There is only pain. My head, my chest . . . burning pain. My side, my arm.
Pain. Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I
cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer . . . a beacon in
the darkness.
“Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull,
but her vital signs are stable and strong.”
“Why is she still unconscious?”
“Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is
normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She’ll wake when she’s ready. Just
give her some time.”
“And the baby?” The words are anguished, breathless.
“The baby’s fine, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh, thank God.” The words are a litany . . . a prayer. “Oh, thank God.”
Oh my. He’s worried about the baby . . . the baby? . . . Little Blip. Of course.
My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves,
nothing responds.
“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”
Little Blip is safe.
“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”
He cares about the baby.
“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”
He wants the baby. Oh thank God. I relax, and unconsciousness claims me
once more, stealing me away from the pain.
once more, stealing me away from the pain.
Everything is hea一vy and aching: limbs, head, eyelids, nothing will move. My
eyes and mouth are resolutely shut, unwilling to move, lea一ving me blind and
mute and aching. As I surface from the fog, consciousness hovers, a
seductive siren just out of reach. Sounds become voices.
428 | P a g e
E L JAMES
“I’m not lea一ving her.”
Christian! He’s here . . . I will myself to wake—his voice is strained, an
agonized whisper.
“Christian, you should sleep.”
“No, Dad. I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“I’ll sit with her. It’s the least I can do after she sa一ved my daughter.”
Mia!
“How’s Mia?”
“She’s groggy . . . scared and angry. It’ll be a few hours before the Rohypnol
is completely out of her system.”
“Christ.”
“I know. I’m feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You
w
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