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.

💚 Now, this chapter will be hard again, though not in the same way. Something more internal. AND something that I forgot to point out in the last chapter. It was clearly RAPE. Christian said it, he only did it because he feared what might happen. Yes, she was hot, yes he found release, but I hope that no one got the vibe that he enjoyed it. The way I see it, in the books, she indoctrinated him into thinking he liked it, but at the end of the day, let's call a cat, a cat.

💚 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 2: Infidel (1,6K)

Christian's Pov

I know I probably look ridiculous, but I just can't move. I'm frozen, on all fours as Mr Lincoln irritates pure rage. It's … eerie and freaking terrifying. Mr Lincoln has always been a rather taciturn and quiet man. He's nothing like his wife. He doesn't participate much in social events, he doesn't socialise much. He just works and pops in once in a while when it's a big fundraiser that he can't miss. I don't know, I never really cared much for Mr Lincoln, just appreciating that he used to give Elliott and me sweets when we were younger.

But right now, it looks like he could kill. Literally. His blue eyes are dead on Mrs Lincoln, before he slowly turns to me, and says with a soft and gentle voice,

"Get dressed, Christian."

I feel a bit awkward, I mean, I have a dildo up in my ass, and … well, who wants to be caught by the husband? He's going to murder me and dissect me before dispersing the pieces of me. He works in timber, I'm sure he has several woodchoppers at his disposition.

I stand up, shaking like a leaf and I awkwardly get rid of the extra accessory in my butt as Mr Lincoln is pinning Mrs Lincoln where she is with just his gaze. I'm going to die. He's going to murder us both! I reach for my boxers, and as I put them on, Mrs Lincoln seems to spring back to life,

"Eric, darling, it's not what you think. He asked —"

"Shut the fuck up. I swear to God, shut the fuck up, Elena." Mr Lincoln hisses, his voice still low and calm, but it seems Mrs Lincoln doesn't have any sort of survival instincts. I would have shut the fuck up.

"You said, I could have my fun. This room is mine. You have no business being here. And it's not what you think. This is purely consensual, this is what he needs. He's been doing so much better since I took care of him. And why are you here so early, anyway?"

If looks could kill. He really looks like he's going to kill her. Maybe I should say something. I don't want her to die because of me. But I don't want to die either.

"Mr Lincoln ... I … She's right. I wanted this. I need this." After all, as she said, I'm so much better now. I haven't drunk in two weeks, I haven't been in any fight in three weeks, because she keeps me on a leash.

Mrs Lincoln nods approvingly, and I'm sure she's thinking 'Good pet', she likes to call me that. But it seems to be what sets Mr Lincoln off. In two strides, he's by her side and backhands her so hard that she falls on the floor. I stand frozen, reminiscence of the crack whore being abused like that coming back to me.

He turns to me, and eyes me up and down. I'm still wearing the collar and only my boxers. He hands me the key, and says, his voice still calm, "If you can just go get dressed in the bathroom."

I don't move, because I don't want to be, yet again, impassive to a woman being beaten bloody; and he gives me a tight smile,

"I just need a quick word with my wife." He spits the last word as if it has a strange aftertaste. I look down at Mrs Lincoln still on the floor, and I see that she cut her lip falling down.

"Go wait for me in the bathroom, Christian." He insists, and since I'm a coward, I do as I'm told.

Or I pretend. I leave the attic, closing the door but staying in the stairs to get dressed, and Mr Lincoln explodes, "What the fuck, Elena? How can you even look at a fifteen years old boy in that way? Are you insane?"

"He doesn't look fifteen! And he wanted it! He kept telling me how much he likes it! He needs someone to tell him—"

I hear a slap, and she doesn't finish her tirade about my fucked up needs.

"I don't fucking care, you bitch! He is fifteen! How many boys have you lured into your sick fantasies?"

I hear a thud, followed by a whimper, and Mrs Lincoln sobs, "No one. He is special. I told you it's not what you think. We don't see it that way. You're the one making it disgust—"

There is another blow, followed by several others as he roars, "He is special because he is mentally fragile! And the fucking parasite that you are saw him as a prey! You fucking bitch! How can you even try to justify you raping that poor kid!? I'm going to kill you!"

Before I can even reason myself, I burst the door open. Mrs Lincoln is on the floor, in the foetal position, trying to protect herself from her husband's blows, and Mr Lincoln is kicking her as if she's a soccer ball.

"Don't kill her," I find myself pleading in a murmur, images of the crack whore flashing before my eyes. I saw her in this position so many times. Mr Lincoln turns his head to me, and instantly regains his calm, straightening his clothes. He walks to me, and I step back, afraid of what he's going to do to me if he battered his wife like that. Maybe this whole house is into that kind of shit. The house of pain and beatings.

"I'll take you home, Christian."

He's about to walk out of the door when he turns a disgusted face to his wife and says, "You better not be here when I come home."

I silently sit next to him in the car, and for a while, we don't say anything. I'm just glad I get scot-free on this one. I hope Mrs Lincoln isn't too injured. I don't want her to suffer because of me. After all, she was helping me. And then, I realise that no one ever dropped me at my parents after I went to the Lincoln house, and I don't want them to be suspicious. I don't want them to be even more disappointed in me.

"Please, don't tell my parents."

He frowns and parks a few houses down from my house. I look down on my knees. I mean, he probably wants to lecture me how it's wrong to go around and fuck other people's wives. No matter how fucked up you are.

"Your parents are the ones who sent me, Christian. They … were concerned by your sudden 180, and wanted to make sure you were actually coming to my place and doing what you were supposed to do."

I shake my head, "Please don't tell them of what a screw up I am. They already know, we don't need to hammer it down."

He sighs, "You did nothing wrong. She is the one who preyed on a fragile and unstable child. You might be big for your age, but you're still a kid."

"You think I'm weak?"

"No. I said fragile, not weak …"

It's the same fucking thing, just different words. I keep my eyes on my knees, and I hear him sigh again. I don't look up because I don't want to see his pity. I don't need anybody's pity. I don't need anybody. I'm too fucked up for that.

"Christian … you were obviously not emotionally mature enough to partake in a sexual relationship, especially one like that. This was wrong on so many levels and in no way your fault. So whatever she has told you, remember that it is poison, you hear me? If you don't want to talk about it to your parents, I can understand, but … I will tell them. I will just tell them to let you come talk to them about it on your own. How does that sound?"

I scoff. As if I would ever tell anyone about this. Though I am concerned. As she said, Mrs Lincoln was keeping me in check. Am I going to go down the path created by my birth mother? Am I going to go back to my destructive ways and disappoint my parents even more?

Mr Lincoln slowly raises his hand and just as slow he moves to squeeze my bicep, to let me know that he won't touch my chest,

"If you want, I know of a therapist that can help you."

I scoff again. "Shrinks are just a waste of time and money."

"Give her a try. Let me help you channel your anger."

I look back down, I can't really tell him to fuck off, can I? And what's yet another therapist. At the end of the day, the answer is the same. I'm a fucked up son of a crackwhore.

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

💚Your thoughts and opinions are always welcomed💚

💚 So, two things about why Mr Lincoln. I don't like how he was villainised in the books because he beat up a PEDOPHILE! I don't care if she's a woman, she preyed on a child, a mentally unstable child nonetheless! I don't see why Lincoln was treated WAY worse than his wife in the books. But that's me. Second, how did she have a playroom and her husband never knew about it? But anyway, let's move on.

💚 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 💚💚💚