Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Unconditionallove—whateverychilddeservesfromitsparents.Ifrownatmywaywardthoughtsand,pullingoutmyBlackBerry,stareatitdespondently.

           WhatdoesChristianknowoflove?Seemshedidn’tgettheunconditionallovehewasentitledtoduringhisveryearlyyears.Myhearttwists,andmymother’swordswaftlikeazephyrthroughmymind:Yes,Ana.Hell,whatdoyouneed?Aneonsignflashingonhisforehead?ShethinksChristianlovesme,butthenshe’smymother,ofcourseshe’dthinkthat.ShethinksIdeservethebestofeverything.Ifrown.It’strue,andinamomentofstartlingclarity,Iseeit.It’sverysimple:Iwanthislove.IneedChristianGreytoloveme.ThisiswhyIamsoreticentaboutourrelationship—becauseonsomebasic,fundamentallevel,Irecognizewithinmeadeep-seatedcompulsiontobelovedandcherished.

           Andbecauseofhisfiftyshades,Iamholdingmyselfback.TheBDSMisadistractionfromtherealissue.Thesexisamazing,he’swealthy,he’sbeautiful,butthisisallmeaninglesswithouthislove,andtherealheart-failisthatIdon’tknowifhe’scapableoflove.Hedoesn’tevenlovehimself.Irecallhisself-loathing,herlovebeingtheonlyformhefoundacceptable.Punished—whipped,beaten,whatevertheirrelationshipentailed—hefeelsundeservingoflove.Whydoeshefeellikethat?Howcanhefeellikethat?Hiswordshauntme:It’sveryhardtogrowupinaperfectfamilywhenyou’renotperfect.

           Iclosemyeyes,imagininghispain,andIcan’tbegintocomprehendit.IshudderasIrememberthatImayhavedivulgedtoomuch.