Thank you
I'm glad that you like it, and I'm also glad that you liked the anxiety part. It seems my damned anxiety disorder is really good for something, namely, writing compelling scenes about anxiety!
Now a quick look into Christian Grey's head that was very difficult to write. I mean, he's still an arrogant dick, but it seems that different kinds of arrogant dicks don't quite write the same. Also, Drunk!Ana and Drunk!José.
Fifty Shades Revisited – Chapter 6: Where the award for the most obnoxious drunk is a very close call I stare into the space that Anastasia – Ana – has just vacated and try to shake off the feeling of confusion that washes over me.
What the fuck was that?One moment, she's in my arms, pressed up against me, her blue eyes roaming my face and then, finally, dropping low to my mouth... asking – no, begging – me to kiss her. The next, she looks at me like I've destroyed something beautiful and precious, before she draws the mask back over her face, and I'm Mr Grey again instead of Christian. Why? I really have no fucking clue.
I shake my head, trying to clear my sluggish thoughts, but there's no use to it. Every time I want to concentrate, to rationalize what happened, that pained, distant smile she shot at me before she disappeared towards the garage returns. I can't think when I see it – I can only feel. And I feel like shit. Not only because that smile might mean that she doesn't want to see me again, but also because I can only imagine how much I hurt her, for her to react in the way she did. Not that I
know what I did, but, well...
I'll have to make it up to her. My disjointed, racing thoughts come to a screeching halt, then tumble down the deep, dark canyon I hadn't seen coming at all. Why should I make something I didn't do up to a young woman I barely know, one I'll never see again after her graduation ceremony? Why are her emotional well-being and my opinion of me so important to me?
Oh no. No no no! I'm not going down that
rabbit hole! Not that I didn't realize I'm attracted to her before – because I did, and I am. How could I not be? She's beautiful and smart, and the glimpses I've seen of her when she's not all polite, demure smiles... I shake my head again, exasperated with myself. This goes beyond mere initial attraction, and unfortunately, our little coffee date put all the reasons why this is a BAD IDEA – yes, in capitals – into stark relief.
Our characters are extremely disparate. We come from vastly different backgrounds. We want to do very different things with our lives. And I also suppose that we want very different things in our relationships and from our partners, sexually speaking. I'd be extremely surprised if Ana was into the stuff I like... quite on the contrary. I doubt she's even heard of spanking.
I could teach her. It's not the first time I have that brilliant idea, and it also won't be the last, but while the thought of rediscovering all the kinky things I like together with Ana has a certain – no, who am I kidding, a LOT of – appeal, there's something else that held me back. She isn't comfortable around me, and she doesn't trust me, and that's a bad thing even in a vanilla relationship, or when having vanilla sex. But when you want to handcuff, blindfold and flog someone, it falls more into the “Don't do this ever ever EVER” category off things.
Of course, how she thinks and feels about me might change – but it also might not. And what would I do if it doesn't? I'm too emotionally invested into her already, and I like my risks controllable, thank you very much. I wouldn't have gotten where I am now otherwise.
“Mr Grey?”
Thank God for Taylor and his impeccable sense of timing. He arrived at just the right moment, when I am ready to put this little disaster behind me, and I smile at him gratefully. “Yes?”
“You have to leave now if you want to make your meeting at WSU.”
“Of course, thank you.” I shake my head, irritatedly. I don't deal well with all that emotional confusion I'm not used to, or I'd never forgotten about the time.
Time to put Ms Anastasia Steele out of my head, and for good. I nearly succeed, too – until I stumble over the auction of Jane Austen's unfinished manuscript of
The Watsons, and have the perfect idea how I can make my blunder up to Ana...
I put my pen down after an exam for the last time and can barely contain the grin that spreads over my face. Finished! My academic career is over. I'm ready to do something fresh and new, to get a real, proper job, and to finally start paying back my student loans.
Kate is feeling the same way – well, sans student loans, of course – and the exuberant, nearly conspiratory grin she shoots me from across the hall nearly makes me giggle with excitement.
Finished! Finished! Finished! I could jump with joy – only that the students still scribbling furiously around me, five minutes to the finish, would definitely kill me for pulling a stunt like that.
We head back to our apartment in Kate's merc, so relieved that we're nearly giddy, talking about anything but our final paper. There's nothing to do about it, nothing to learn from it, and the grades we'll get for it are in a future that feels distant and hazy compared to the weekend of relaxation, celebration and alcohol – lots of alcohol, probably – immediately ahead of us.
“Can you believe how nervous I was?” Kate asks me as we walk up the steps to the front door of our building. “And now it's all gone... I feel like I can fly!” Her eyes are on her purse, fishing for her keys, and she nearly stumbles over a brown package on the floor, only catching her balance at the last possible moment. “Whoa!”
I can barely hold myself back from giggling over the irony of it, and Kate shoots me a dark look as she picks it up. “It's for you.”
Well, that's odd. I haven't ordered anything lately, and neither mom nor Ray have warned me that there's something coming my way. Maybe a graduation surprise? “It's probably from my folks.”
“Well, open it!” Kate seems nearly more excited about my package than I am, and she never leaves my side as we head into the kitchen and place it on the table.
I feel like I'm under a microscope as I peel off the brown paper and open the parcel, and the moment I see the half leather box inside it, I know that this
definitely isn't from mom, or Ray. Next to me, Kate holds her breath as I reveal three old, cloth-covered books in mint condition, and a plain white card. I go for the card first – I want to know if my instincts are correct about this one – and I open it with shaking fingers.
Anastasia,congratulations to your graduation. I'm sure you've been as successful I've predicted. Christian On one side of the card, I find his congratulations that seem so cool and formal after all we've shared –
Or rather not shared, Miss Make-Me-Guilty is quick to correct. On the other, a quote from
Tess that I've probably mulled over a thousand times...
Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me? Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks… What a coincidence! I've just spent three hours writing about Thomas Hardy's novels in my final exam, and now I get a quote from
Tess and... I draw in a sharp breath as I inspect the three books more closely. The three volumes of
Tess of the d'Urbervilles.
He didn't. No, he didn't! But there it is, on the front plate...
1891.
“First editions? You've got to be kidding me.” Kate next to me was just as quick on the uptake as I am, and she seems even more shocked. “But why?”
“I have not the faintest idea,” I reply, feeling like a deer in the headlights again, my fingers reverently stroking over the old paper. “And that card...”
Kate sighs deeply, and I know exactly why. She's been the one to pick up the emotional mess Christian Grey left behind, and I'm pretty sure that she resents the guy, just on principle, just because he made me cry. If he walked into the room right now, she'd go all mama bear on him and scare him straight away, because she thinks he isn't good for me.
“He didn't want to kiss you, he hasn't called the whole week, and now he spent a shit-ton of money on you. That guy really has to get his act together.”
I nod, uncertainly. I'm not sure that everything is as easy and cleanly-cut as Kate makes it out to be, but one thing I know. I can't accept these from him. They're worth a fortune, and I wasn't even entirely comfortable with him paying for my tea at the coffee shop. “At least he should have a good explanation for sending me this stuff.”
Kate frowns at me sternly. “Are you going to keep them?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course not!” I shake my head in exasperation as I stare down at the precious volumes. They're something that belong into a library or an archive, not into my Billy shelf. “I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.”
“The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Kate asks with a completely straight face.
“Yes, that bit.” I giggle. Kate's humor really is a life-saver, especially when it is employed in my defense, and I'm relieved when she carefully puts the books and the card back into their box and shuts it firmly.
“Good. And now we have something else to do!” She heads for the fridge, where our exams-are-finished-hurrah champagne is waiting for us, and a moment later, presses a cool glass into my hand.
“To the end of exams and our new life in Seattle.” She grins.
“To the end of exams, our new life in Seattle, and excellent results.” We clink glasses and drink, and Christian Grey fades out of my mind. For a time.
The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon-to-be graduates celebrating the end of their academic career by getting completely and utterly wasted, and we're squarely in the middle. Kate
loves this, hanging out with our friends, drinking, dancing, laughing, and even I am a bit less self-conscious than usual, courtesy to the champagne earlier and the margaritas José bought for us. He's with us, even though he's only in his junior year, to “help get us into the spirit”. Personally, I think he'd take any excuse for partying with us.
“Are you looking forward to Seattle?” he shouts at me over the noise, and I inch closer to him so I can actually hear him – and he me. I'm not the type for shouting, no matter how loud it is.
“Of course I am! The real life is waiting for me!” Not that I particularly disliked college – it is an awesome learning experience. But after four years, I'm itching to get out into the world and actually
do something – something that has to do with my major, and not with paint, bolts, screws and duct tape.
“But you'll be back for my show?” There's an eager, almost puppy-like quality to his question, and I put my hand on his forearm to reassure him.
“Of course, José, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you'll be there.” He seems so concerned and serious that I wonder if there's more to his question than what meets the eye, and as two margaritas are apparently enough to break my brain-mouth filter, I blurt it all out.
“You know, just because Kate and I are moving to Seattle, that doesn't mean that we're not friends any more. Because of course we'll stay friends! We'll talk all the time! And text! And you can come up to Seattle to visit us on the weekends, or we'll come to see you, and in a year, maybe you can get a job in the area?”
I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself, but after a moment or two of serious – if slightly drunk – consideration, José nods earnestly. “Thank you, Ana. That's real nice of you... I just... I just think this year will be very lonely for me.”
I really don't know what to say to that, so I just laugh and hug him. “Oh, come on, a successful photographer like you doesn't have time to be lonely! You'll have tons of groupies to keep you company!”
He hugs me back, and he laughs too, but I'm pretty sure that I hear him murmur “It won't be the same!” as I draw back from him.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask him, because my glass is empty and his is too, and I think it's a really good time to switch to water, judging from the way my head's spinning madly.
“No, thanks, I'm good!”
While I stagger towards the bar, I see the sign for the ladies' room in the distance, and, well, it's probably a good idea to make the detour. If it gets any more crowded in here, I won't be able to get through, and if I get any more drunk...
Only water for you from now on, girlfriend!There's a line of other girls, who are at least as drunk as I am, but I can stand under an open window, and the noise coming from the bar has abated and I can only hear the thumping bass in the distance. I reach for my phone, because not only can I barely think, my thoughts have been too filled of Christian Grey lately to make them good company.
Hm... who did I last call?There's José, and there's Kate – I forgot to put orange juice on the shopping list – and then...
Damn it. Christian Grey's number. I can't even escape him when I want to escape him. But maybe... I giggle. Time for some payback! If I can't forget about him, then I'll definitely make sure that he can't forget about me. Even in the middle of the night! Maybe I'll even wake him!
I hit the “call” button before I can think – not that I'm any good at it right now – and suppress the naughty grin of a schoolgirl planning a particularly impressive prank.
“Anastasia?” Of course I nearly have a heart attack when he picks up, and of course I barely remember what I wanted to accomplish with this. I'm drunk, after all.
“Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him angrily, and I put the force of all the hours of doubt and uncertainty I've experienced during the last week behind my words. Finals would've been stressful enough without dealing with Christian Grey and all his hot-and-cold, insecure behavior!
“Ana? Are you all right? You sound strange.”
“I'm not the strange one. You are!” There! I told him! Like Lizzy did after Mr Darcy's awful proposal at Hunsford!
“Ana, are you
drunk?” The out-of-sorts, nearly panicky tone of his voice even registers through my alcohol-induced haze, but my capacity for compassion with him is officially sold out as of now.
“What's it to you? Besides, that's so totally not the point here!”
“Then what is the point, exactly?” he replies with forced calm, and I giggle a bit at the way I unnerve him.
Mission so accomplished!Then I frown. What was I going to say? “I really really really really don't know right now.”
“Where are you?”
“I'm in a bar. An awesome bar!” I turn around, arms flailing, to drink in all the awesomeness of the dirty, grimy corridor that leads to the restrooms.
Oh, shit. Bad idea!“Are you alone? Is Kate with you?”
“I'm all alone here...” Well, except for about twenty other women waiting for their turn to go to the bathroom, but, well, they don't count, right?
“How are you getting home?”
“I'll find a way.” And why are we even talking about that? It's not as if it's important, compared to... to... to whatever I wanted to do when I called Christian at this damned hour of the night.
“Ana, where are you? Tell me now!” And here's my control freak back again, telling me what I can do, and what I cannot do. I imagine him as an old-time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old-fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud.
“You’re so … domineering.” I giggle.
“Where the fuck are you? You can't do that to me!”
Oh, my, he's really upset. At me. I'm really honored. “I'm in Portland, stupid. Faaaar away from you!”
“Where, Ana?”
“Good night, Christian.” I hang up and pump my fist in the air. Yeah. I won. I mean, not that I have the faintest idea
what I won, but I know without a doubt that I won the drunk-dialing contest against Christian Grey.
The thought makes my drunk thoughts pause, and I frown with confusion at the condom vending machine on the wall. That I've won the drunk-dialing contest against Christian Grey, that means that... that... that... that I drunk-dialed Christian Grey.
Holy shit! I drunk-dialed Christian Grey!“Hey, it's your turn!” The rude push that the girl behind me gives me makes me stumble, and I can barely catch myself on the door of the stall door. If my head's spinning because of my shock and confusion or because of the alcohol still circling through my system, I really can't tell.
Oh my fucking God. How shall I ever, ever, ever survive my graduation ceremony? I'm suddenly gripped with the fervent wish that I've flunked all of my exams, only because I
never want to see Christian Grey again.
The seemingly eternal wait at the bar – the place is crowded, and the staff can barely keep up – gives me way too much time to think about what happened, and with my thoughts slowly clearing as I finally get my water, I feel like I'm going to die from mortification. I've only ever been at the “the world is made of pink fluffy cotton candy and I love it” stage of drunkenness, and never in the more advanced “so thoroughly wasted that I start to do stupid things” phase. I haven't ever had to handle a situation like this – or even a situation similar to this that doesn't involve a scorching hot billionaire who's going to hand me my degree in front of my whole year – and I have not the faintest idea what to do. Hoping that the ground will swallow me whole hasn't worked terribly well the last time.
“Where were you? You've been gone so long that I really started to worry!” Kate scolds me as I finally return to our table, water in hand.
“There was a line at the restroom,” I reply rather sheepishly and take a long gulp from my glass as Kate just shakes her head in that judgmental way of hers, and I really can't take that right now. Not after I've beat myself up over calling Christian.
“Ana, there's something...”
I cut her off before she's got a chance to dress me down even further. “I think I'd better step outside and get some fresh air. I'm really not feeling well.”
“Ana...”
“I'll be five minutes.” I'm gone before she can continue, and relieved when I've finally left the crowd behind and step out into the cool, calming air of the dark parking lot.
Oh shit, I'm really drunk. The world is swaying around me, nausea is slowly creeping up my throat, and I'm even more unsteady on my feet than usually.
Why did I ever think this was a good idea?“Ana? You okay? You really don't look so good.” José has followed me out of the bar, his dark eyes trained on me intently, and I suppress my annoyance. Is it really so much to ask to be just left
alone?
“I'm fine. I've just had a bit too much to drink.” I smile weakly at him, taking care to keep my lips closed, because I really think that I'm going to be sick.
“Do you want to sit down?” He gestures towards the concrete edge of a raised flower bed at the side of the parking lot, and I follow him over – my knees feel like jelly, and I don't think that standing for any extended length of time is a good idea right now.
“Thank you,” I murmur, gingerly settling down next to him while José rakes his fingers through his dark hair.
“I'm going to miss you, Ana,” he says, and I get the distinct feeling that he's right in the middle of the melancholy stage of drunkenness right now. “I'm going to miss you very, very much.”
“I'm also going to miss you,” I reply, uncertainly, wondering where this will go. “And Kate, too.”
“It's not the same.” He sullenly shuffles his feet over the gravel. “The way Kate's going to miss me, and the way I'm going to miss you are totally different. And the way you're going to miss me is also totally different from the way I'm going to miss you... don't you understand?”
I honestly don't. All his “miss me” and “miss you” has me totally confused, but I've got this sinking feeling that I really won't like where he's going with this little speech. And my gut's right – that much becomes clear when he finally continues. “Will I ever get a chance with you, Ana? You know how I feel about you, don't you?”
Aw... shit. I knew that at some time, José and I would have to talk about his feelings – unrequited feelings – for me, but I sure as hell hoped that it wouldn't be in a dark parking lot outside a crowded bar while we're both so far on the wrong side of “just tipsy” that we can't even see sober any more. My first instinct is to stall him, but the earnest, vulnerable look on his face makes me ditch that idea then and there. José deserves an answer, even if his timing leaves a lot to be desired.
“I'm sorry. You know, I really really like you, and you're the best friend I could hope for, but... well... I don't think things would work out between us.”
“But why?” he asks, and I sigh deeply as the ghost of Christian Grey intrudes into my mind again.
“I just... I just don't like you
that way, okay? I just don't.” There's real pain in my voice, not only because I know that I'm hurting José, however inadvertently, with my words, but also because it was a painful process to reach that conclusion. I can't even remember how often I've asked myself what's wrong with me, because there is that gorgeous man who's interested in me, and I'm not tempted in the slightest, where other women would jump at the opportunity...
Well, it seems you have a sex drive after all. Christian Grey is the living, breathing proof of that. “Okay.” For a moment, José's voice breaks, but after he's exhaled a deep breath, he's the friend I've known for so long again, not the man I've just put down and hurt in the process. “It would've been kinda awkward between us, anyway. I mean, my dad sees you a bit like the daughter he's never had, and with us in a relationship...”
I laugh with him, and when he puts his arm around me, I lean into his embrace and put my head on his shoulder. Maybe it was a good decision to have this conversation, after all. Now that we've talked about this, the air seems clearer between us, and only now that it is dispelled I realize how much tension hung in the air between us during the last few months. Maybe now, we can get back to just being friends and...
The sound of shoes crunching on gravel makes me look up, and I see the silhouette of a man quietly retreat from behind the car next to us. A silhouette I would recognize everywhere. “Christian?”
Up next: If you have any lingering dislike for Christian Grey, either from the original trilogy or the shit he's done in this story, you'll love the next chapter. Kate's going to have a field day.