Fifty Shades: Submission and Strength

Chapter 11

Christian's chest began to heave so rapidly that he felt light-headed. As the room spun before him, he forced himself to keep listening, even though all he wanted to do was scream and punch his fist through a wall. Ana risked a glance at him. Other than the flare of his nostrils, Christian's stoic façade reassured her that he was unaffected by her revelation, so she continued with her story.

"He said he wanted me to be his submissive and that it would provide an outlet for me to channel my self-loathing. He said he'd discovered it a few years after he dumped my mother. I was 15 but I wasn't naïve. That's impossible after spending time in foster care. His offer was as much about my addiction to pain as it was about his own depravity and desires, but I also knew my options were limited."

Christian's heart constricted as he drew blood in the palm of his tightly balled fist. She was the same fucking age as me. She was a God damn child. He ignored the fact that Elena also initiated a child into the lifestyle, choosing instead to focus his fury on one man.

"What's his name Ana?" he demanded, his voice laced with restrained menace. I'm going to enjoy watching him die the miserable death he deserves.

"Stephen Morton. He's gone now. Killed two years in a car crash. He was driving drunk but thankfully no one else was hurt."

"Good. I'm glad he's dead." But now I can't murder him with my bare hands.

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly broken up about the news either. He was a monster," Ana shrugged, unaware of the inner turmoil brewing next to her. "But at least there were no games with him. He offered me the choice of being his submissive or I could go back into foster care of my own free will. He was upfront about what BDSM involved and I made the decision of my own volition. It was only my body. I felt it was a small price to pay for some stability and an education, and possible future independence. He even helped me see a psychiatrist to deal with the depression part."

Christian raked his hand through his disheveled hair. "Don't do that Ana. Don't justify what that bastard did to you. He took away your innocence, your choices, your freedom."

"Poverty curtails your freedom anyway," she said, blasé yet still bitter. "Besides, after my mother's death and three years in the foster care system, I was pretty much comatose by that point. Truth be told, between the antidepressants and submission, the cutting finally stopped. I no longer had to spend half my day trying to cover up the marks I'd made on my skin during the other half. It was like a 10-ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and it made the BDSM routine tolerable. Studying become my way out — both mentally and physically, since it offered me the chance to escape my circumstances. And that's what I did. I got my scholarship and left when I turned 18. Stephen didn't stop me. We each held up our end of the bargain I suppose."

A lone tear escaped Christian's eye. Her recollections are so mundane, like she's rattling off a grocery list.

"More like a pact with the devil Anastasia," he said, panged.

"I suppose, but it is what it is now. Like I said, it was only my body."

The defeat in her declaration slayed him.

"Instead of the high I got from cutting skin, I was able to derive a high from the crack of a whip. It's not ideal, but people do what they can in order to survive," she mused almost to herself, catching him off-guard yet again.

"Ana," he whispered, swallowing down his shock. The last thing I want to do is make her feel bad, but she has to know that there are better ways of surviving. "I'm the king of coping mechanisms and about the only healthy thing I do in my life is eat right and work out, but all of this — the depression, the cutting," he gulped, "the BDSM. Aren't these all just ways to avoid facing the truth, no matter how brutal it is?"