fifty-shades-of-grey

Does it bother me? Maybe it should… should it? No, it doesn’t. I lean back and lookup at him, and he gazes down at me, his eyes a soft cloudy gray.“No, not at all.”He smirks.“Good. Let’s have a bath.”He uncurls from around me, placing me on the floor as he makes to stand. As he does,I notice again the small, round, white scars on his chest. They are not chicken pox, I museabsentmindedly. Grace said he was hardly affected. Holy shit… they must be burns.Burns from what? I blanch at the realization, shock and revulsion coursing through me.From cigarettes? Mrs. Robinson, his birth mother, who? Who did this to him? Maybethere’s a reasonable explanation, and I’m over-reacting – wild hope blossoms in my chest– hope that I am wrong.“What is it?” Christian’s face is wide-eyed with alarm.“Your scars,” I whisper. “They’re not from chicken pox.”I watch as in a split second he closes down, his stance changing from relaxed, calm,and at ease, to defensive – angry, even. He frowns, his face darkening, and his mouthpresses into a thin, hard line.“No, they’re not,” he snaps, but he does not elaborate further. He stands, holds hishand out for me, and hauls me to my feet.“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is colder and scolding as he lets go of my hand.I flush, chastened, and stare down at my fingers, and I know, I know that someonestubbed cigarettes out on Christian. I feel sick.“Did she do that?” I whisper before I can stop myself.He says nothing, so I’m forced to look at him. He’s glaring at me.“She? Mrs. Robinson? She’s not an animal, Anastasia. Of course she didn’t. I don’tunderstand why you feel you have to demonize her.”He’s standing there, naked, gloriously naked, with my blood on him… and we’re finallyhaving this conversation. And I’m naked too – neither of us has anywhere to hide,except perhaps the bath. I take a deep breath, move past him, and step down into the water.It is deliciously warm, soothing, and deep. I melt into the fragrant foam and stare up athim, hiding among the bubbles.“I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn’t met her. If she hadn’t introducedyou to your… um, lifestyle.”He sighs and steps down into the bath opposite me, his jaw clenched with tension, hiseyes frosty. As he gracefully submerges his body beneath the water, he’s careful not totouch me. Jeez – have I made him that mad?He stares impassively at me, his face unreadable, saying nothing. Again the silencestretches between us, but I hold my counsel. It’s your turn Grey – I am not caving this time.My subconscious is nervous, anxiously biting her nails – this could go either way. Christianand I stare at each other, but I am not backing down. Eventually, after what seems likea millennium, he shakes his head, and he smirks.“I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs.Robinson.”Oh! I blink at him. Crack addict or whore? Possibly both?