Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Icatchit,bemused.

           “Putthatonandgetintobed,”hesnaps,irritated.

           Ifrownbutdecidetohumorhim.Turningmyback,Iquicklyremovemybra,pullingtheT-shirtonashastilyasIcantocovermynakedness.Ileavemypantieson;Ihaven’twornthemformostoftheevening.

           “Ineedthebathroom.”Myvoiceisawhisper.

           Hefrowns,bemused.

           “Nowyou’reaskingpermission?”

           “Er…no.”

           “Anastasia,youknowwherethebathroomis.Today,atthispointinourstrangearrangement,youdon’tneedmypermissiontouseit.”Hecannothidehisirritation.Heshrugsoutofhisshirt,andIscootintothebathroom.

           Istareatmyselfintheover-largemirror,shockedthatIstilllookthesame.AfterallthatI’vedonetoday,it’sstillthesameordinarygirlgapingbackatme.Whatdidyouexpect—thatyou’dgrowhornsandalittlepointytail?mysubconscioussnapsatme.Andwhatthehellareyoudoing?Touchingishishardlimit.Toosoon,youidiot.Heneedstowalkbeforehecanrun.Mysubconsciousisfurious,Medusa-likeinheranger,hairflying,herhandsclenchedaroundherfacelikeinEdvardMunch’sTheScream.Iignoreher,butshewon’tclimbbackintoherbox.Youaremakinghimmad—thinkaboutallthat’she’ssaid,allhe’sconceded.Iscowlatmyreflection.Ineedtobeabletoshowhimaffection—thenperhapshecanreciprocate.

           Ishakemyhead,resigned,andgraspChristian’stoothbrush.Mysubconsciousisright,ofcourse.I’mrushinghim.He’snotreadyandneitheramI.