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.

💚 Okay, I just want to clarify that Christian is a virgin in the sense that he hasn't had a consensual sexual relationship. This is a common understanding that the virginity of a rape victim is not related to their hymen, or the penetration, but to themselves. The first time is a special time to many, and it's not because someone ripped that away from Christian that it means he can't have it too.

💚 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 6: Confessional (3,1K)

Christian's Pov

My weekend went as usual. I spent most of my Saturday doing pottery, focusing on a plate set for my parents' wedding anniversary. It will go with the tea-set I already made for Grace, and I know they will both appreciate the thought and the time. Usually, I completely cut myself from the rest of the world during this half-day when I have my hands down in clay, but this time, I had my personal phone with me, and thank God for Siri.

Because it comes to no-one's surprise that Rose and I texted. I made sure to steer clear from the fact that she has been naked and wet, and we mostly talked about her finals and the fact that she was already job hunting in Seattle. I could propose her to work for me, but that would ruin my cover, and I don't think she'd be interested anyway.

Rose likes books. Every single time I have asked her what she was doing, she said she was reading. Even when she climbs, she reads. Which at first gave me a heart attack. But then, she explained that she listens to audiobooks. Her record is twelve books in one week. Twelve fucking books. And she made a point on saying that they were proper books, not kids' books. The smug little thing that she is.

So of course, she's looking to do something where she can mix passion and work. And I really can't fault her for that.

On Sunday, as per usual, I went to see my parents. It was just Elliott and me since Mia is still abroad, and we ended up playing Scrabble to Carrick's greatest pleasure. He absolutely loves this game because he destroys us every time. And I do mean destroy. There hasn't been a single game where he didn't lead by at least 150pts.

But anyway, today is Monday, and as per usual, I am in Martha's office. Except for this time, I am doing my best to not check my phone. We've had a banter today with Rose about the unreliability of Washington weather. Yes, as stupid as it sounds, we bantered around the rain, sue me.

So I tell Martha all about the past couple of weeks, though I leave Rose out of it. A part of me wants to keep her secret. Just to myself. I don't want Martha to bring her shrink-nose into this and start analysing what shouldn't be analysed. I know where I stand in this thing with Rose, and I know that it can't go beyond a certain point.

"Anything else?" Martha asks, looking at my jumpy leg. I just want to check my phone and see what Rose said to my quips about umbrellas, but Martha has a strict policy of no phone during sessions.

"No," I lie, and she quirks her eyebrow up, perfectly aware that I just lied. She doesn't call me on it, just patiently waits for me to talk, and so I lean forward so my elbows can rest on my knees as I join my hands and I tell her,

"I met someone …"

"Oh?" She is a bit surprised.

I mean, I get it. I never try to bond with people, even the ones I've been working with for years. For instance, Ros, my second in command, has never seen me outside of work. And she's been with me since the start (or almost). She tried a couple of times, inviting me to her wedding, or a few functions she had with her wife, but … I like being in my bubble.

Of course, Martha keeps saying that I shouldn't isolate myself from the world and that I should expand my relationship to more than just my family and Eric; and of course, Elliott is the first preacher to try to make me mingle with other people, but at the end of the day, it's not for me.

Martha came up with big words such as fear of commitment and abandonment issues, but I just think that some people simply like their own company. And I'm not miserable. I don't feel lonely. I'm just not a people person.

I don't say anything else, even though I know she's expecting me to, and after a few minutes of stubborn silence from my part, she asks, "Are you not going to tell me more about her?"

"Who says it's a she?" I snap. I could have met a … Edward and started a friendship with him, instead of Rose. Of course, I doubt that I would have fantasied about having Edward in my bed on Friday night then.

Martha says nothing, as per usual, and so I tell her, "She's … a student. So obviously … you know, it's just ever going to be friendship."

"Mmhmm," She says, her green eyes steady on me, and I glare at her.

"You know it pisses me off when you do that," I growl because, after thirteen years in therapy, I'm not sugarcoating. There is an amused gleam in her eyes, probably because when I was younger I was petulant enough to completely stop talking when she would make that particular sound.

"How old is she?" Martha asks, and I shrug. I never got around asking her without sounding like a creep. And I certainly don't want Rose to think of even more ways to call me a creep.

"She's graduating this year so … 21? 22?"

"And you think that's too young for you?"

"Well, obviously!" I stare at her. "She's just starting in life. She's just out there to discover the world and I … I already own it." Okay, that was a bit smug and arrogant, but I do.

Martha scoffs, shaking her head because she knows I can be smug about my success. But as I told her, why should I be? I shouldn't wait for others to praise me if I'm proud of myself.

But instead of talking about the whole, I'm-the-king-of-the-motherfucking-world, she pushes that whole Rose issue,

"Don't your parents have a five years gap between them?"

"It's not the same," I retort. First of all, Grace is the older one. It's so cute when Carrick talks about how they met and how it was love at first sight for him, but Grace made him work for it.

And then came the heartbreak when Grace learned that she couldn't have kids. Grace loves children. I'm sure she's secretly hoping that Elliott will slip up and pop a kid out of nowhere so she can play the perfect Grandma.

But despite the heartbreak, they still found children to love with all their hearts. And they do love us. Yup, the three of us. Even me, despite everything I put them through in my youth. Who knew therapy would help me realise that?

Martha is still looking at me, and so I reiterate, "It's different with my parents."

"Mmhmm." I glare at her once again, and she has the indecency to smirk. Okay, now she's doing it on purpose. She's trying to get me to snap out everything that I think about sweet little Rose

"So, what are you going to do about young …" She trails, waiting for me to finish that sentence.

"Rose. Her name is Rose."

"What are you going to do with Rose?"

"I told you … it's just going to be a friend thing. Nothing more."

"Is that what she said?"

"She thinks I'm a serial killer," I say with a pout, recalling all the hardship to get her phone and her name. Really, do I even look like Ted Bundy?

Martha laughs at that, and I narrow my eyes at her. It's been a while since she's had a response other than her usual impassive face.

"Sorry," She says. "Why would she think that? Have you been acting like one?"

"No. I've been the perfect gentleman, but apparently, that's considered creepy behaviour nowadays, "I tell her of how we met the way I made her spill her boiling hot tea on herself because I was afraid she'd inadvertently touch me, the hassle to get her to give me her phone, and the small banter we've had over texts since then.

Martha listens without interrupting me, writing down on her notepad every once in a while, and once I'm done, she has a small smirk as she points out,

"You seem annoyed by the name change."

"I gave her my name. I actually gave her my whole life on that card. She would have known if she would have picked up the damn thing." I retort with indignation. Martha doesn't seem appalled by Rose's behaviour, on the contrary,

"So you met a sensible girl, that's good."

"Sensible? She calls me a serial killer and you call her sensible?"

"You do realise that the world is a scary place for a woman alone? How would have wanted Mia to act? Like Rose, or to give her 'whole life' to the first sweet talker who comes to her?"

I growl. I hate when she's right, especially when she uses real examples like that. I'll have to have a talk with Mia, just to make sure she knows how to get rid of the sweet talkers. I can be the decoy number if she wants.

"Now … You said it could only be friendship … do you think that's the only thing she's expecting from you."

I want to say yes at first, but then I recall the text from Friday night. Neither of us talked about her skinny dipping, but … do you talk about being naked to your friends? I'm sure Elliott does, but he's an odd thing.

"I … I don't know. We've only talked via texts so far."

"Oh?"

"She doesn't live in Seattle."

She writes down something, and I look at the notepad. When I started seeing her I had so many fits about her writing down stuff. I was feeling so judged. Now … I'm just curious. I know it's just to help her because she needs to put her thoughts down and she had so many patients it's the best way to not mix them up. But I'm curious about what she's writing about Rose.

"What about you? Do you only want friendship from this … tea relationship?"

I glare at her. She knows why I can't ask for more. She knows why I go to the club every Friday ... "It's all I can get," I hiss between my teeth.

"Mmhmm." She writes something else on her notepad. I feel that she did more 'mmhmm' in this whole session than during the first week of therapy! And that's when I used to see her every single day! Yes, I was that fucked up.

"Are you attracted to Rose?"

I shrug. Who wouldn't be attracted to her? For fuck's sake! I have eyes, and I am a man. And she is hot and beautiful, and innocent and … I play it cool, "She's okay." Biggest understatement of the fucking universe!

Martha quirks her eyebrow at me again, and so I grimace and explain one of my reticences, "She's a brunette."

"Oh? And how does that make you feel?" Jesus Christ! Of all the days to say such cliché shrink phrases, she chooses the day I talk about Rose. I roll my eyes.

"I don't know … I mean, we've already covered the whole mommy issue thing and I know that my attraction to Rose has nothing to do with my birthmother. I just thought I should let you know … you know, full disclosure."

As I say so, I lean back, putting my hands in my pockets and feeling my phone buzz in it. I'm sure it's Rose, probably chastising me and whatever I said about umbrellas. I stare at the ceiling, recalling the first time I requested an emergency session with Martha.

This is so fucked up. This is so fucking fucked up! I can't believe I'm that much of a psycho. Elliott introduced me to a girl from his class, Leila. She's quite cute. Long brunette locks, chocolate eyes, pink lips. And nothing happened. She tried to touch me when I was about to kiss her, and I yelled at her like a maniac. She was terrified, and I feel horrible, but there's worst.

I have noticed that I tend to like brunettes better. Even in movies, I think Charlize Theron with dark hair is hotter than with her usual blonde (opinion very contested by Elliott). And now, Carrick showed me the fucking picture.

"Christian? I am not in your head. You need to tell me why you wanted to see me. Has something happened?"

I show her the picture, and she looks back at me. She's probably trying to see the resemblance between her and me. I guess she would have been nice to look at if it hadn't been for the drugs. And to think I tried to follow this path.

"Is that your birth mother?" She asks, and I nod, locking my jaw. Martha doesn't like it when I call her the crack-whore.

"Leila looks like her …" I say, and Martha writes on her fucking notepad! I tell her that I tried to fuck a girl that looks like my birth-mother, and all she can do is write on her fucking notepad!

"Is that what you think?"

"Have you not looked properly at the fucking photo!? Are you sure you're a shrink, or do I have to spell it out for you that I am a mommy fucker?!"

Once again, she fucking writes down on her fucking notepad, before closing it and putting it aside. She's never done that before. She looks into my eyes, and says,

"I'm the doctor, here. And we agreed that I was the only one diagnosing things around here. Now, once again. Do you really think that Leila looks like Ella?"

I cross my hands over my chest. Okay … Ella seemed to have my grey eyes. And Leila is curvier than Ella. And her cheekbones are non-existent, unlike Ella's. And … they both are freaking brunettes!

"They have the same hair," I point out, and she gently smiles.

"Remind me, Christian, what is Grace's and Mia's hair colour?"

I sigh, and she picks up her notepad. I didn't know how she managed it, but the self-loathing and the imminent panic attack are almost gone. She's good.

"So, you don't think I'm a mommy fucker?"

"What do you think?"

"I like brunettes."

"And?"

"My birth-mother wasn't the only brunette on the planet."

I keep staring at the ceiling, and I let Martha know, "I just … I thought about her when I went to the club. And … I couldn't get her out of my mind. I couldn't get in the scene so, I left, and … once home, I jerked thinking about her."

"You masturbated at home?" Martha asks, surprised. As odd as it sounds to Elliott, I never jerked home. It's like a ritual, a self-discipline I've put on myself. Once a week, I get my release. The rest of the time, I thrive on sexual frustration. I'm pretty sure it's part of what makes me so focused.

"Yes. I just couldn't get her out of my head. And I was fucking hard. I don't think I've ever been so hard. So I did the next logical thing."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"What do you think? I'm not going to say that I'm sad I jerked off," I scoff, my eyes still on the ceiling.

There is a small silence, and I know she's writing again. I don't say anything, before admitting, "I just wish it could have been the real thing."

"You wished to have had Rose in your bed?" Martha clarifies, and I roll my eyes. It's fucking obvious I'm talking about Rose and not the fucking President.

"I just … I know it's not technically possible. But … yeah, it would have been great."

"Mmhmm."

I growl. This ought to be a new record! "But I know it's just a fantasy," I add. I mean, we need to be realistic here. The girl is bound to try and touch me.

"Mmhmm."

"I swear to God," I hiss, tearing my eyes from the ceiling to glare at her. She's unfazed. Honestly, she's seen me through worse, much much worse.

"So, you're not considering pursuing Rose in a romantic or sexual manner?"

"No. Just friends."

"What if she asks for more?"

I think about it for a moment. Is Rose even attracted to me? I mean, I know I look good, but I know everyone has different tastes. She didn't seem interested at all when we met, and there haven't been any sexual innuendos in our texts. Well, a couple, but those were Elliot kind of sex jokes, not flirty ones.

And even our texts, they're texts you send to a friend, not a flirt. But what if? What if she says she wants more than friendship?

"She's young and beautiful. There are other fish in the sea more suitable for her."

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

💚Your thoughts and opinions are always welcomed💚

💚 So, Christian is dead set on the friendship thing ...

💚 And now it's official, they text on a daily basis

💚Well, let me know what you thought of this chapter. What was your favourite part? What do you think will happen next?

💚 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 💚💚💚