talked about your fear of being touched, although
he called it something else. And about your nightmares and
your self-abhorrence.” I glance at him, and in the evening
light, he’s pensive, chewing on his thumbnail as he drives.
He glances quickly at me.
“Eyes on the road, Mr. Grey,” I admonish, my
eyebrow cocked at him.
eyebrow cocked at him.
He looks amused, and slightly exasperated. “You were
talking forever, Anastasia. What else did he say?”
I swallow. “He doesn’t think you’re a sadist,” I
whisper.
“Really?” Christian says quietly and frowns. The
atmosphere in the car takes a nosedive.
“He says that term’s not recognized in psychiatry. Not
since the nineties,” I mutter, quickly trying to rescue the
mood between us.
Christian’s face darkens, and he exhales slowly.
“Flynn and I ha一ve differing opinions on this,” he says
quietly.
“He said you always think the worst of yourself. I
know that’s true,” I murmur. “He also mentioned sexual
sadism—but he said that was a lifestyle choice, not a
psychiatric condition. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking
about.”
His gray eyes flash toward me again, and his mouth
sets in a grim line.
“So—one talk with the good doctor and you’re an
expert,” he says acidly and turns his eyes front.
Oh dear . . . I sigh.
“Look—if you don’t want to hear what he said, don’t
ask me,” I mutter softly.
I don’t want to argue. Anyway he’s right—what the
hell do I know about all his shit? Do I even want to know?
I can list the salient points—his control freakery, his
possessiveness, his jealousy, his overprotectiveness—and
I completely understand where he’s coming from. I can
I completely understand where he’s coming from. I can
even understand why he doesn’t like to be touched—I’ve
seen the physical scars. I can only imagine the mental ones,
and I’ve only glimpsed his nightmares once. And Dr. Flynn
said—
“I want to know what you discussed.” Christian
interrupts my thoughts as he heads off I-5 on exit 172,
heading west toward the slowly sinking sun.
“He c
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