fifty-shades-of-grey

horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I’ll never ever drink again. This isjust too appalling for words. Finally, it stops.My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomitingprofusely is exhausting. Grey takes his hands off me and passes me a handkerchief.Only he would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. CTG. Ididn’t know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the T stands for as I wipemy mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at him. I’m swamped with shame, disgusted withmyself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere buthere.José is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my headin my hands. This has to be the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimmingas I try to remember a worse one – and I can only come up with Christian’s rejection – andthis is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at him. He’s staringdown at me, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at José who lookspretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Grey. I glare at him. I have a fewchoice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Christian GreyCEO. Ana who are you kidding, he’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into thelocal flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior.“I’ll err… see you inside,” José mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off backinto the building. I’m on my own with Grey. Double crap. What should I say to him?Apologize for the phone call.“I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying withmy fingers. It’s so soft.“What are you sorry for Anastasia?”Oh crap, he wants his damned pound of flesh.“The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” I murmur, feeling my skincoloring up. Please, please can I die now?“We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’sabout knowing your limits, Anastasia. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this isbeyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?”My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do withhim? I didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errantchild. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s mydecision and nothing to do with him – but I’m not brave enough. Not now that I’ve thrownup in front of him. Why is he still standing there?“No,” I say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desireto ever be again.”I just don’t understand why he’s here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness andgrabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child.“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs.“I need to tell Kate.” Holy Moses, I’m in his arms again.“My brother can tell her.”“What?”“My brother Elliot is talking to Miss Kavanagh.”