Once Anastasia has walked out of my playroom, I just stand there, stunned, at a loss to comprehend what has just happened between us. It was her suggestion that I punish her to demonstrate how hard it would be. I checked with her before she entered my playroom, and she gave me her consent. Ana never indicated through body language that she wanted me to stop, neither did she use the agreed safe words. She counted out loud until I completed the six belt lashes.

"How brave you are my Ana," I exclaim.

Instead of coming into my arms, Ana's tear stained face is filled with pain, regret and pity as if I was possessed by the devil. She runs out of the Red Room. Where has she gone? What do I say to her?

I gave her what she asked for but it has changed the way that she looks at me. I went pretty easy on her, compared to how Elena hit me when I was her sub. When one controls every aspect of life, this is the only area of my life where I can lose myself in the passionate controls of BDSM. This is a lifestyle where trust and honesty is essential for the safety, physical and emotional well being of both parties.

Her uncontrollable sobbing hurts me as much as it hurts her. BDSM is not supposed to hurt in this way, done right with consent, we both would have achieved the kind of catharsis mind blowing sex rarely achieves. This lifestyle binds me closer to Ana but she has pulled away from me.

'This is what you really like? Me, like this?'

'Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch.'

I cannot talk to her about my abusive childhood that left me fifty shades of fucked-up. I warned her, but she stayed. This was the third time that she voluntarily went into my playroom.

I am getting used to sharing this, the Red Room with my Ana. When she asked for this, I thought she was making an effort to adapt to my needs. Now I find myself confused that she could withhold her true feelings and let me hit her as hard as I did with the belt.

'Don't you dare 'Ana' me! You need to sort your shit out, Grey.'

I don't think Ana has left the penthouse. Someone who has been hurt is likely to go where they can find comfort. I anticipate she's in her bedroom, and her welfare especially given her parting words is my priority.

This could be like the first time I spanked her. She was confused but after some consideration she admitted it hadn't been so bad after all. She let me erotically spank her with the silver balls slipped inside of her. Her moaning betrayed how much she enjoyed that session.

There has to be a way we can get over this. There has to be.

~~~

I change out of my ripped jeans into PJ bottoms. Anastasia is not in the communal areas of the penthouse which means she's in her bedroom. I try the door handle and find it's unlocked. Thank goodness she hasn't locked me out after her painful parting words.

I open the door and tentatively step inside watching her body tense. She's curled up on her side, facing away from the door.

"Anastasia there's no need for you to be in pain after our session please take this Advil tablets and I will check on your back and rub on arnica."

She doesn't reply.

"Don't fight me on this Anastasia." I say sitting her up. She takes the Advil tablets and lies back on her side. I pull up her night shirt and see the straps of the belt have reddened her skin but not broken skin. I was careful with the beating.

She doesn't resist me as I massage the ointment onto her naked derrière and ease her discomfort. She doesn't make a sound.

I can't bear her being like this. She's usually warm and tactile with me, and now it's like she's lost the light that glows inside of her.

I walk to the other side of the bed and ease in to her front. She wraps her arms around me and I breathe in her fragrant rich dark hair and kiss the vein pulsating on her neck.

"I would never have hit you if I suspected you didn't want me to. There's no pleasure for either of us unless you give consent and communicate your true feelings. A session that should have been pleasurable for both of us has ended up causing pain and anguish for both of us."

Ana responds by wave after wave of silent sobs shuddering through her body.

"Its' okay baby, I'm right here," I say wiping away her tears and kissing her softly.

I place a cold press to her derrière and although Ana relaxes in my arms, she doesn't speak.

But as more time elapses and Ana remains aloof, I begin to think that without good communication any relationship especially one with BDSM is doomed. As we lie there together, I make reassuring noises and ask how Ana is intermittently until the crying stops as dawn is breaking.

"I think this is the first time we have watched a sun rise together," I say as Ana rests her head on my arm. I wait for her to say something to break the silence.

When she reaches up to gently caress my cheek,and then runs her finger tips through my stubble, I relax a little and let outthe breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"What for?"

"What I said."

"You said a lot of things."

"I told you I wanted this and made you believe it. You gave me what I asked for," she shrugs. Then she swallows and takes a deep breath, and I truly fear what might be coming next. "I don't think I can be what you want me to be," she whispers.

"You are everything I want you to be."

"I'm not obedient, and you can be as sure as hell I'm not going to let you do that to me again. And that's what you need, you said so."

Just as I thought she was experiencing pleasure through the closer relationship couples that practice BDSM have, I find out that she was not. Maybe the attraction made us fool ourselves. It feels like my world is ending.

"You're right. I should let you go. I am no good for you."

Her eyes well up with tears again, as her sweet face contorts in pain.

"I don't want to leave you," she whispers.

"I missed you so much, I planned tonight to be special. Instead, made me hit you when you didn't want me to, you became emotionally distraught and cried all night and didn't speak to me," I whisper back, struggling to keep control of my emotions, as I tenderly wipe a falling tear from her cheek. "More than anything, I want you to be happy."

And it's true. As I gently trace my thumb over that wonderful soft bottom lip of hers, I know that she's touched me in a way that no one else ever has, or probably ever will again. But it's all been in vain. I can't be the man she wants or needs.

"Me, too," she whispers. "I've fallen in love with you, Christian."

"No," I exclaim in horror. No one can love me. No one should love me. Even my own birth mother couldn't love me.

I'm shocked to my very core by her words. This is just not possible. Love happens to good, deserving people like my adopted mom and dad. They have pure hearts. My heart was so damaged in my childhood, it died prematurely.

"You're mistaken Ana, you can't love me, Ana. No... that's wrong."

"Wrong? Why's it wrong?" She doesn't understand. You have to make her understand, Grey.

"Well, look at you. You cried all night. I couldn't console or make you happy."

"But you do make me happy." She frowns.

"Not at the moment."

"We'll never get past that, will we?" she whispers very quietly.

I nod. Ana's right, of course. There's nothing abusive about the BDSM lifestyle amongst consenting adults. I feel guilty for hitting Ana when she didn't want me to. But I have comforted her and if she distances herself when I tend to her needs, we cannot have the deeper emotional bond couples in the lifestyle have.

Elena suspected this when she warned me. 'You have to be honest with her, and if that scares her off, then she's not for you, and it's best that you know this sooner rather than later.'

'You have to make her understand; don't hold anything back, be totally honest and show her, demonstrate to her exactly how extreme your needs are. Trust me, that's what you need to do, if you're going to stand any chance of making things work with her, if that's what you really want.'

After last night, it's clear to me that I can't possibly make Ana happy, even if I wanted to.

"Well, I'd better go," Ana murmurs, unable to look me in the eye as she sits up in the bed. She sits up gingerly on the bed.

"Have the pain killers kicked in yet?"

She nods and smiles weakly.

"Why not stay a while longer."

"There's no point in me staying," she sighs wearily.

"I'm going to get dressed. I'd like some privacy," she says coldly so I let her go.

What other option do I have? I can't give her what she needs. I want to scream and shout, to howl in protest at the unfairness of it all, but I can't. I feel sad and numb at how things ended between us.

~~~

I'm hanging around in the lounge waiting for Ana to return, when my fucking Blackberry buzzes. I want to ignore it, but I see it's Welch, so I take the call. I've instructed him to keep me informed about any intel on Leila the moment he gets it.

"What's the latest?" I snap.

"Turns out Miss Williams – or rather Mrs. West, ran out on her husband about three or four months ago, which he omitted to tell us the first time we contacted him, even though we informed him that there was a strong possibility that she could harm herself. Now he's saying he was well shot of her; that she was a 'psychotic bitch' to quote him."

"He said what? Well he could have told us been honest with us from the beginning. What is it about people withholding vital information from me this days?"

"Sir?"

"Nothing, just find her." I terminate the call. This is all I need right now.

I glance up to see Anastasia has come back into the room. Her eyes blood shot and eyelids puffy from crying last night. She looks dreadful.

Ignoring me, she walks over to the couch where she's left the backpack she took to Georgia, and starts rummaging in it. She takes out her MacBook, and heads towards the kitchen. I wonder what she's doing, but when I see that she's putting her Blackberry and her car keys on the worktop along with the Mac, I realize she's intending to give them back to me.

I'm horrified. Why does she feel the need to do this? I still want her protected and safe. Why would she think otherwise? Subs keep the gifts I've given them, and she's more than a sub. She is...was my girlfriend.

Then Ana turns to me, and coolly she says, "I need the money that Taylor got for my Beetle."

"Anastasia, I don't want those things, they're yours. Please take them."

"No, Christian. I only accepted them for the time we were together, I don't want them anymore."

"Be reasonable."

"I don't want anything that will remind me of you. I need the money that Taylor got for my car."

"Why are you acting so cold and unfeeling as if you're trying to wound me for the Red Room session?" This isn't my sweet Ana, this isn't like her at all.

"I'm not. I'm trying to protect myself," she whispers sadly.

"I bought these for you, they are yours."

"Christian, I don't want to argue, I need the money," she stubbornly insists.

"Will you take a cheque?"

"Yes. I think you're good for it." I smile at the sentiment.

I head off to my study to write out a cheque. Ana is unemployed so this is an opportunity to give her some money.

I write the cheque out for as much as I think I can get away with her accepting. Her VW Beetle was a collector's vehicle so I inflate the money I give her for it. I hate the thought of her struggling and going short, whatever the situation between us. I put the check in an envelope.

I call Taylor into my study. He's dressed, but isn't wearing a tie or jacket at this early hour.

"Miss Steele needs a ride back to her apartment." I keep my face impassive.

"Very good, sir." He shows no surprise at this request at such an early hour of the morning, although I can tell he's surreptitiously studying my face to try and gauge the situation. I imagine that some of the horror of the last few hours must be reflected on my face for him to see.

"Her covert surveillance team will need to be updated as to her revised whereabouts, and... change of circumstances. She and I are no longer..." I can't bring myself to put anything more than this into words, but Taylor gets the picture.

"I see, sir. But you still want the surveillance team to monitor Miss Steele?"

"Yes, absolutely. Her safety and well-being remain of paramount importance, no matter what the situation... regardless of what has... changed.... between us." I am just about holding myself together at this point, because it all seems totally unreal. This can't be happening.

"And Taylor, I'm going to advise Miss Steele that you managed to get $24,000 for her old classic Beetle. That was the correct amount, wasn't it?"

"The exact figure slips my mind. But I'm sure you're correct, Mr Grey."

Taylor understands where I'm coming from, and will go along with whatever story is required of him.

I return to hand Ana the envelope.

"Taylor got a good price. It's a classic car. You can ask him. He'll take you home."

Taylor is standing impassively in the doorway behind me, having put his tie and jacket on, in accordance with my insistence that staff adhere to a smart dress code at all times.

"That's fine." Ana takes the envelope without looking inside. Good. "I can get myself home, thank you."

"Are you going to defy me at every turn?" She is so fucking exasperating. The least she can do is let me make sure she gets back safely, so I know where she is.

"Please, Ana, let Taylor take you home."

"I'll get the car, Miss Steele," Taylor speaks authoritatively then exits.

So this is it. Ana stands a short distance away from me, and I just want to touch her, to hold her, but as I step forward, she steps back.

This is all wrong. How has it come to this? How did we get to this point of no return so quickly? How can I let her just walk away from me? How do I do this? But what choice do I have?

"I don't want you to go like this."

"I can't stay. I know what I want and you can't give it to me, and I can't give you what you need."

I try again. I want to take her in my arms. I need to hold her. I move towards her.

"Don't, please. I can't do this," Ana states brutally, as she holds her hands up to stop me in my tracks.

She picks up her suitcase and backpack, and heads for the foyer. I follow warily at a distance, since she's made it crystal clear that she does not want me to touch her in any way.

I press the elevator button, and the doors open. She steps in.

"Goodbye, Christian," she whispers, looking up at me with those wonderful blue eyes of hers, that look so sad and haunted.

"Goodbye Anastasia." I feel as sad as she is that things are ending with such hurt between us. I offered to communicate so we can get some resolution but she wants none of that. I have given her the space she needs to walk right out of my life. The elevator doors closes as the curtains come down on the relationship between Anastasia and I.

~~~

The pain is indescribable. Far, far worse than anything else I've ever experienced. I can hardly breathe, the pain in my chest is so excruciating. It's as if someone has clamped my heart in a vice. An ice cold vice.

All I can think about is that I've lost Anastasia. I've let her slip through my fingers, after having her within my grasp. I'd even let myself think about more with her. Now everything has turned to dust. What did I expect? I don't deserve a beautiful, sweet, innocent girl like her.

I'm still sitting in the lounge in just my PJ bottoms, when Taylor returns. I don't even notice him until he discreetly clears his throat.

"I... er... thought you'd like to know that Miss Steele made it safely back to her apartment, sir," he informs me when I look up.

"Good. I'll leave you to liaise with her protection team, Taylor. Send me the usual updates."

"Of course, sir."

"I'm going for a run. Not sure how long I'll be," I tell him. I need to get out of here, to somehow get some air into my lungs to be able to breathe properly.

"I'll get changed and come with you," he states.

"No," I snap at him. "I'm going on my own."

"Sir, it really would be advisable for me to..."

"I'm going on my own."

I can see that Taylor is alarmed by my mood, but I can't help it. I need to be on my own. I have to get out of here before the walls close in around me like it does in my nightmares. Except I'm awake. Eternal night and endless darkness.

"Very well, sir. Can I just say..." I glare at him, assuming he's going to try again about coming running with me.

"Miss Steele... she was very upset, you know, in the car on the way back."

He looks at me with what seems like concern. Or maybe pity.

I very nearly lose it then. A wave of despair washes over me. I don't know how to handle this. I've never let myself feel for anyone in this way before, and now I know why. It sucks.

"You can take my calls," I say, as I throw my cell at him, and then head for my bedroom to get changed into my running gear. I'm stopped in my tracks as I see something on my pillow. A cardboard box, with a note on top.

It's from Ana.

This reminded me of a happy time.

Thank you.

Ana

It's a modeling kit for a Blahnik L23 glider.

I sit on the edge of the bed staring at the picture of the glider on the box. Taking Ana soaring was a happy time for me too, it was one of the best times of my life. No, correction - it was the best time of my life. We had so much fun together. I made her happy and she laughed, and that made me happy. I had so much hope then. I should have known it couldn't last, because even on that day, my past caught up with us when Leila tried to kill herself.

It's a typical, sweet, thoughtful gift from Ana that probably only cost a few dollars. But it's priceless to me. I can feel a lump form in my throat but I don't cry. Ever.

I put the box back down carefully on the chest of drawers. I can't deal with this now. I've got to get out of here. I quickly throw on my running gear, and head out of the room.

Taylor is hovering in the lobby, clearly waiting to intercept me.

"Mr. Grey, take your cell with you, in case you need backup," he protests, but I just ignore him. Frankly, right now I'd welcome being attacked or mugged, because then I'd be justified in kicking the shit out of someone. Trouble is, I'd probably kill them.

Once I'm outside, I get into my stride and run at a punishing pace. Everything still going round in my head, I take deep breaths to calm my tumultuous emotions.

Why didn't she stop me, why didn't she safe word? What was she trying to prove? I believed her when she said in her sleep that she'd never leave me, but she was still out of that door when things got too hard for her. When you got too hard for her, Grey. Don't blame her.

But what does it matter anyway, because she had to know. My needs were always going to surface at some point. She said she loved me. Is that what she was trying to prove, is that why she let me hit her? If that's the case, then I've desecrated her love with my depraved needs. That's why I'm not deserving of love from someone like her. That's why it's all pointless. There is no point in going over it. I have to let her go, so that she can find real love, not the twisted perverted type she might think she could give me.

But I want her. I want her with all of my soul, with all of my being. What is the point of feeling like this if it's just to let her go? Without realizing it, I've followed my route to Flynn's office. But it's Saturday, so he won't be there. And what could he do anyway? He doesn't have a magic wand to make everything right again. He can't make me into the kind of man that Ana should have fallen in love with. No one can.

So now I head back to Escala, pushing myself even harder. I'm not timing myself, but I'd say I've done it in record time. I see the look of relief on Taylor's face. He tries to intercept me as I make my way through the lounge.

"Just going to take a shower," I cut him short as he starts to speak, but then Gail appears.

"What would you like for breakfast, Mr. Grey?" she asks.

"It's the weekend. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was around and at a loose end, so I thought I might as well make myself useful. You know I always like cooking for you anytime," Gail smiles at me. There's that look again, same as Taylor earlier. Concern – or is it pity?

Clearly Taylor's filled her in about Ana leaving me.

"So what's it to be? Your usual, sir?" Gail presses me.

Food is the last thing on my mind, but it's easier just to go along with her I guess. "Yes, thank you."

"It'll be ready when you've had your shower, Mr. Grey."

I go to my bedroom and head for the shower. I quickly strip off and stand under the scalding water. Just like Ana and I did yesterday. I glance over to the wall where I took her with urgency when she'd just gotten back from Georgia. She made me feel calm.

I can't imagine not touching or holding her or burying myself deep within her again. Not breathing in her sweet scent again or waking up lying next to her again. Not hearing that sound she makes when she comes.

The shampoo bottle I'm holding is suddenly flung angrily out of my hand and smashes against the wall opposite, breaking into a million pieces. I quickly rinse off and make my way out of the shower, scooping up the pieces of glass and putting them in the trash bin.

It's unfair. We were so amazingly good together, even vanilla sex. And she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. She was a virgin, she was waiting for me, I was the first man to take her, it was meant to be. We were so drawn to each other, that bond, that electricity. I've never experienced anything like it before. So what was that all for, if it's just going to end between us in this way?

I dress in my standard weekend attire of white linen shirt and black jeans that I automatically grab out of the closet without even thinking about it.

Another wave of despair washes over me when I realize I'm going to have to tell Mom that Ana and I have split up. She's going to be so disappointed.

I've let her down again. Mom was deliriously happy that I'd finally gotten myself a girlfriend, and she really liked Anastasia – well of course she did, because she's pretty much perfect. My family will probably assume we've broken up because I'm gay, and I've just been in denial about it. They won't know it's because I have dark depraved desires.

Despite my run, I feel as if I have a ten ton weight on my chest. I open the doors to the balcony and step out there. It's windy, but it's a bright, clear day. Not a place to be if you don't have a head for heights, as even the balustrade under the handrail at the edge of the balcony is made of glass allowing an uninterrupted view of Seattle.

I walk over to the rail and lean over to look below. It's a long way down. The people look like little ants as they go about their everyday business, while I'm up here in my ivory tower. Is this how things looked to the poor souls trapped in the Twin Towers on 9/11? What must have been going through their minds before they took the decision to jump? Once they leapt off, that must have been the ultimate soaring experience, a few seconds of total freedom before a quick end. Not a bad way to go, considering the alternative of being burnt alive. Better than facing being trapped in purgatory. That's what it feels like I'm facing now. Purgatory.

"Mr. Grey. Christian. Please move away from the edge."

Taylor's quiet voice interrupts my thoughts.

I turn to look at him in surprise. What is he doing here?

He slowly starts walking towards me, never taking his eyes from my face, never breaking eye contact.

"Just come back inside now. Please, Christian," he calmly continues, as he reaches me and clamps my arms in a vice like grip.

As I let him guide me away from the edge of the balcony, I can't help casting one last lingering look over the edge, but Taylor pulls me away and guides me back into the bedroom, where Gail is standing waiting, with her hand over her mouth. I see her take a deep breath and force a smile on her face.

"Let's get you sorted out, shall we, Mr. Grey?" she says, looking at my hands. I look down to see the front of my shirt is covered in blood, as are my hands. I must have cut myself on the glass from the broken shampoo bottle. Taylor hasn't let go of me, and continues to guide me towards the kitchen. He nods his head at Gail, and she goes over to the patio door, locks it, then puts the key in her pocket.

"Did you get through?" he asks under his breath.

"He's on his way. About twenty minutes," she replies. Who?

In the kitchen, Gail cleans up the cuts on my hands – they're only minor, they just bled a lot to make things look worse than they were. She serves up gruyère and parsley omelette and a steaming cappuccino.

Taylor sits at the bar next to me, sipping a cup of coffee, while Gail disappears off with my blood stained shirt. For the first time, I get why Ana doesn't always feel like eating; but my ingrained hatred of waste makes me robotically eat the food, even if I don't really taste it.

"I didn't know how to cope when my wife left me," Taylor says, as he stares into his coffee cup.

My fork full of food stops half way to my mouth. Taylor has never volunteered any kind of personal information to me before. "She didn't like the way I was, the type of man I'd become because of the job I did."

I recall that Taylor was in the Special Forces, a Green Beret. It was one of the reasons I didn't hesitate to hire him. They don't come any more highly trained than a Green Beret.

"I said I couldn't change, that she had to accept me as I was. So I lost her. After that I left the forces and I had to change, to adapt to life in the outside world. By then she'd found someone else. Now he gets to be Sophie's dad every day, while I'm just her occasional weekend dad, if her mom chooses to allow it."

"I see?"

"I regret not making an effort to change while I still had the chance of working things out with her. Don't make the same mistake that I did. Like I told you, Miss Steele was very upset when I took her home. So maybe there's still hope ..." We both look up as Gail walks back into the kitchen – accompanied by Dr. Flynn.

"What are you doing here, John?" I ask, shocked to see him.

"Good morning, Christian. I thought it was about time I got to see the inside of this luxury penthouse of yours. And very nice it is too - you can give me the full tour later. Oh, and don't worry, I'll be putting an additional charge for a weekend home visit on top of my normal bill," he says in his cool, calm British accent, as he comes and sits at the bar and helps himself to a cup of tea.

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Content Warning: The fan fiction you are reading describes adult, liberal, unconventional relationships. The characters, their personalities, occupations, relationships and events in this story are not always consistent with the original stories 'Fifty Shades of Grey' or 'Grey'. Hopefully they reflect the complexities and moral ambiguities of the original. Billed as erotica with unconventional relationships accessible to a mature audience, this story develops through consensual BDSM themed sexual encounters.

If you do not want to access a multimedia erotic romance that involves extra marital relationships, same sex attraction, ménage à trios, triggers, mental health issues, flash backs of child abuse or descriptions of sexual conduct, please stop reading now.

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