IF YOU GO AWAY

....

“I can’t stay. I know what I want, and you can’t give it to me, and I can’t give you what you need,” she says in a despaired voice.

I take another step forward, but she holds up her hands to stop me.

“Don’t, please.” To see her recoil from me is simply despairing. She can’t even tolerate my touch. I’m dying as if by a thousand cuts. “I can’t do this.”

She grabs her suitcase and her backpack, and head for the foyer. I follow her, but keep a careful distance. I press the elevator button, and the doors open. She climbs in.

“Goodbye, Christian,” she murmurs.

“Ana, goodbye,” I say softly. I’m just a broken man, in agonizing pain in this moment. As she tears her gaze away from me I’m completely shattered; she might as well have taken everything with her because the second the elevator door is closed, my soul has left with Ana as I’ve never had it without her.

The only woman I ever loved just left me... The wind is knocked out of me, and with her leaving it feels like someone just turned the lights off, and took the sun away. I sink to my knees completely going limp like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders, and for the first time in my adult life, I start crying my head buried in my hands.

This is entirely my fault! I’m one fuckedup son-of-a-bitch! A bitch would have been a better thing; it’s worse...son of a crack-whore! How do I ever wash off that crap off of me so I don’t taint anyone anymore? I’ve tainted and hurt my baby, my girlfriend, my woman, my only love!

I get up from the floor resolutely, tears still streaming on their own volition. I might have run into Mrs. Jones with her mouth on the floor, but who can tell? I can barely see where I’m walking, my eyes and my mind completely clouded.

I walk into the bedroom and directly go to the bathroom tears still streaming, my sobs subsides. I nearly rip the shirt off my back, and take my jeans off. Turn the water to hot, and walk into the shower. I grab a scrubber on the way in and lather it with body wash. I start scrubbing and washing away the dirt the crack whore’s pimp laid on me, and that got stuck, infused with me all these years. I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub relentlessly all the cigarette marks, all the places I have not allowed Anastasia to touch. I disgust myself! I hate myself! Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub... My chest is raw and red... Next I move to my arms, and hands. These are the hands that want to hurt Anastasia! Scrub...scrub...scrub...scrub... on and on and on. I can’t reach my back! I have a scrubber with a handle somewhere. I walk out of the shower dripping water and soap everywhere but I don’t care and check one of the cabinets, and there it is, I slam the damn cabinet with such a force it springs back a couple of time before it stops and remains closed.

I soap that scrubber up, and scrub my back over and over and over again until its raw and painful. Pain is good. I’m familiar with it. I’m still existing, on this plane where Anastasia lives. I stand under the hot water like this forever it seems, and the realization that Ana has left me slams into me again, making me weak at the knees once more, and I collapse in the shower and my back to the shower wall, I gather my knees, and let my grief consume me as my misery takes a nosedive, like an airplane spiraling out of control.

I see nothing, can think of anything, and can’t gather a coherent thought except for Anastasia.

“Mr. Grey?” I hear a hesitant voice from the entry. I don’t respond. The voice is soft, but distant. I am not here. I feel as if I’ve left my body; just an observer of my own self from a distance, from above; anywhere but on the shower floor. I’m like a zombie in my own skin.

“Mr. Grey?” this time the female voice is closer.

“Oh, Dear Lord!” now the voice is anxious, worried, and scared. Surely, not for me...

“Taylor!” Oh, the voice is loud now.

“Taylor! Jason Taylor! Get your ass over here!” what language can this woman speak! Who is this?

I hear footsteps. No, fast running footfalls, getting louder, and finally stops before the entry of my bathroom. Someone walks into the shower. What a rude man! You just don’t walk into the shower with another man, uninvited!

“Sir! Sir!” He yells. “Sir, can you hear me?”

He turns the water off and I notice that his dark suited is soaked.

“Gayle, hand me couple of towels please!” he barks an order; efficient like a soldier.

All of a sudden I’m being hoisted to my feet and a big fluffy towel is wrapped around my waist and another one on my torso.

“Go to my office, and get my first aid kit,” he barks another sharp order. Then answers a question I couldn’t hear.

“They’re labeled. First aid, and burn.”

I hear running feet distancing themselves.

“Sir, I’m going to lay you on your bed now,” he speaks to me gently like he’s talking to a small child. I nod. He takes me to my bed, and there is a box on my pillow. Jason is about to remove it, but he stops.

“This is from Miss Steele,” he says softly. All my wits come back to me rushing with full force.

“It’s mine!” I say yanking it out of Taylor’s hands as if his touch would desecrate a sacred item.

I hug it to myself, and Taylor eyes me with an expression I’ve never seen him with before. Is it compassion? When I can finally put the box back on the bed, I see the not on top of it.

This reminded me of a happy time.

Thank you.

Ana

I gaze at the box for a long time. I hear a strange sound. A choked sound. I look up and Taylor and Mrs. Jones are gazing at each other with worried expressions mirroring each other. Who the hell is making that sound? When two large drops land on the box containing a kit for Blahnik L23 glider, I realize that I’m the one who is making the choking sound.

Taylor shifts uncomfortable on his feet. He nods at Mrs. Jones and she leaves the room with a worried look on her face.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.

“Hmm...” is all I can say to reply.

“I need to administer first aid to you sir,” he says flatly.

“What for?”

“Your skin seems a bit raw sir. It’ll fasten the healing process.”

“I’ll do that myself Taylor,” I say finally finding my flat voice, maybe an ordering, firm tone. I think I hear Taylor letting a sigh of relief out. If I can’t let Anastasia touch me, I sure as hell can’t let Taylor administer my chest first aid. It’s nothing worse than Anastasia’s bottom anyway.

“Will you be okay sir?” Taylor asks hesitantly.

No, I think to myself. I’ll never be okay without Anastasia.

“How was Miss Steele?” I ask him.

“Sir...” he hesitates. “She was... not good sir,” he says slowly. I look at him to tell me more. He was the last person in touch with the only woman I ever loved. I want to hear it no matter how painful!

He hesitates.

“Taylor, I want you to tell me? How was she? How did she look? Did she say anything to you?”

Taylor looks at me as if he’s going to betray Anastasia’s trust if he says anything. He’s quiet.

“Taylor?” I ask sharply. He doesn’t flinch.

“She was devastated, sir. She wept, and sobbed all the way home. She kind of rolled in on herself in the backseat, and cried,” he says. His words are like stabbing a fresh wound.

“Did you help her up to her place?”

“She didn’t want any help sir... She just...” he paused looking away, “she just stumbled away on her own slowly.”

“Thank you Taylor,” I murmur. “I’ll be at home all day today. I have this model glider to build that Anastasia got for me. So, we’re not going to the Ball this evening. Have Mrs. Jones fix me a light lunch please.”

“Yes, sir!” he says a little more enthusiastically than warranted. Taylor leaves the room. I took one of the lotions Mrs. Jones brought and rub it on my chest. I put a black t-shirt and black pants on as if to emphasize my own misery.

Taking my Blahnik L23 glider box in my arm, I walk into the living room. Mrs. Jones is busily fixing me a sandwich.

“What would you like to drink sir?”

“Wine please,” I say.

My Blackberry rings on the breakfast counter. I run to answer it hope against hope thinking it’s Anastasia, and Mrs. Jones turns to look at me also hopeful.

“Ana!” I say out of breath.

“Hi Christian! This is Elena...” is the answering reply.

“What the fuck do you want?” I say my tone changing to shards of ice.

“Did I call you at a bad time?” she asks.

“Worst! You’re the last person I want to speak to right now Elena!” I snarl at her.

“Christian, have I offended you someway?” she asks in a small voice.

“If you must know! My girlfriend Anastasia left me!”

“But, why? I thought you were getting along so well...” she says.

“Why? Because, I’m one fucked up son of a bitch! That’s why! I told you, she’s an angel, and I’m the devil spawn! I destroy all good things!”

“Christian, don’t be so harsh on yourself! She wasn’t a great sub anyway. I knew she couldn’t handle our lifestyle. I told you to dump her. Look what she’s doing to you! I told you that love is a useless emotion, and it got you all out of sorts, dear...” she says, and I’ve had it with her crap!

“Shut the fuck up Elena! If I need your opinion, I will ask for it. I’ve just told you that my girlfriend left me, and you’re telling me to dump her ass. Well, guess what? Your wish has been granted. My ass has been dumped, and I have never been this miserable in my entire life! She took the sun away with her! She took my soul! I’m lost in an abyss! Do you have any idea about the torment I’m going through right now? Of course you don’t! You’ve never loved anyone besides yourself! And now you have the audacity to tell me that it’s almost good riddance that she’s gone!”

“Christian, but...”

“No, buts Elena! I’m done with that shit! I need to sort my own shit out! She’s my life! My soul! How can I live without my life, without my soul?”

“I’m sorry Christian! I can’t bear seeing you hurt!”

“Save your sorry to for someone who cares! I have to go. My girlfriend gave me a model glider, and I’ll have to build it. Don’t call me until I call you!” I hang up.

Mrs. Jones is frozen in her place momentarily but she brings the plate of food to the breakfast bar, and a glass of wine, and silently walks away.

I have a glider to build today. And, tomorrow, either I have to find a way to distance myself completely from Anastasia...or... but I can’t bring the rest of that thought. How can I think of her with someone else holding her, touching her, making love to her?

I have a glider to build today. That’s what I’m going to do. And tomorrow, I’m gonna sort my shit out, and find a way to get my girlfriend back. Everything is bleak, and worthless without her, just as I am.

End of Book 1