen any of you in ages," she asks Elliot.
She seems nice and friendly. I don't understand the frosty reception. There's definitely a story here.
"We're all doing well, Elena, thank you," he replies, then sits back on the bar stool, and turns his back to her. I'm a taken aback. Usually, Elliot is the epitome of manners.
However, the blonde is unflappable and persists.
"Hasn't tonight just been wonderful? What a grand celebration for your mother. She looks thrilled," she says to no one in particular.
That's when I look away from the blonde. Standing in a corner, several feet away is Grace. Her eyes are locked on my boyfriend, and she's frowning. But the woman in black steps closer to the bar and I turn my attention back to her.
The woman's eyes flit over us and land on Mia. She moves closer to her – closer to me.
I inhale her strong perfume. It's nauseating and my stomach churns.
"Darling, you simply did a marvelous job with this party. I told Grace that you should consider being an event planner. You have the talent for it, and tonight, you've certainly set the bar for other events," she tells Mia.
A brief insincere smile flits on Mia's lips. Truthfully, it looks like a grimace.
"Thank you, Elena," her response is very curt, but the blonde doesn't seem to notice.
I vaguely hear Kate as she continues to softly mutter words that I can't make out, and Elliot is whispering for her to shut up.
I can't be positive of what they're saying, because all their voices have turned into a loud buzzing noise inside my head. I feel Christian's body shift as he slowly stands to greet the blonde, and the buzzing becomes louder and the left side of my body goes numb.
My stomach heaves, and I swallow back the vomit that I nearly spew. I know what is about to happen before it hits me.
The blinding pain hits the left side of my head as hard as any baseball bat could. It feels like my head explodes into a million little pieces.
I believe I whimper as I try to suck in some precious air. My eyes lose focus, and the left side of my body slackens.
The visual aura I've had with my previous headaches have always been a blinding white light. Yet, even as this pain takes over, I know this aura is different - it's red. I lose my sight and my legs go out, and I feel myself crumpling to the floor.
*Dear Readers: When you get angry at my Christian and his secrets, please remember CANON Christian. The end of Grey and Darker in CTG's POV is a desperate man with a secret. Cut him just a little slack for a bit longer.