been. I hear it in his tone, in the way he places his fingers on my back, holding me - and the atmosphere in the room changes.
I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow. It comes hard, snapping across my backside, and the bite of the belt is everything I feared. I cry out involuntarily, and take a huge gulp of air.
"Count, Anastasia!" he commands.
"One!" I shout at him, and it sounds like an expletive.
He hits me again, and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the belt. Holy shit...
that smarts.
"Two!" I scream. It feels so good to scream.
His breathing is ragged and harsh. Whereas mine is almost non-existent as I desperately scrabble around my psyche looking for some internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh again.
"Three!" Tears spring unwelcome into my eyes. Jeez - this is harder than I thought -
so much harder than the spanking. He's not holding anything back.
"Four!" I yell as the belt bites me again, and now the tears are streaming down my face.
I don't want to cry. It angers me that I am crying. He hits me again.
"Five." My voice is more a choked, strangled sob, and in this moment, I think I hate him. One more, I can do one more. My backside feels as if it's on fire.
"Six," I whisper as the blistering pain cuts across me again, and I hear him drop the belt behind me, and he's pulling me into his arms, all breathless and compassionate... and I want none of him.
"Let go... no... " And I find myself struggling out his grasp, pushing him away. Fighting him.
"Don't touch me!" I hiss. I straighten and stare at him, and he's watching me as if I might bolt, gray eyes wide, bemused. I dash the tears angrily out of my eyes with the backs of my hands, glaring at him.
"This is what you really likeMe, like this?" I use the sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe my nose.
He gazes at me warily.
"Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch."
"Ana," he pleads, shocked.
"Don't you dare, Ana me! You need to sort your shit out, Grey!" And with that, I turn stiffly, and I walk out of the playroom, closing the door quietly behind me.
I clasp the door handle behind me and briefly lean back against the door. Where to go?
Do I runDo I stayI am so mad, angry scalding tears spill down my cheeks, and I brush them furiously aside. I just want to curl up. Curl up and recuperate in some way. Heal my shattered faith. How could I have been so stupidOf course it hurts.
Tentatively, I rub my backside. Aah! It's sore. Where to goNot his room. My room, or the room that will be mine, no, is mine... was mine. This is why he wanted me to keep it. He knew I would need distance from him.
I launch myself stiffly in that direction, conscious that Christian may follow me. It is still dark in the bedroom, dawn only a whisper in the skyline. I climb awkwardly into bed, careful not to sit on my aching and tender backside. I keep the bathrobe on, wrapping it around me, and curl up and really let go - sobbing hard into my pillow.
What was I thinking Why did I let him do that to meI wanted the dark, to explore how bad it could be - but it's too dark for me. I cannot do this. Yet, this is what he does, this is how he gets his kicks.
What a monumental wake-up call. And to be fair to him, he warned me and warned me, time and again. He's not normal. He has needs that I cannot fulfill. I realize that now.
I don't want him to hit me like that again, ever. I think of the couple of times he has hit me, and how easy he was on me by comparison. Is that enough for himI sob harder into the pillow. I am going to lose him. He won't want to be with me if I can't give him this.
Why, why, why have I fallen in love with Fifty ShadesWhyWhy can't I love Jose, or Paul Clayton, or someone like me?
Oh, his distraught look as I left. I was so cruel, so shocked by the savagery... will he forgive me... will I forgive himMy thoughts are all haywire and jumbled, echoing and bouncing off the inside of my skull. My subconscious is shaking her head sadly,