fifty shades darker (55 page)

“He intimidates you?”

“Yes. But not as much as he used to.” I feel disloyal but it’s the truth.

“That doesn’t surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?”

I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask?

“Dr. Flynn, I’ve never been in a relationship before, and Christian is . . . well, he’s Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I haven’t had a chance to think things through.”

“What do you need to think through?”

I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compassion, I think.

“Well . . . Christian tells me that he’s happy to give up . . . er—” I stumble and pause.

This is so much more difficult to discuss than I’d imagined.

Dr. Flynn sighs. “Ana, in the very limited time that you’ve known him, you’ve made more progress with my patient than I have in the last two years. You have had a profound effect on him. You must see that.”

“He’s had a profound effect on me, too. I just don’t know if I’m enough. To fulfill his needs,” I whisper.

“Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?”

I nod.

“Needs change,” he says simply. “Christian has found himself in a situation where his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you’ve forced him to confront some of his demons and rethink.”

I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me.

“Yes, his demons,” I murmur.

“We don’t dwell on them—they’re in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as do I—and now I’m sure you do, too. I’m much more concerned with the future and getting Christian to a place where he wants to be.”

I frown and he raises an eyebrow.

“The technical term is SFBT—sorry.” He smiles. “That stands for Solution-Focused Brief Therapy. Essentially, it’s goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to be and how to get him there. It’s a dialectical approach. There’s no point in breast-beating about the past—all that’s been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychia-trist Christian’s ever seen. We know why he’s the way he is, but it’s the future that’s important. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving relationship with you. It’s that simple, and that’s what we’re working on now. Of course there are obstacles—his haphephobia for one.”

Oh jeez . . . his what?
I gasp.

“I’m sorry. I mean his fear of being touched,” Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if scolding himself. “Which I’m sure you’re aware of.”

I flush and nod.
Oh that!

“He has a morbid self-abhorrence. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you. And of course there’s the parasomnia . . . um—night terrors, sorry, to the layperson.”

I blink at him, trying to absorb all these long words. I know about all of this. But Flynn hasn’t mentioned my central concern.

“But he’s a sadist. Surely, as such, he has needs which I can’t fulfill.”

Dr. Flynn actually rolls his eyes, and his mouth presses into a hard line. “That’s no longer recognized as a psychiatric term. I don’t know how many times I have told him that.

It’s not even classified as a paraphilia any more, not since the nineties.”

Dr. Flynn has lost me again. I blink at him. He smiles kindly at me.

“This is a pet peeve of mine.” He shakes his head. “Christian just thinks the worst of any given situation. It’s part of his self-abhorrence. Of course, there’s such a thing as sexual sadism, but it’s not a disease; it’s a lifestyle choice. And if it’s practiced in a safe, sane relationship between consenting adults, then it’s a nonissue. My understanding is that Christian has conducted all of his BDSM relationships in this manner. You’re the first lover who hasn’t consented, so he’s not willing to do it.”

Lover!

“But surely it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Dr. Flynn shrugs good-naturedly.

“Well . . . the reasons he does it.”

“Ana, that’s the point. In terms of solution-focused therapy, it is that simple. Christian wants to be with you. In order to do that, he needs to forego the more extreme aspects of that kind of relationship. After all, what you’re asking for is not unreasonable . . . is it?”

I flush. No, it’s not unreasonable, is it?

“I don’t think so. But I worry that he does.”

“Christian recognizes that and has acted accordingly. He’s not insane.” Dr. Flynn sighs.

“In a nutshell, he’s not a sadist, Ana. He’s an angry, frightened, brilliant young man, who was dealt a shit hand of cards when he was born. We can all beat our breasts about it, and analyze the who, the how and the why to death—or Christian can move on and decide how he wants to live. He’d found something that worked for him for a few years, more or less, but since he met you, it no longer works. And as a consequence, he’s changing his modus operandi. You and I have to respect his choice and support him in it.”

I gape at him. “That’s my reassurance?”

“As good as it gets, Ana. There are no guarantees in this life.” He smiles. “And that is my professional opinion.”

I smile, too, weakly. Doctor jokes . . . jeez.

“But he thinks of himself as a recovering alcoholic.”

“Christian will always think the worst of himself. As I said, it’s part of his self-abhorrence. It’s in his makeup, no matter what. Naturally he’s anxious about making this change in his life. He’s potentially exposing himself to a whole world of emotional pain, which, incidentally, he had a taste of when you left him. Naturally he’s apprehensive.” Dr. Flynn pauses. “I don’t mean to stress how important a role you have in his Damascene conver-sion—his road to Damascus. But you have. Christian would not be in this place if he had not met you. Personally I don’t think that an alcoholic is a very good analogy, but if it works for him for now, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Give Christian the benefit of the doubt. I frown at the thought.

“Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. He’s channeled all his energies into succeeding in the business world, and he has beyond all expectations. His emotional world has to play catch-up.”

“So how do I help?”

Dr. Flynn laughs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he grins at me. “Christian is head over heels. It’s a delight to see.”

I flush, and my inner goddess is hugging herself with glee, but something bothers me.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

I take a deep breath. “Part of me thinks that if he wasn’t this broken he wouldn’t . . .

want me.”

Dr. Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a very negative thing to say about yourself, Ana. And frankly it says more about you than it does about Christian. It’s not quite up there with his self-loathing, but I’m surprised by it.”

“Well, look at him . . . and then look at me.”

Dr. Flynn frowns. “I have. I see an attractive young man, and I see an attractive young woman. Ana, why don’t you think of yourself as attractive?”

Oh no . . .
I don’t want this to be about me. I stare down at my fingers. There’s a sharp knock on the door that makes me jump. Christian comes back into the room, glaring at both of us. I flush and glance quickly at Flynn, who is smiling benignly at Christian.

“Welcome back, Christian,” he says.

“I think time is up, John.”

“Nearly, Christian. Join us.”

Christian sits down, beside me this time, and places his hand possessively on my knee.

His action does not go unnoticed by Dr. Flynn.

“Did you have any other questions, Ana?” Dr. Flynn asks and his concern is obvious.

Shit . . . I should not have asked that question. I shake my head.

“Christian?”

“Not today, John.”

Flynn nods.

“It may be beneficial if you both come again. I’m sure Ana will have more questions.”

Christian nods, reluctantly.

I flush. Shit . . . he wants to delve. Christian clasps my hand and regards me intently.

“Okay?” he asks softly.

I smile at him, nodding. Yes, we’re going for the benefit of the doubt, courtesy of the good doctor from England.

Christian squeezes my hand and turns to Flynn.

“How is she?” he asks softly.

Me?

“She’ll get there,” he says reassuringly.

“Good. Keep me updated of her progress.”

“I will.”

Holy fuck. They’re talking about Leila.

“Shall we go and celebrate your promotion?” Christian asks me pointedly.

I nod shyly as Christian stands.

We say our quick good-byes to Dr. Flynn, and Christian ushers me out with unseemly haste.

In the street, he turns to me. “How was that?” his voice is anxious.

“It was good.”

He regards me suspiciously. I cock my head to one side.

“Mr. Grey, please don’t look at me that way. Under doctor’s orders I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

His mouth twists and his eyes narrow. “Get in the car,” he orders while opening the passenger door of the Saab.

Oh, change of direction. My Blackberry buzzes. I haul it out of my purse.

Shit, José!

“Hi!”

“Ana, hi . . .”

I stare at Fifty, who is eyeing me suspiciously. “José,” I mouth at him. He stares impassively at me, but his eyes harden. Does he think I don’t notice? I turn my attention back to José.“Sorry I haven’t called you. Is it about tomorrow?” I ask José, but stare up at Christian.

“Yeah, listen—I spoke with some guy at Grey’s place, so I know where I’m delivering the photos, and I should get there between five and six . . . after that, I’m free.”

Oh.

“Well, I’m actually staying with Christian at the moment, and if you want to, he says you can stay at his place.”

Christian presses his mouth in a hard line. Hmm—some host he is.

José is silent for a moment, absorbing this news. I cringe. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about Christian.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “This thing with Grey, it’s serious?”

I turn away from the car and pace to the other side of the sidewalk.

“Yes.”

“How serious?”

I roll my eyes and pause. Why does Christian have to be listening?

“Serious.”

“Is he with you now? That why you’re speaking in monosyllables?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So are you allowed out tomorrow?”

“Of course I am.” I hope. I automatically cross my fingers.

“So where shall I meet you?”

“You could collect me from work,” I offer.

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“What time?”

“Say six?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then, Ana. Looking forward to it. I miss you.”

I grin. “Cool. I’ll see you then.” I switch the phone off and turn.

Christian is leaning against the car watching me carefully, his expression impossible to read.

“How’s your friend?” he asks coolly.

“He’s well. He’ll pick me up from work, and I think we’ll go for a drink. Would you like to join us?”

Christian hesitates, his gray eyes cool. “You don’t think he’ll try anything?”

“No!” My tone is exasperated—but I refrain from rolling my eyes.

“Okay,” Christian holds his hands up in defeat. “You hang out with your friend, and I’ll see you later in the evening.”

I was expecting a fight, and his easy acquiescence throws me off balance.

“See? I can be reasonable.” He smirks.

My mouth twists. We’ll see about that.

“Can I drive?”

Christian blinks at me, surprised by my request.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why, exactly?”

“Because I don’t like to be driven.”

“You managed this morning, and you seem to tolerate Taylor driving you.”

“I trust Taylor’s driving implicitly.”

“And not mine?” I put my hands on my hips. “Honestly—your control freakery knows no bounds. I’ve been driving since I was fifteen.”

He shrugs in response, as if this is of no consequence whatsoever. Oh—he’s so exasperating! Benefit of the doubt? Well, screw that.

“Is this my car?” I demand.

He frowns at me. “Of course it’s your car.”

“Then give me the keys, please. I’ve driven it twice, and only to and from work. Now you’re having all the fun.” I am in full-on pout mode. Christian’s lips twitch with a repressed smile.

“But you don’t know where we’re going.”

“I’m sure you can enlighten me, Mr. Grey. You’ve done a great job of it so far.”

He gazes at me stunned then smiles, his new shy smile that totally disarms me and takes my breath away.

“Great job, eh?” he murmurs.

I blush. “Mostly, yes.”

“Well, in that case.” He hands me the keys, walks round to the driver’s door, and opens it for me.

“Left here,” Christian orders, and we head north toward the I-5. “Hell—gently, Ana.” He grabs hold of the dashboard.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. I roll my eyes, but don’t turn to look at him. Van Morrison croons in the background over the car sound system.

“Slow down!”

“I am slowing down!”

Christian sighs. “What did Flynn say?” I hear his anxiety leaching into his voice.

“I told you. He says I should give you the benefit of the doubt.” Damn—maybe I should have let Christian drive. Then I could watch him. In fact . . . I signal to pull over.

“What are you doing?” he snaps, alarmed.

“Letting you drive.”

“Why?”

“So I can look at you.”

He laughs. “No, no—you wanted to drive. So, you drive, and I’ll look at you.”

I scowl at him. “Keep your eyes on the road!” he shouts.

My blood boils. Right! I pull over to the curb just before a stoplight and storm out of the car, slamming the door, and stand on the sidewalk, arms folded, I glare at him. He climbs out of the car.

“What are you doing?” he asks angrily, staring down at me.

“No. What are you doing?”

“You can’t park here.”