My dear little broccolis💚💚💚

💚 So, this story is dedicated to two particular authors with whom I have briefly touched on those issues, and who make amazing stories. paleseptember10 & Krooela. Go check them out, you won't regret it.

💚I never could wrap my mind around the fact that an English literature major could miss any sort of sexual innuendos! I mean, you literally study the ways authors like Shakespeare, the Brontë & co's hid all their sexual frustrations in those books. If anything, she should have been the one making all the sex references and Christian should have been the one clueless. But anyway, this Ana won't be like that.

💚 Fallen Angel💚

How would have Christian Grey's life turned out if the Greys had intervened when Elena tried to sink her claws into him? Would he still be the same man as we know, or someone completely different ...

‼️Rated M - {Out Of Characters/All Human/Alternate Universe}‼️

‼️Romance/Angst/Drama/Lemons‼️

‼️AS/CG/The Greys/The Steeles/Jack Hyde/Elena Lincoln‼️

Chapter 3: Heaven-Sent (2,8K)

Christian's Pov

It has been thirteen years since Eric caught his wife on top of me and beat the shit out of her. As of today, Elena is still in jail, and Eric has never been charged for assault. She stayed vehement that she fell down the stairs, and the cops never really tried to look further into it since they were investigating her for something else entirely.

To be fair, I wasn't really aware of anything going on for a whole year, too happy to wallow in my self-pity and my self-loathing. But later, it came to my understanding that Eric and Carrick decided to dig deeper into Elena's past activities and gathered enough evidence to throw her in jail.

Eric wanted to kill her, and Carrick stopped her with the promise that she would pay much worse in jail. Apparently, I wasn't the first kid she lured into her room of torture. And yes, I said kid, boys and girls are the same for her. Eric is the one who dragged her to the dirt, not really caring about the fact that his name would be carried along with this kind of scandal.

And I am forever grateful that he never brought up my name. Since I was a minor at the time, he managed to play with the law, saying that I didn't have to testify, and he didn't have to give my name. And Carrick was his lawyer all along.

Apparently, when she was sentenced, 'someone' let slip in jail that she was here for paedophilia, and we all know what that means. I mean, inmates are famously known to have a zero-tolerance policy for this kind of crime.

Not that I actually care anymore. I went to see her shortly after I turned eighteen and it was … odd. I went with Elliott, who took a sadistic pleasure in seeing her beaten up. In fact, as we left, I'm pretty sure he paid off one of the guards, but as I said, I don't care anymore. I went to see her, to exorcise her out of me, and tell her to her face that she did not fix me, and just took advantage of my fucked-up state at the time.

Of course, this was something Martha had insisted on. Because honestly, why would I want to see that … bitch troll again. But as usual, Martha was right, it helped me feel better about myself.

Martha is my therapist. She was the one that Eric advised me, and I have kept her for all those thirteen years. She's a redhead who made me look in the mirror more than once for me to see things I liked or not. I won't lie, sessions with her weren't always great, but she always makes sure that I see things for what they are, unlike the countless other shrinks I've had in the past.

For instance, though it took her more than two years, she made me realise that what happened with Elena-bitch-troll was not my fault and that the harpy was the fucked up one. She even made me admit to myself that, yes, as ugly as it is to say, it was rape. Because, even if we forgo the age difference and the coercion, I didn't really want it, it was mostly to avoid what could happen.

Martha also made me realise that oh-miracle, I have a family who loves me for me, not just because they're stuck with me. It's the first thing she tackled on. And she got a lot of screaming and me throwing stuff in her office hurling at her that she knew nothing, but we got there in the end.

That resulted in some touching moments with everyone crying. Yeah, yeah, even me. I was still a kid, let's not linger on that.

We've also talked about my birth mother, Ella … Man, I was a troubled kid.

Martha did advise me to control my anger issues through sports, so Carrick and Grace installed a pool in the house, and all throughout my teenage years, I raced Carrick and Elliott in it. I mean, no one can touch me, right. Carrick also found me a boxing teacher that never touched me, and simply taught me via speech how to hit a bag. And to this day, I still swim weekly at my parents', and box daily in my place.

Now, I live at Escala and have been living there for three years. I clearly could have left the parents' nest earlier, but … as Martha said, I liked being surrounded with love and affection (yes, I'm rolling my eyes).

When I finished high school, I had no intention of going to uni. I've heard enough from Elliott to know it wasn't for me. This led to a huge argument with my folks. And we came to a compromise, I had a year to come up with a viable alternative, or I would get to Harvard the following year. So I asked Eric to help me out with the capital and started my own web company. Well, now it has expanded to media and marketing, but it started as small as that.

Eric is someone I actually get along very well with. I know that he's old enough to be my father, but he's who I considered being my best friend. I could say the same for Elliott, but Elliott is my brother, I consider him closer than a best friend.

To be honest, I don't have that many friends, but more acquaintances I've made at fancy dinners and banquets. In those ten years, it took to build my small empire, I didn't have time for that shit. I have my family, and Eric is close enough to us to be in that category as well.

And as for the other kind of human relationships … I've learned to thrive on my sexual frustration. I know that this is something bugging Martha because we still haven't overcome that. My touching issues. To this day, I still can't bear to be touched.

After countless hours talking about it, I think it's a mix of both the trauma of when I was a kid and the way the bitch used me. And Martha even had a sex therapist come in a few of our lessons, Django, who found a viable solution for me, so I'm okay with it.

Being sexually frustrated gives you a thrive and a focus quite powerful and that's why I am where I am today. That, and the fact that my family supported me when they saw that, despite of the money, I actually loved doing what I was doing.

But anyway, today is Monday, another busy day, and I am definitely not looking for my next appointment. Some interview for the newspaper of a school where I am supposed to give a speech at the upcoming graduation. I tried to get out of it, but the interviewer is the daughter of Kavanagh, and we are too entangled in each other's businesses for me to refuse this favour.

The appointment is in half an hour, and for a few seconds, my eyes are lost, fixated on the latest vase I made. Shortly after this whole Elena debacle, Eric took me to a pottery class and showed me the difference between weak and fragile. And poetry turned out to be very therapeutic, soothing and calming.

Since I live in an apartment I had to have an electric oven and it's not the same result as with traditional ovens, but it still does the work. And I usually spend my Saturday morning moulding things. I've made a whole tea set for Grace who was over the moon. It was my first act of love not motivated by anger (remember, I did admit I was a fucked up kid).

With a brusque inspiration, I get up and leave my office, informing Andrea to hold my calls as I go grab myself a coffee. I just want to walk a bit.

There aren't a lot of people in the coffee shop, but it's between rush hours, so it's expected. There is this brunette in front of me absentmindedly paying for her drink, her nose in her book. She turns, and I have to admit, I was too close to her. But as a reflex, fearing the collision of her body against my chest, I raised my hand, startling her and making her spill her steaming hot drink all over her blouse.

She presses her lips in a thin line, repressing a scream before deeply inhaling through her nose and looking from the mess to my eyes.

"Sorry," We both say at the same time, and … well, she's cute. Real cute. She has bright blue eyes, sticking out of her pale oval face just as much as her cheekbones do. She's young though, probably Mia's age, give or take a year or two.

She pinches her blouse away from her skin and rapidly fans it, in the ridiculous hope that it will dry, and I uselessly hand her my handkerchief as I tell her,

"Let me pay for the dry-cleaning."

"No, it's okay. Really. I should have looked where I was going. And my book is unscathed," She grins, showing the miraculously immaculate book before she turns on her heels and asks for another drink.

I get closer to the counter, and insist again, "At least let me pay for that."

She looks back at me, an eyebrow up as she lightly says, "Dude, it's just tea. It was hot and unpleasant, but now, it's forgotten."

She takes her drink, but before she can reach for her wallet, I gesture to the barista to debit her drink on me as I order a double espresso for myself. As if I'm going to let her pay for my mistake.

She shakes her head, but shrugs and takes her drink to go sit at a table by the window before opening back her book. Once my order is done and paid for, I go to her table and slip her my business card,

"So you can bill me the dry-cleaning."

The girl rolls her eyes at me, closing her book and marking her page with her thumb stuck between pages. "Seriously dude, I told you, I'm good. It's just going to leave a nasty stain on me for the rest of the day, and I'm pretty sure that every creep in Seattle will enjoy my impersonation of a wet shirt contest. But don't worry about that."

I know she's teasing. I mean, besides her tone, she is fucking smirking at me, but I don't think this is the slightest funny. I didn't think of that, but the blouse is pale blue, and with the liquid, slightly transparent, revealing her bra beneath.

"If you need a change of clothes," I start, but she keeps smirking at me, and pushes the card back to me as she naturally says,

"I know it might seem weird, but sometimes, people spill things. It's part of life."

This girl is not taking any sort of apology. What would Grace say?

"Let me at least treat you to a real coffee then. As an apology."

She laughs and raises her cup, indicating it to me as she says with sass, "I happen to have taste, mister."

"Clearly not," I retort, because she is in this small coffee shop, enjoying some cheap tea.

"Oh? Then what are you doing here? Don't dump on my cheap tea. It's still better than your terrible coffee." She grimaces looking at my double expresso, and I can't help the laugh that comes from me. She clearly looks disgusted by the content of my cup.

"To be honest, I am in between meetings, and I need the 'terrible coffee' to stay awake. But, I do know of a place that makes great tea."

"And I should go with you, because?" She trails, pretending to not understand the hidden invitation, though her eyes clearly show that she's making fun of me.

"Because I'm charming."

"Says every serial killer ever."

I keep my smile on. I do have to say that I'm surprised that she doesn't know me. It seems to be the norm now that when I meet a girl, she knows all about me … well, my fortune. And usually, they all try to sound posher than they already are. This girl clearly doesn't care. Just the way she's sitting, her feet tucked beneath her and curled in the armchair, never would I ever see a friend of Mia's sitting like that.

"Well, at least you know that you won't be bored."

"No. I'll be dead. I kind of like the idea of living, no matter how boring you think it might get. So … how about no?"

Once again, I slide my business card in her direction. Really, how is it so hard for a girl to accept one's apology? Does Elliott struggle that much every time he talks to a girl? In that case, I can understand why he doesn't bother with actual relationships!

She smiles at me, pushing back the card, and she tells me, "You know, you give off all kinds of red flags. Cocky, handsome, charming, can't take no for an answer … As I said, staying alive is good. I'll keep to my cheap tea and boring life."

I briefly frown, wondering if I actually give her serial killer vibes, but she's teasingly smiling. I think she likes this game she's playing with my nerves. Is this actually what girls do? Mentally torture poor guys trying to be nice?

"You know, I might start questioning your upbringing. Here I am trying to right a wrong like I've been taught, and you think it is serial killer behaviour … Were you raised by the Addams' family?"

This makes her laugh, and that tiny moment makes me sure that I am going to have this coffee with her. First, because it's purely genuine. It's not a forced laugh to thwart off unwanted attention, but a true and free laugh. second, because I want to see her laugh again like that.

"You know, the wrong has already been righted. You already paid for my tea. Thank you, by the way."

"Yeah, but then you mentioned the nasty stain. and the ogling by creeps. And what if you get sick? So many more wrongs to right."

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles at me, and she reaches for her bag, looking for a pen before she turns the card and looks down to write her number on it.

"Here you go, now fly off to your meeting Mr I-Look-Super-important-But-I-Still-Take-The-Time-To-Bother-Bystanders."

I laugh again and take my business card with her number on it. It doesn't escape me that she totally reversed the thing on me, because she can still ignore me, and I would have no way to contact her.

"Is this even your number?" I ask with suspicion, recalling the time in high school when Elliott got given the phone number of an angry Dad. I laughed a lot with Grace at the time, now … I wouldn't.

"Well, I guess the only way for you to find out is to contact me later."

"And you are?"

She hesitates for a brief second, "Stacie."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I'm an amazing survivor." She retorts, and I get up, nodding my head to her as I let her know my real name,

"Christian."

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

💚Your thoughts and opinions are always welcomed💚

💚 So, about the therapy ... I think that the character in the book that annoyed me the most was probably Flynn. First of all, how in the world has he never reported the actions of a paedophile to the police? What the heck? I just can't wrap my mind around it. That, plus the fact that he never tried to push Christian to confront his mommy issues (this is literally a running joke in this department, thanks to Freud). Oh, and are we going to talk about the fact that he socialises with his patients? Or the fact that he talks about his patients to other patients (ie Leila to Christian). I just ... Flynn really annoyed me in the books as you can tell because I feel he should have been anything but a shrink. But that's me. And Martha won't be like that.

💚 So now, we have a less broken Christian, though he still has some issues, but he working on them, and have overcome many of them. He has a normal and healthy relationship with his family that he sees on a weekly basis, and his lack of friends is something he wants, not something he has been brainwashed into ...

💚 And they met in different circumstances because I can't understand why in the name of what's holy Kate would have asked her best friend who was not involved in the paper to fill in, instead of stalking up on meds for the interview of the century or asking someone else on campus that worked for the paper.

💚 E L James owns the names of the characters from the Fifty Shades franchise, Everything else is mine (including the mistakes and grammar errors).

Love, Mina 💚💚💚