Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 31

Ana laughs, grimacing, and raises her palms. “I’ll take a rain check.”

I bound up to her and pull her into my arms before she can retreat. She shrieks, shrinking from me, but

she’s laughing, too. And it’s like a weight has lifted from my soul. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I love making her laugh.

“Oh, baby. I missed you.” I kiss her, not caring that I’m not fit for human consumption, and to my

delight, she kisses me back. Her fingers tighten around my shoulders, her fingernails digging deeper

into my flesh as our tongues dance the dance they know so well.

We’re both winded when we come up for air. I cradle her face and brush my thumb over her swollen

lips, staring into her dazed, beautiful eyes. “Ana,” I whisper, imploring her. “Change your vows. Obey.

Don’t argue with me. I hate it when we argue. Please.”

My lips hover above hers, waiting for an answer, but she blinks several times as if she’s clearing a

haze, then shrugs me off and steps out of my embrace. “No. Christian. Please,” she says, condensing

her frustration into four syllables.

I drop my hands to my sides as her words douse me with a cold splash of reality.

“If this is a deal breaker for you, please tell me,” she continues, her voice rising steadily. “Because it is

for me, and I can stop trying to organize our wedding and go back to my apartment and get drunk with

Kate.”

“You’d leave?” My voice is barely audible; her statement has knocked my world off-kilter.

“Right now. Yes. You’re behaving like a spoiled teen.”

“That’s not fair,” I retort. “I need this.”

“No, you don’t. You just think you do. We’re supposed to be grown-ups, for heaven’s sake. We’ll talk

things out. Like adults do.”

We gaze at each other, over the gulf between us.

She’s not budging.

Fuck.

“I need a shower,” I mutter, and she steps out of my way to let me pass.

When I enter the living room Ana is seated at the kitchen counter, where there are two places laid for

dinner. Gail hovers over the stove.

“I’m not hungry,” I announce. “And I have work to do.”

Ana frowns, and opens her mouth as if to say something but shuts it again as I walk past her. I don’t

miss the look that passes between her and Mrs. Jones.

Are they conspiring?

The thought makes my blood boil, so I storm into my study and slam the door.

Shit.

The noise startles me and it’s an abrupt wake-up.

I am behaving like a spoiled teen.

Ana’s right. Hell.

And I’m hungry.

I hate being hungry.

A dark, twisted memory of fear and hunger from before I was Christian Grey threatens to resurface, but

I dampen it down.

Don’t go there, Grey.

The reports are on my desk where Taylor left them. I sit down, pick up the first one, and start to read.

A gentle knock pulls my attention away from the multiple crop rotations we’re trying in Ghana, and my

heart stutters.

Ana.

“Come in.”

Gail opens the door.

My disappointment is real, my momentary excitement now a sad, deflated balloon that’s lost its helium.

On the plus side, she’s carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming pasta.

She says nothing as she places it on my desk.

“Thank you.”

“Ana’s idea. She knows you love spaghetti Bolognese.” Her tone is clipped, and before I can reply, she

turns and leaves, taking her disapproval with her. I scowl at her departing figure. Of course it was Ana’s

idea. And once again I’m in awe of her thoughtfulness. Why isn’t that enough? She says she loves me.

So why do I want or need her obedience?

Feeling even more morose, I stare at the long shadows and golden pink hues painted across my study

walls by the sun as it sinks into the horizon.

Why does she defy me?

I pick up my fork and dig into my meal, twirling the pasta into a big, solid bite of bliss. It’s delicious.

Ana has left the lamp on for me again. She’s fast asleep, and as I slide into the bed beside her my

body comes alive. I hunger for her.

I contemplate my plan to fuck her into agreeing, but deep down I know she’s made up her mind. She

might say no, and right now I don’t think I’d survive the rejection.

I turn onto my side, away from her, and switch off my light. The room is plunged into darkness,

reflecting my mood; I’m more miserable now than I was this morning.

Damn. Why did I let this get so out of hand?

I close my eyes.

Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time. I brush her hair

because she likes that. She doesn’t wake up. I shake her. Mommy! My tummy hurts. It’s hungry. He

isn’t here. I am thirsty. In the kitchen, I pull a chair to the sink, and I have a drink. The water splashes

over my blue sweater. 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. Mommy is still asleep. I

have two toy cars. 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 freezer is something. It smells funny. I lick it and

my tongue is stuck to it. 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. He’s here. Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked-up

bitch. Shit. 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! I want my mommy. The words are gone. I can’t say the words. Mommy can’t hear me. I have

no words.

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