Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Istopbesidealargespruceandputmyhandsonmyknees,breathinghard,draggingpreciousairintomylungs.Oh,thisfeelsgood,cathartic.Ifeelmyresolvehardening.Yes.Ineedtotellhimwhat’sokayandwhatisn’t.Ineedtoe-mailhimmythoughts,andthenwecandiscusstheseonWednesday.Itakeadeep,cleansingbreath,thenjogbacktotheapartment.

           Katehasbeenshopping,asonlyshecan,forclothesforhervacationtoBarbados.Mainlybikinisandmatchingsarongs.Shewilllookfabulousinallofthem,yetshestillmakesmesitandcommentwhileshetriesoneachandeveryone.Thereareonlysomanywaysonecansay,“Youlookfabulous,Kate.”Shehasacurvy,slimfiguretodiefor.Shedoesn’tdoitonpurpose,Iknow,butIhaulmysorry,perspiration-cladassintomyroomonthepretextofpackingmoreboxes.CouldIfeelanymoreinadequate?Takingtheawesomefreetechnologywithme,Isetthelaptopuponmydesk.Ie-mailChristian.

           ***

           From:AnastasiaSteele

           Subject:ShockedofWSUV

           Date:May23201120:33

           To:ChristianGrey

           Okay,I’veseenenough.

           Itwasniceknowingyou.

           Ana

           Ipress“send,”huggingmyself,laughingatmylittlejoke.Willhefinditasfunny?Oh,shit—probablynot.ChristianGreyisnotfamedforhissenseofhumor.ButIknowitexists,I’veexperiencedit.PerhapsI’vegonetoofar.Iwaitforhisanswer.

           Iwait…andwait.Iglanceatmyalarmclock.Tenminuteshavepassed.

           Todistractmyselffromtheanxietythatbloomsinmybelly,IstartdoingwhatItoldKateIwouldbedoing—packingupmyroom.Ibeginbycrammingmybooksintoacrate.