Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (54 page)

“On Northeast Forty-Fifth?”

“Yes.” I’m going to buy Ana an iPad. Leaning back in my seat, I close my eyes and contemplate which apps and songs I’m going to download and install for her. I could choose “Toxic.” I smirk at the thought. No, I don’t think that would be popular with her. She’d be mad as hell—and for the first time in a while the thought of her mad makes me smile. Mad like she was in Georgia, not like last Saturday. I shift in my seat; I don’t want to be reminded of that. I turn my thoughts back to potential song choices, feeling more buoyant than I have in days. My phone buzzes, and my heart rate spikes.

Dare I hope?

Hey. Asshole. Beer?

Hell.
A text from my brother.

No. Busy.

You’re always busy.

Going to Barbados tomorrow.

To, you know, RELAX.

See you when I get back.

And we will have that beer!!!

Laters, Lelliot. Safe Travels.

IT’S BEEN A DIVERTING
evening, filled with music—a nostalgic journey through my iTunes, making a playlist for Anastasia. I remember her dancing in my kitchen; I wish I knew what she’d been listening to. She looked totally ridiculous, and utterly adorable. That was after I fucked her for the first time.

No.
After I made love to her the first time?

Neither term feels right.

I recall her impassioned plea the night I introduced her to my parents.
“I want you to make love to me.”
How shocked I was by her simple statement—and yet all she wanted was to touch me. I shudder at the thought. I have to make her understand that this is a hard limit for me—I cannot tolerate being touched.

I shake my head.
You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Grey
—you have to close this deal first. I check the inscription on the iPad.

Anastasia—this is for you.

I know what you want to hear.

This music on here says it for me.

Christian

Perhaps this will do it. She wants hearts and flowers; perhaps this will come close. But I shake my head, because I have no idea. There’s so much I want to say to her, if she’ll listen. And if she won’t, the songs will say it for me. I just hope she allows me the opportunity to give them to her.

But if she doesn’t like my proposition, if she doesn’t like the thought of being with me—what will I do? I might just be a convenient ride to Portland. The thought depresses me, as I head toward my bedroom for some much-needed sleep.

Do I dare to hope?

Damn it. Yes, I do.

THURSDAY, JUNE 9, 2011

The doctor holds up her hands.
I’m not going to hurt you. I need to check your tummy. Here.
She gives me a cold, round sucky thing and she lets me play with it.
You put it on your tummy, and I won’t touch you and I can hear your tummy.
The doctor is good…the doctor is Mommy.

My new mommy is pretty. She’s like an angel. A doctor angel. She strokes my hair. I like it when she strokes my hair. She lets me eat ice cream and cake. She doesn’t shout when she finds the bread and apples hidden in my shoes. Or under my bed. Or under my pillow.
Darling, the food is in the kitchen. Just find me or Daddy when you’re hungry. Point with your finger. Can you do that?
There is another boy. Lelliot. He is mean. So I punch him. But my new mommy doesn’t like the fighting. There is a piano. I like the noise. I stand at the piano and press the white and the black. The noise from the black is strange. Miss Kathie sits at the piano with me. She teaches the black and the white notes. She has long brown hair and she looks like someone I know. She smells of flowers and apple pie baking. She smells of good. She makes the piano sound pretty. She is kind to me. She smiles and I play. She smiles and I am happy. She smiles and she’s Ana. Beautiful Ana, sitting with me as I play a fugue, a prelude, an adagio, a sonata. She sighs, resting her head on my shoulder, and she smiles.
I love listening to you play, Christian. I love you, Christian.

Ana. Stay with me. You’re mine. I love you, too.

I wake, with a start.

Today, I win her back.