fifty-shades-of-grey

My scalp prickles as every single hair follicle on my body stands to attention, and theworld falls away from me, leaving a wide, yawning abyss for me to fall into. Oh no.“I don’t want to go,” I whisper. Fuck – this is it. Pay or play. Tears swim in my eyesonce more.“I don’t want you to go either,” he whispers, his voice raw. He reaches up and gentlystrokes my cheek and wipes away a falling tear with his thumb. “I’ve come alive since Imet you.” His thumb traces the contours of my lower lip.“Me too,” I whisper, “I’ve fallen in love with you, Christian.”His eyes widen again, but this time, with pure, undiluted fear.“No,” he breathes as if I’ve knocked the wind out of him.Oh no.“You can’t love me, Ana. No… that’s wrong.” He’s horrified.“Wrong? Why’s it wrong?”“Well, look at you. I can’t make you happy.” His voice is anguished.“But you do make me happy.” I frown.“Not at the moment, not doing what I want to do.”Holy fuck. This really is it. This is what it boils down to – incompatibility - and allthose poor subs come to mind.“We’ll never get past that, will we?” I whisper, my scalp prickling in fear.He shakes his head bleakly. I close my eyes. I cannot bear to look at him.“Well… I’d better go, then,” I murmur, wincing as I sit up.“No, don’t go.” He sounds panicked.“There’s no point in me staying.” Suddenly, I feel tired, really dog-tired, and I want togo now. I climb out of bed, and Christian follows.“I’m going to get dressed. I’d like some privacy,” I say, my voice flat and empty as Ileave him standing in the bedroom.Heading downstairs, I glance at the great room, thinking how only hours before I hadrested my head on his shoulder as he played the piano. So much has happened since then.I have had my eyes opened and glimpsed the extent of his depravity, and I now know he’snot capable of love – of giving or receiving love. My worst fears have been realized. Andstrangely, it’s very liberating.The pain is such that I refuse to acknowledge it. I feel numb. I have somehow escapedfrom my body and am now a casual observer to this unfolding tragedy. I shower quicklyand methodically, thinking only of each second in front of me. Now squeeze body washbottle. Put body wash bottle back in rack. Rub cloth on face, on shoulders… on and on, allsimple, mechanical actions, requiring simple mechanical thoughts.I finish my shower – and as I haven’t washed my hair, I can dry myself quickly. I dressin the bathroom, taking my jeans and t-shirt out of my small suitcase. My jeans chafeagainst my backside, but quite frankly, it’s a pain I welcome as it distracts my mind fromwhat’s happening to my splintering, shattered heart.I stoop to shut my suitcase, and the bag holding Christian’s gift catches my eye, amodeling kit for a Blahnik L23 glider, something for him to build. Tears threaten. Oh no…happier times, when there was hope of more. I take it out of the case, knowing that I need