He is gone. Mommy is sitting on the couch. She is quiet. She looks at the wall and blinks sometimes. I stand in front of her, but she doesn’t see me. I wave and she sees me, but she waves me away. No, Maggot, not now. He hurts Mommy. He hurts me. I hate him. He makes me so mad. It’s best when it’s just Mommy and me. She is mine then. My Mommy. My tummy hurts. It is hungry again. I am in the kitchen, looking for cookies. I pull the chair to the cupboard and climb up. I find a box of crackers. It is the only thing in the cupboard. I sit down on the chair and open the box. There are two left. I eat them. They taste good. I hear him. He’s back. I jump down and I run to my bedroom and climb into bed. I pretend to be asleep. He pokes me with his finger. Stay here, you little shit. I’m going to fuck your bitch of a mother. I don’t want to see your fuck-ugly face for the rest of the evening. Understand? He slaps my face when I don’t reply. Or you get the burn, you little prick. No. No. I don’t like that. I don’t like the burn. It hurts. Got it, retard? I know he wants me to cry. But it’s hard. I can’t make the noise. He hits me with his fist—

Startled awake again, I lie panting in the pale dawn light, waiting for my heart rate to slow, trying to lose the acrid taste of fear in my mouth.

She saved you from this shit, Grey.

You didn’t relive the pain of these memories when she was with you. Why did you let her leave?

I glance at the clock: 5:15. Time for a run.

HER BUILDING LOOKS GLOOMY; it’s still in shadow, untouched by the early-morning sun. Fitting. It reflects my mood. Her apartment is dark inside, yet the curtains to the room I watched before are drawn. It must be her room.

I hope to God that she’s sleeping alone up there. I envisage her curled up on her white iron bed, a small ball of Ana. Is she dreaming of me? Do I give her nightmares? Has she forgotten me?

I’ve never felt this miserable, not even as a teenager. Maybe before I was a Grey…my memory spirals back. No, no—not awake as well. This is too much. Pulling my hood up and leaning against the granite wall, I’m hidden in the doorway of the building opposite. The awful thought crosses my mind that I might be standing here in a week, a month…a year? Watching, waiting, just to catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be mine. It’s painful. I’ve become what she’s always accused me of being—her stalker.

I can’t go on like this. I have to see her. See that she’s okay. I need to erase the last image I have of her: hurt, humiliated, defeated…and leaving me.

I have to think of a way.

BACK AT ESCALA, GAIL watches me impassively.

“I didn’t ask for this.” I stare at the omelet she’s placed in front of me.

“I’ll throw it away, then, Mr. Grey,” she says, and reaches for the plate. She knows I hate waste, but she doesn’t quail at my hard stare.

“You did this on purpose, Mrs. Jones.” Interfering woman.

And she smiles, a small victorious smile. I scowl, but she’s unfazed, and with the memory of last night’s nightmare lingering, I devour my breakfast.

COULD I JUST CALL Ana and say hi? Would she take my call? My eyes wander to the glider on my desk. She asked for a clean break. I should honor that and leave her alone. But I want to hear her voice. For a moment I contemplate calling her and hanging up, just to hear her speak.

“Christian? Christian, are you okay?”

“Sorry, Ros, what was that?”

“You’re so distracted. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

Shit—concentrate, Grey. “What were you saying?”

Ros eyes me suspiciously. “I was saying that SIP is in more financial difficulty than we thought. Are you sure you want to go ahead?”

“Yes.” My voice is vehement. “I am.”

“Their team will be here this afternoon to sign the heads of agreement.”

“Good. Now, what’s the latest on our proposal for Eamon Kavanagh?”

I STAND BROODING, STARING down through the slatted wooden blinds at Taylor, who is parked outside Flynn’s office. It’s late afternoon and I’m still thinking about Ana.

“Christian, I’m more than happy to take your money and watch you stare out the window, but I don’t think the view is the reason you’re here,” Flynn says.

When I turn to face him he’s regarding me with an air of polite anticipation. I sigh and make my way to his couch.

“The nightmares are back. Like never before.”

Flynn lifts a brow. “The same ones?”

“Yes.”

“What’s changed?” He cocks his head to one side, waiting for my response. When I remain mute, he adds, “Christian, you look as miserable as sin. Something’s happened.”

I feel like I did with Elena; part of me doesn’t want to tell him, because then it’s real.

“I met a girl.”

“And?”

“She left me.”

He looks surprised. “Women have left you before. Why is this different?”

I stare at him blankly.

Why is it different? Because Ana was different.

My thoughts blur together in a colorful tangled tapestry: she wasn’t a submissive. We had no contract. She was sexually inexperienced. She was the first woman I wanted more from than just sex. Christ—all the firsts I experienced with her: the first girl I’d slept beside, the first virgin, the first to meet my family, the first to fly in Charlie Tango, the first I took soaring.

Yeah…Different.

Flynn interrupts my thoughts. “It’s a simple question, Christian.”

“I miss her.”

His face remains kind and concerned, but he gives nothing away.

“You’ve never missed any of the women you were involved with previously?”

“No.”

“So there was something different about her,” he prompts.

I shrug, but he persists.

“Did you have a contractual relationship with her? Was she a submissive?”

“I’d hoped she would be. But it wasn’t for her.”

Flynn frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“I broke one of my rules. I chased this girl, thinking that she’d be interested, and it turned out it wasn’t for her.”

“Tell me what happened.”

The floodgates open and I recount the past month’s events, from the moment Ana fell into my office to when she left last Saturday morning.

“I see. You’ve certainly packed a lot in since we last spoke.” He rubs his chin as he studies me. “There are many issues here, Christian. But right now the one I want to focus on is how you felt when she said she loved you.”

I inhale sharply, my gut tightening with fear.

“Horrified,” I whisper.

“Of course you did.” He shakes his head. “You’re not the monster you think you are. You’re more than worthy of affection, Christian. You know that. I’ve told you often enough. It’s only in your mind that you’re not.”

I give him a level gaze, ignoring his platitude.

“And how do you feel now?” he asks.

Lost. I feel lost.

“I miss her. I want to see her.” I’m in the confessional once more, owning up to my sins: the dark, dark need that I have for her, as if she were an addiction.

“So in spite of the fact that, as you perceive it, she couldn’t fulfill your needs, you miss her?”

“Yes. It’s not just my perception, John. She can’t be what I want her to be, and I can’t be what she wants me to be.”

“Are you sure?”

“She walked out.”

“She walked out because you belted her. If she doesn’t share your tastes, can you blame her?”

“No.”

“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?”

What? I stare at him, shocked. He continues, “Did you find sexual relations with her satisfying?”