Who was massaging your back?
Christian Grey
CEO with friends in the right places,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I check the time of her e-mail. She should be on board right now, if her plane is on time. I quickly open Google and check departures from Sea-Tac. Her flight is on schedule.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Strong Able Hands
Date: May 30 2011 22:22
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge—so thank you again for that treat.
What the hell?
I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to e-mail once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently.
Pleasant dreams, Mr. Grey…thinking of you.
Ana
Is she trying to make me jealous? Does she have any idea how mad I can get? She’s been gone for a few hours, and she’s deliberately making me angry. Why does she do this to me?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Enjoy It While You Can
Date: May 30 2011 22:25
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I know what you’re trying to do—and trust me, you’ve succeeded. Next time you’ll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate. Believe me when I say that attending to you in that state will give me so much more pleasure than merely upgrading your ticket.
I look forward to your return.
Christian Grey
Palm-Twitching CEO,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her response is almost immediate.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Joking?
Date: May 30 2011 22:30
To: Christian Grey
You see—I have no idea if you’re joking—and if you’re not, then I think I’ll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me.
A
Of course I’m joking…sort of. At least she knows I’m mad. Her plane should be taking off. How is she e-mailing?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Joking
Date: May 30 2011 22:31
To: Anastasia Steele
How can you be e-mailing? Are you risking the life of everyone on board, including yourself, by using your BlackBerry? I think that contravenes one of the rules.
Christian Grey
Two-Palms-Twitching CEO,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
And we know what happens if you contravene the rules, Miss Steele. I check the Sea-Tac website for flight departures; her plane has left. I won’t be hearing from her for a while. That thought, as well as her little e-mail stunt, has put me in a foul mood. Abandoning my work, I head into the kitchen and decide to pour myself a drink, tonight Armagnac.
Taylor pops his head around the entrance to the living room.
“Not now,” I bark.
“Very good, sir,” he says, and heads back to wherever he came from.
Don’t take your mood out on the staff, Grey.
Annoyed at myself, I walk toward the windows and stare out at the Seattle skyline. I wonder how she’s gotten under my skin, and why our relationship is not progressing in the direction I would like. I’m hoping that once she’s had a chance to reflect in Georgia, she’ll make the right decision. Won’t she?
Anxiety blooms in my chest. I take another slug of my drink and sit down at my piano to play.
TUESDAY, MAY 31, 2011
* * *
Mommy is gone. I don’t know where.
He’s here. I hear his boots. They are loud boots.
They have silver buckles. They stomp. Loud.
He stomps. And he shouts.
I am in Mommy’s closet.
Hiding.
He won’t hear me.
I can be quiet. Very quiet.
Quiet because I’m not here.
“You fucking bitch!” he shouts.
He shouts a lot.
“You fucking bitch!”
He shouts at Mommy.
He shouts at me.
He hits Mommy.
He hits me.
I hear the door close. He’s not here anymore.
And Mommy is gone, too.
I stay in the closet. In the dark. I’m very quiet.
I sit for a long time. A long, long, long time.
Where is Mommy?
There’s a whisper of dawn in the sky when I open my eyes. The radio alarm says 5:23. I’ve slept fitfully, plagued by unpleasant dreams, and I’m exhausted, but I decide to go for a run to wake myself up. Once I’m in sweats, I pick up my phone. There’s a text from Ana.
Arrived safely in Savannah. A :)
Good. She’s there, and safe. The thought pleases me and I quickly scan my e-mail. The subject of Ana’s latest message leaps out at me: “Do you like to scare me?”
No fucking way.
My scalp prickles and I sit down on the bed, scrolling through her words. She must have sent this during her layover in Atlanta, before she sent her text.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Do you like to scare me?
Date: May 31 2011 06:52 EST
To: Christian Grey
You know how much I dislike you spending money on me. Yes, you’re very rich, but still it makes me uncomfortable, like you’re paying me for sex. However, I like traveling first class, it’s so much more civilized than coach. So thank you. I mean it—and I did enjoy the massage from Jean-Paul. He was very gay. I omitted that bit in my e-mail to you to wind you up, because I was annoyed with you, and I’m sorry about that.
But as usual you overreact. You can’t write things like that to me—bound and gagged in a crate. (Were you serious or was it a joke?) That scares me…you scare me…I am completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn’t even know existed until last week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills. I won’t, of course, because I’d miss you. Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path you’re leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I’m curious, but I’m also scared you’ll hurt me—physically and emotionally. After three months you could say good-bye, and where will that leave me if you do? But then I suppose that risk is there in any relationship. This just isn’t the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having, especially as my first. It’s a huge leap of faith for me.