Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian Read online

When is Mommy coming home?

  Sometimes she comes home with him. I hate him. I hide when he comes. My favorite place is in my mommy’s closet. It smells of Mommy. It smells of Mommy when she’s happy.

  When is Mommy coming home?

  My bed is cold. And I am hungry. I have my blankie and my cars but not my mommy. When is Mommy coming home?

  I wake with a start.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I hate my dreams. They’re riddled with harrowing memories, distorted reminders of a time I want to forget. My heart is pounding and I’m drenched with sweat. But the worst consequence of these nightmares is dealing with the overwhelming anxiety when I wake.

  My nightmares have recently become more frequent, and more vivid. I have no idea why. Damned Flynn—he’s not back until sometime next week. I run both of my hands through my hair and check the time. It’s 5:38, and the dawn light is seeping through the curtains. It’s nearly time to get up.

  Go for a run, Grey.

  THERE IS STILL NO text or e-mail from Ana. As my feet pound the sidewalk, my anxiety grows.

  Leave it, Grey.

  Just fucking leave it!

  I know I’ll see her at the graduation ceremony.

  But I can’t leave it.

  Before my shower, I send her another text.

  Call me.

  I just need to know she’s safe.

  AFTER BREAKFAST THERE’S STILL no word from Ana. To get her out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honoring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.

  “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” Ana’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.

  I shrug it off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is way too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.

  Nine thirty and still no word from Ana. Her radio silence is worrying—and frankly rude. I call, but her phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.

  I hang up.

  Show some dignity, Grey.

  There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes—but it’s from Mia. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.

  * * *

  From: Mia G. Chef Extraordinaire

  Subject: Flights

  Date: May 26 2011 18:32 GMT-1

  To: Christian Grey

  Hey, Christian,

  I can’t wait to get out of here!

  Rescue me. Please.

  My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! *pouting!

  I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.

  Mom says you have a girlfriend.

  Is this true?

  What’s she like?

  I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

  See you Saturday. Missed you so much.

  À bientôt mon frère.

  Mxxxxxxxxx

  Oh hell! My mother’s big mouth. Ana is not my girlfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Mia a quick e-mail to let her know I’ll be there.

  At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Gray suit, white shirt, and of course that tie. It will be my subtle message to Ana that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.

  Yeah, real good times…images of her bound and wanting come to mind. Damn it. Why hasn’t she called? I press redial.

  Shit.

  Still no fucking answer!

  At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor.

  “Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.

  “Mr. Grey.”

  “How was yesterday?”

  “Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanor shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.

  “Sophie?”

  “She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well at school.”

  “That’s great to hear.”

  “The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go.”

  And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Miss Steele.

  THE CHANCELLOR’S SECRETARY USHERS me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young woman I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Katherine Kavanagh.

  “Hi, Christian,” she says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. She’s in her graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely she’s seen Ana.

  “Hi, Katherine. How are you?”

  “You seem baffled to see me here,” she says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Elliot tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.” We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sake. “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.

  “Thank you.” Her tone is clipped.

  “Is Ana here?”

  “Soon. She’s coming with her dad.”

  “You saw her this morning?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I wanted to know if she made it home in that deathtrap she calls a car.”

  “Wanda. She calls it Wanda. And yes, she did.” She gazes at me with a quizzical expression.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Kavanagh, escorts me over to meet the other academics.

  I’m relieved that Ana is in one piece, but pissed that she hasn’t replied to any of my messages.

  It’s not a good sign.

  But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs—one of the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.

  In a moment of weakness I try Ana’s phone once more. It goes straight to voice mail, and I’m interrupted by Kavanagh. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” she says as we walk down the hallway.

  When we reach the auditorium I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.

  Once the chancellor begins his welcome address I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. Where is she? Methodically I inspect each row.

  There you are.

  I find her huddled in the second row. She’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on her whereabouts last night and this morning. Her brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and she shifts in her seat, a slow flush coloring her cheeks.

  Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages. She’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto her breasts and her squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.

  Shit.

  Get it together, Grey.

  Dismissing her from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches.

  Kavanagh gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities—yes, carpe diem, Kate—and gets a rousing reception when she’s finished. She’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Miss Steele. It really amazes me that these two are friends.

  I hear my name announced;
the chancellor has introduced me. I rise and approach the lectern. Showtime, Grey.

  “I’m profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authorities of WSU today. It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental sciences department here at the university. Our aim is to develop viable and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries; our ultimate goal is to help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. Over a billion people, mainly in sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, live in abject poverty. Agricultural dysfunction is rife within these parts of the world, and the result is ecological and social destruction. I have known what it’s like to be profoundly hungry. This is a very personal journey for me.

  “As partners, WSU and GEH have made tremendous progress in soil fertility and arable technology. We are pioneering low-input systems in developing countries, and our test sites have increased crop yields up to thirty percent per hectare. WSU has been instrumental in this fantastic achievement. And GEH is proud of those students who join us through internships to work at our test sites in Africa. The work they do there benefits the local communities and the students themselves. Together we can fight hunger and the abject poverty that blights these regions.

  “But in this age of technological evolution, as the first world races ahead, widening the gap between the haves and the have-nots, it’s vital to remember that we must not squander the world’s finite resources. These resources are for all humanity, and we need to harness them, find ways of renewing them, and develop new solutions to feed our overpopulated planet.

  “As I’ve said, the work that GEH and WSU are doing together will provide solutions, and it’s our job to get the message out there. It’s through GEH’s telecommunications division that we intend to supply information and education to the developing world. I’m proud to say that we’re making impressive progress in solar technology, battery life, and wireless distribution that will bring the Internet to the remotest parts of the world—and our goal is to make it free to users at the point of delivery. Access to education and information, which we take for granted here, is the crucial component for ending poverty in these developing regions.

  “We’re lucky. We’re all privileged here. Some more than others, and I include myself in that category. We have a moral obligation to offer those less fortunate a decent life that’s healthy, secure, and well nourished, with access to more of the resources that we all enjoy here.

  “I’ll leave you with a quote that has always resonated with me. And I’m paraphrasing a Native American saying: ‘Only when the last leaf has fallen, the last tree has died, and the last fish been caught will we realize that we cannot eat money.’  ”

  As I sit down to rousing applause, I resist looking at Ana and examine the WSU banner hanging at the back of the auditorium. If she wants to ignore me, fine. Two can play at that game.

  The vice chancellor rises to commence handing out the degrees. And so begins the agonizing wait until we reach the S’s and I can see her again.

  After an eternity I hear her name called: “Anastasia Steele.” A ripple of applause, and she’s walking toward me looking pensive and worried.

  Shit.

  What is she thinking?

  Hold it together, Grey.

  “Congratulations, Miss Steele,” I say as I give Ana her degree. We shake hands, but I don’t let hers go. “Do you have a problem with your laptop?”

  She looks perplexed. “No.”

  “Then you are ignoring my e-mails?” I release her.

  “I only saw the mergers and acquisitions one.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  Her frown deepens, but I have to let her go—there’s a line forming behind her.

  “Later.” I let her know that we’re not finished with this conversation as she moves on.

  I’m in purgatory by the time we’ve reached the end of the line. I’ve been ogled, and had eyelashes batted at me, silly giggling girls squeezing my hand, and five notes with phone numbers pressed into my palm. I’m relieved as I exit the stage along with the faculty, to the strains of some dreary processional music and applause.

  In the corridor I grab Kavanagh’s arm. “I need to speak to Ana. Can you find her? Now.”

  Kavanagh is taken aback, but before she can say anything I add, in as polite a tone as I can manage, “Please.”

  Her lips thin with disapproval, but she waits with me as the academics file past and then she returns to the auditorium. The chancellor stops to congratulate me on my speech.

  “It was an honor to be asked,” I respond, shaking his hand once again. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Kate in the corridor—with Ana at her side. Excusing myself, I stride toward Ana.

  “Thank you,” I say to Kate, who gives Ana a worried glance. Ignoring her, I take Ana’s elbow and lead her through the first door I find. It’s a men’s locker room, and from the fresh smell I can tell it’s empty. Locking the door, I turn to face Miss Steele. “Why haven’t you e-mailed me? Or texted me back?” I demand.

  She blinks a couple of times, consternation writ large on her face. “I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” She seems genuinely bewildered by my outburst. “That was a great speech,” she adds.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, derailed. How can she not have checked her phone or e-mail?

  “Explains your food issues to me,” she says, her tone gentle—and if I’m not mistaken, pitying, too.

  “Anastasia, I don’t want to go there at the moment.”

  I don’t need your pity.

  I close my eyes. All this time I thought she didn’t want to talk to me. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Worried, why?”

  “Because you went home in that deathtrap you call a car.”

  And I thought I’d blown the deal between us.

  Ana bristles. “What? It’s not a deathtrap. It’s fine. José regularly services it for me.”

  “José, the photographer?” This just gets better and fucking better.

  “Yes, the Beetle used to belong to his mother.”

  “Yes, and probably her mother and her mother before her. It’s not safe.” I’m almost shouting.

  “I’ve been driving it for over three years. I’m sorry you were worried. Why didn’t you call?”

  I called her cell phone. Does she not use her damned cell phone? Is she talking about the house phone? Running my hand through my hair in exasperation, I take a deep breath. This is not addressing the fucking elephant in the room.

  “Anastasia, I need an answer from you. This waiting around is driving me crazy.”

  Her face falls.

  Shit.

  “Christian, I…look, I’ve left my stepdad on his own.”

  “Tomorrow. I want an answer by tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you then,” she says with an anxious look.

  Well, it’s still not a “no.” And once more, I’m surprised by my relief.

  What the hell is it about this woman? She stares up at me with sincere blue eyes, her face etched in concern, and I resist the urge to touch her. “Are you staying for drinks?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what Ray wants to do.” She looks uncertain.

  “Your stepfather? I’d like to meet him.”

  Her uncertainty magnifies. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she says darkly, as I unlock the door.

  What? Why? Is this because she now knows I was dirt-poor as a kid? Or because she knows how I like to fuck? That I’m a freak?

  “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No!” she exclaims, and she rolls her eyes in frustration. “Introduce you to my dad as what?” She raises her hands in exasperation. “ ‘This is the man who deflowered me and wants us to start a BDSM relationship’?
You’re not wearing running shoes.”

  Running shoes?

  Her dad is going to come after me? And just like that she has injected a little humor between us. My mouth twitches in response and she returns my smile, her face lighting up like a summer dawn.

  “Just so you know, I can run quite fast,” I respond playfully. “Just tell him I’m your friend, Anastasia.” I open the door and follow her out but stop when I reach the chancellor and his colleagues. As one they turn and stare at Miss Steele, but she’s disappearing into the auditorium. They turn back to me.

  Miss Steele and I are none of your business, people.

  I give the chancellor a brief, polite nod and he asks if I’ll come and meet more of his colleagues and enjoy some canapés.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  It takes me thirty minutes to escape from the faculty gathering, and as I make my way out of the crowded reception Kavanagh falls into step beside me. We head to the lawn where the graduates and their families are enjoying a post-graduation drink in a large tented pavilion.

  “So have you asked Ana to dinner on Sunday?” she asks.

  Sunday? Has Ana mentioned that we’re seeing each other on Sunday?

  “At your parents’ house,” Kavanagh explains.

  My parents?

  I spot Ana.

  What the fuck?

  A tall blond guy who looks as if he’s walked off a beach in California has his hands all over her.

  Who the hell is that? Is this why she didn’t want me to come for a drink?

  Ana looks up, catches my expression, and pales as her roommate stands beside that guy. “Hello, Ray,” Kavanagh says, and she kisses a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit standing beside Ana.

  This must be Raymond Steele.

  “Have you met Ana’s boyfriend?” Kavanagh asks him. “Christian Grey.”

  Boyfriend!

  “Mr. Steele, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mr. Grey,” he says, quietly surprised. We shake hands; his grip is firm, and his fingers and palm are rough to the touch. This man works with his hands. Then I remember—he’s a carpenter. His dark brown eyes give nothing away.

  “And this is my brother, Ethan Kavanagh,” says Kate, introducing the beach bum who has his arm wrapped around Ana.