Grey

Page 71

 
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 26 2011 23:57
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.
Miss Steele
I stare at her reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.
Shit.
Is she saying that’s it?
FRIDAY, MAY 27, 2011
 
 
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Why don’t you like me?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I get up and open another bottle of sparkling water.
And wait.
 
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:09
To: Christian Grey
Because you never stay with me.
Six words.
Six little words that make my scalp tingle.
I told her that I didn’t sleep with anyone.
But today was a big day.
She graduated from college.
She said yes.
We went through all those soft limits that she knew nothing about. We fucked. I spanked her. We fucked again.
Shit.
And before I can stop myself, I grab the garage ticket for my car, pick up a jacket, and I’m out the door.
THE ROADS ARE EMPTY and I’m at her place twenty-three minutes later.
I knock quietly, and Kavanagh opens the door.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she shouts, her eyes blazing with anger.
Whoa. Not the reception I was expecting.
“I’ve come to see Ana.”
“Well, you can’t!” Kavanagh stands with arms folded and legs braced in the doorway, like a gargoyle.
I try reasoning with her. “But I need to see her. She sent me an e-mail.” Get out of my way!
“What the fuck have you done to her now?”
“That’s what I need to find out.” I grit my teeth.
“Ever since she met you she cries all the time.”
“What?” I can’t deal with her shit anymore, and I barge past her.
“You can’t come in here!” Kavanagh follows me, shrieking like a harpy, as I storm through the apartment to Ana’s bedroom.
I open Ana’s door and switch on the main light. She’s huddled in her bed, wrapped in her comforter. Her eyes are red and puffy, and squinting in the overhead light. Her nose is swollen and blotchy.
I’ve seen women in this state many times, especially after I’ve punished them. But I’m surprised by the unease that grips my gut.
“Jesus, Ana.” I flick the main light off so she doesn’t have to squint and I sit on the bed beside her.
“What are you doing here?” She’s sniffling. I turn on her bedside light.
“Do you want me to throw this asshole out?” Kate barks from the doorway.
Fuck you, Kavanagh. Raising an eyebrow, I pretend to ignore her.
Ana shakes her head, but her watery eyes are on me.
“Just holler if you need me,” Kate says to Ana, as if she were a child. “Grey,” she snaps, so I’m obliged to look at her. “You’re on my shit list, and I’m watching you.” She sounds shrill, her eyes glinting with fury, but I don’t give a fuck.
Fortunately she leaves, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. I check in my inside pocket, and once again Mrs. Jones has exceeded all expectations; I fish out the handkerchief and give it to Ana. “What’s going on?”
“Why are you here?” Her voice is shaky.
I don’t know.
You said you didn’t like me.
“Part of my role is to look after your needs. You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am.” Nice save, Grey. “And yet I find you like this.” You weren’t like this when I left. “I’m sure I’m responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I hit you?”
She struggles to sit up and flinches when she does.
“Did you take some Advil?” As instructed?
She shakes her head.
When will you do as you’re told?
I go to find Kavanagh, who’s on the sofa, seething.
“Ana has a headache. Do you have any Advil?”
She raises her eyebrows, surprised, I think, by my concern for her friend. Glowering, she gets up and stomps into the kitchen. After some rustling through boxes she hands me a couple of tablets and a teacup of water.
Back in the bedroom I offer them to Ana and sit on the bed. “Take these.”
She does, her eyes clouded with apprehension.
“Talk to me. You told me you were okay. I’d never have left you if I thought you were like this.” Distracted, she toys with a loose thread on her quilt. “I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren’t.”
“I thought I was fine,” she admits.
“Anastasia, you can’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s not very honest. How can I trust anything you’ve said to me?” This will never work if she’s not honest with me.
The thought is depressing.
Talk to me, Ana.
“How did you feel while I was hitting you, and after?”
“I didn’t like it. I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”
“You weren’t meant to like it.”
“Why do you like it?” she asks, and her voice is stronger.
Shit. I can’t tell her why.
“You really want to know?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m fascinated.” Now she’s being sarcastic.
“Careful,” I warn her.
She pales at my expression. “Are you going to hit me again?”
“No, not tonight.” I think you’ve had enough.
“So.” She still wants an answer.
“I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.”
And I don’t want you rolling your eyes at me, or being sarcastic.
“So you don’t like the way I am.” Her voice is small.
“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”
“So why are you trying to change me?”