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“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t. Just a few days, Christian. We have so much more to talk about.” He shakes my hand and gives me a reassuring smile, and I leave with a small blossom of hope.
STANDING ON THE BALCONY, I survey Seattle at night. Up here I’m at one remove, away from it all. What did she call it?
My ivory tower.
Normally I find it peaceful—but lately my peace of mind has been shattered by a certain blue-eyed young woman.
“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?” Flynn’s words taunt me, suggesting so many possibilities.
Could I win her back? The thought terrifies me.
I take a sip of my cognac. Why would she want me back? Could I ever be what she wants me to be? I won’t let go of my hope. I need to find a way.
I need her.
Something startles me—a movement, a shadow at the periphery of my vision. I frown. What the…? I turn toward the shadow, but find nothing. I’m seeing things now. I slug the cognac and head back into the living room.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 2011
* * *
Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time. I shake her. She doesn’t wake up. I call her. She doesn’t wake up. He isn’t here and still Mommy doesn’t wake up.
I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair to the sink and I have a drink. The water splashes over my sweater. My sweater is dirty. Mommy is still asleep. Mommy, wake up! She lies still. She is cold. I fetch my blankie and I cover Mommy and I lie down on the sticky green rug beside her.
My tummy hurts. It is hungry, but Mommy is still asleep. I have two toy cars. One red. One yellow. My green car is gone. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the icebox I find peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly. They make my tummy hurt. I sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the icebox is something. It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue sticks. I eat it slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water. I play with my cars and I sleep beside Mommy. Mommy is so cold and she won’t wake up. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie. Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked-up bitch. Shit. Fuck. Get out of my way, you little shit. He kicks me and I hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. My head hurts. The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. I stay by Mommy. No. Stay away from me. The lady policeman has my blankie and she grabs me. I scream. Mommy. Mommy. The words are gone. I can’t say the words. Mommy can’t hear me. I have no words.
I wake breathing hard, taking huge gulps of air, checking my surroundings. Oh, thank God—I’m in my bed. Slowly the fear recedes. I’m twenty-seven, not four. This shit has to stop.
I used to have my nightmares under control. Maybe one every couple of weeks, but nothing like this—night after night.
Since she left.
I turn over and lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. When she slept beside me, I slept well. I need her in my life, in my bed. She was the day to my night. I’m going to get her back.
How?
“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?”
She wants hearts and flowers. Can I give her that? I frown, trying to recall the romantic moments in my life…And there’s nothing…except with Ana. The “more.” The gliding, and IHOP, and taking her up in Charlie Tango.
Maybe I can do this. I drift back to sleep, the mantra in my head: She’s mine. She’s mine…and I smell her, feel her soft skin, taste her lips, and hear her moans. Exhausted, I fall into an erotic, Ana-filled dream.
I wake suddenly. My scalp tingles, and for a moment I think whatever’s disturbed me is external rather than internal. I sit up and rub my head and slowly scan the room.
In spite of the carnal dream, my body has behaved. Elena would be pleased. She texted yesterday, but Elena’s the last person I want to talk to—there’s only one thing I want to do right now. I get up and pull on my running gear.
I’m going to check on Ana.
HER STREET IS QUIET except for the rumble of a delivery truck and the out-of-tune whistling of a solitary dog walker. Her apartment is in darkness, the curtains to her room closed. I keep a silent vigil from my stalker’s hide, staring up at the windows and thinking. I need a plan—a plan to win her back.
As dawn’s light brightens her window, I turn my iPod up loud, and with Moby blaring in my ears I run back to Escala.
“I’LL HAVE A CROISSANT, Mrs. Jones.”
She stills in surprise and I raise a brow.
“Apricot preserves?” she asks, recovering.
“Please.”
“I’ll heat up a couple for you, Mr. Grey. Here’s your coffee.”
“Thank you, Gail.”
She smiles. Is it just because I’m having croissants? If it makes her that happy, I should have them more often.
IN THE BACK OF the Audi, I plot. I need to get up close and personal with Ana Steele, to begin my campaign to win her back. I call Andrea, knowing that at 7:15 she won’t be at her desk yet, and I leave a voice mail. “Andrea, as soon as you’re in, I want to run through my schedule for the next few days.” There—step one in my offensive is to make time in my schedule for Ana. What the hell am I supposed to be doing this week? Currently, I don’t have a clue. Normally I’m on this shit, but lately I’ve been all over the place. Now I have a mission to focus on. You can do this, Grey.