Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Willheevergivemeabreak?Iscowlatthephone.Heissuffocatingme.Withadeepdreaduncurlinginmystomach,Iscrolldowntohisnumberandpress“call.”MyheartisinmymouthasIwaitforhimtoanswer.He’dprobablyliketobeatsevenshadesofshitoutofme.Thethoughtisdepressing.

           “Hi,”hesayssoftly,andhisresponseknocksmeoffbalancebecauseIamexpectinghisanger,butifanything,hesoundsrelieved.

           “Hi,”Imurmur.

           “Iwasworriedaboutyou.”

           “Iknow.I’msorryIdidn’treply,butI’mfine.”

           Hepausesforabeat.

           “Didyouhaveapleasantevening?”Heiscrisplypolite.

           “Yes.WefinishedpackingandKateandIhadChinesetakeoutwithJosé.”IclosemyeyestightlyasIsayJosé’sname.Christiansaysnothing.

           “Howaboutyou?”Iasktofillthesuddendeafeningchasmofsilence.IwillnotlethimmakemefeelguiltyaboutJosé.

           Eventually,hesighs.

           “Iwenttoafund-raisingdinner.Itwasdeathlydull.IleftassoonasIcould.”

           Hesoundssosadandresigned.Myheartclenches.Ipicturehimallthosenightsagosittingatthepianoinhishugelivingroomandtheunbearablebittersweetmelancholyofthemusichewasplaying.

           “Iwishyouwerehere,”Iwhisper,becauseIhaveanurgetoholdhim.Soothehim.Eventhoughhewon’tletme.Iwanthisproximity.

           “Doyou?”hemurmursblandly.Holyshit.Thisdoesn’tsoundlikehim,andmyscalpprickleswithdawningapprehension.

           “Yes,”Ibreathe.Afteraneternity,hesighs.

           “I’llseeyouSunday?”

           “Yes,Sunday,”Imurmur,andathrillcoursesthroughmybody.