Author's Note: First of all, can I just say OH. MY. GOD! Your reactions to this story have been amazing! Thank you all SO much for the positive feedback, the comments and the messages. You fabulous, kinky people have been requesting the next chapter, so I figured I had to oblige. I hope you enjoy :)

WARNING: There will be some topics in this story that some readers may find distressing. I will give advance warning at the beginning of relevant chapters. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: I do not own or have any rights to Fifty Shades of Grey. I am only using the characters to manipulate for my fanfiction. However, I do own original characters.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS CONTENT THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND DISTRESSING. IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH CERTAIN TOPICS SURROUNDING MENTAL HEALTH, I ADIVISE YOU TO STOP HERE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Christian's POV

I find myself lying in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling and unable to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing her. Anastasia. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about her? The brunette with the blue fire in her eyes.

My mind keeps replaying dinner tonight. I allowed Taylor, Gail and Anastasia to join me, something I never do. For some bizarre reason, I felt compelled to make Anastasia feel at home. Like she belongs here.

Earlier that night…

"Did you find your room okay, Anastasia?" I ask her as Taylor helps her settle into a chair opposite me at the dining table. She lets out a soft whimper as she settles, her eyes closing briefly as she bites back the pain.

"Yes, thank you, Mr Grey. It's more than generous." She replies, her eyes meeting mine and a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I feel kind of guilty, actually."

I frown at her, crossing my arms and leaning forward on the table. "Why do you say that?"

She shrugs lightly. "I feel like I'm mooching, I guess. I'm staying in this palace in the sky, I'm not paying any board or rent, I have no way of paying you back… it seems greedy." Her eyes drop to the table as she speaks, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth.

I fight back at groan. I want to bite that lip. "Anastasia… look at me." She doesn't lift her gaze, and now she's playing with her fingers. "Anastasia, please, look at me."

She slowly raises her eyes but not her head, and she looks at me from under her lashes. Fuck. Me. Please don't look at me like that.

"Yes, Mr Grey?" she asks, her voice quiet.

"Please. Don't ever think that way. You are welcome here, okay? I don't know what you've been through, and I'm not going to ask. It's your choice if and when you want to tell me. But you. Are. Welcome. Taylor and Gail have been close to me for a long time, and you are their family. Do you understand?"

I don't know what my expression must say but I can only imagine that it's as intense as my tone. Her face changes and she releases her lip with a small gasp.

Before she can respond, Taylor returns to the room with Gail; Gail carrying a large chicken pot pie and Taylor carrying a bowl of steaming vegetables in one hand and a bottle of chilled white wine in the other. He pauses as he sees Anastasia and I leaning towards each other over the table.

"Everything okay out here?" he asks, his voice slightly perturbed.

I lean back and give him a tight smile. "Absolutely fine. Let's eat, shall we?"

The rest of the evening went relatively smoothly after that. Anastasia didn't say much, and she barely ate. It aggravated me to watch her pushing her food around her plate, but for once, I didn't comment; it seemed like she had enough on her plate without one of my lectures about food.

Eventually, I retired to my room and this is where I've been lying ever since, staring at the ceiling and fighting to get that brunette out of my head.

Just two more days until Collette is here, I think to myself, fisting my hand in my hair. You can manage this until then, Grey, and then you can cane the shit out of her.

I sigh and throw the covers off, swinging my legs out of the bed. This is ridiculous. She is one little brunette and not a submissive. Get her out of your head. She's not worth the mental space.

Cracking my neck, I stand and leave my bedroom, heading for my piano. My old, faithful friend. The music helps to clear my head and the movement is distracting; I can't focus on anything else but the music.

I stroke the keys, not trying to control the music but allowing it to flow freely from my fingers. I hum softly along with the music, forgetting about everything else.

Suddenly, I hear a noise from the shadows. Glancing up, I spot a body shifting near the doorway.

"Taylor?" I murmur, squinting into the darkness. "Is that you?"

There's another shift at the door and this time, a soft curse as someone stumbles. I frown.

"Who's there?" I hiss, slowly rising from the stool.

"Sorry, Mr Grey. It's just me." The soft voice that comes out of the shadows is accompanied by the thud of a crutch as Anastasia steps into view. I swallow as I take in her attire: tiny shorts that ride up her thighs, a plum vest that clings to every curve and exposes more skin than I'm comfortable with.

"Did no one ever teach you that it's impolite to eavesdrop?" I snarl at her. My anger is admittedly unfounded but I can't help it; she's taken me off guard and I don't like it.

She steps further into the light and drops her gaze to the floor. "My apologies, Mr Grey. I came to get some water… I didn't think that anyone would be awake."

"Well, as you can see, someone is, so I suggest you get your water and leave." My tone is harsh and angry.

Her eyes snap back up to me and her expression hardens. "No problem, Mr Grey. Please forgive the intrusion." She snaps and slowly limps into the kitchen, refusing to look at me again.

I sigh, annoyed. I might have been unnecessarily harsh just then, but in my defense, she shouldn't have been watching me from the shadows like some stalker.

Please, she's the stalker? my subconscious whispers at me, his eyebrows raised and arms crossed over his chest. You're the one who can't stop thinking about her. You're the one who can't stop picturing those long, pale legs wrapped around your waist
Oh, give me a break! She's nineteen and my head of security's daughter – I don't think of her that way.
Suuuuuure, you don't. So you weren't just imagining laying her down on your piano and slamming into her over and over again until she screams your name? C'mon, who are you trying to kid?
Oh, piss off.

Just as I finish arguing with myself, I hear a smash come from the kitchen, followed by a string of curses that I didn't think could come from such a pretty mouth. I barrel into the kitchen to find Anastasia on her knees, trying to pick up what was once a crystal tumbler.

She glances up at me as I enter the room, her face pale and her expression contrite. "I'm sorry, Mr Grey. I was reaching for a glass and my crutches slipped…"

I wave her off. "Don't worry about it, Anastasia." I crouch down beside her and begin to help her pick up the glass.

"I'll pay for the glass, Sir." She mutters as she brushes the pieces into a small pile. "I swear I will. It was a – ow! Shit!" she recoils quickly from a large piece of glass she'd be about to pick up and I see a thin line of blood snaking its way down from the tip of her index finger.

"Anastasia!" I grab her wrist and pull her hand towards me, inspecting the cut. "Are you okay?"

But she doesn't answer. Her entire body has frozen, every muscle still, her pale eyes fixated on my hand holding her wrist.

"Anastasia?" I ask again, leaning closer to her. "Ana, can you hear me?"

Her breathing is picking up speed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She wobbles precariously on her knees and I'm afraid that she's about to keel over into the pile of glass. Instinctively, I grab her other wrist to steady her and that's when all hell breaks loose.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" the shrieking, wailing cry that comes from her scares the ever-loving shit out of me and I recoil in surprise. "NO, GET OFF OF ME!" she screams, her eyes wide and glazed as she wrenches her arms against my hold.

"ANASTASIA!" I shout, holding on to her wrists in an attempt to keep her still. "Anastasia, what's wrong?!"

"Please!" she sobs, tears falling rapidly down her face, her body shaking so hard that I'm afraid she'll go into convulsions. "Please, let me go!"

She pulls again, violently, and I nearly pitch forward on my face from her strength alone. She's thrashing in my grasp, every muscle tense and snapping, her jaw clenching so hard, I'm sure she's going to break her teeth. She attempts to bite one my hands, her mouth contorted in a snarl, her pupils constricted to small pinpricks as she screams.

All of a sudden, Taylor comes flying into the room, one hand on his gun and a blazing fury in his eyes. He pulls up short when he spots us on the floor, me clinging to Anastasia as she cowers away from me.

"What the fuck is going on?" he growls, his eyes darting between myself and Ana.

I release Anastasia's wrists and hold my hands up in self-defense. "I didn't do anything, I swear!"

Taylor looks as if he's about to take me up the wall but we're both distracted by Anastasia. As soon as I release her, she lets out a gasping breath and falls back onto her ass, crawling away from me until she's pressed into the corner, curled into a tight ball with her knees drawn up to her chest, one hand moving to shove her hair back and the other clutching at her chest.

"You're okay…" she whispers to herself, her eyes screwing shut. "You're okay, you're okay."

"Ana…" Taylor crouches in front of her and reaches forward, slowly wrapping his hands around her upper arms. She flinches in his grasp but doesn't lose her shit again. "Ana, what's wrong? What's going on?"

She shakes her head, her lips moving as she whispers her mantra to herself over and over again.

"Ana!" Taylor raises his voice and her eyes flash open, fixing on his. "Ana, breathe. In and out, slowly." He takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it through his nose; she mimics him, never breaking eye contact and I watch as her body begins to relax.

"Sweetheart, talk to me." He murmurs, his voice low and consoling.

"I don't know what happened…" she whispers, her voice cracking. "One minute, I was picking up glass with Mr Grey and the next… I was…" she trails off, as if unable to finish.

"You were back there." He finishes for her, his hands moving up to either side of her face. "You're not there, baby. You're right here, with me, with Mr Grey… it's over. I promise you."

She nods rapidly, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks. "I'm here, with you. I'm not there… I'm not there…"

"That's right, darling." Taylor nods and uses his thumbs to wipe her tears away. "You're here. Shall we get you back to bed?"

She nods again and he slowly helps her to her feet. I rise too, slowly, afraid to startle her. That's when I spot Gail standing in the doorway, wrapped in a flannel robe and watching us with teary eyes.

"Gail?" Taylor glances back at her. "Can you take Ana back to her room? I'll be there in a minute." Gail nods and steps forward, wrapping her arm around Ana's waist. I get a heavy dose of de-ja-vu as I watch her escort Anastasia out of the room.

I turn to Taylor as soon as they disappear from the room. "Jason, I swear, I didn't do anything."

Taylor turns to look at me, his gaze steely. "Yes, you did. You just didn't know it."

I frown at him. "What are talking about? I hardly touched her! I was just trying to help!"

Jason sighs heavily and drops into one of the stools at the breakfast bar. I sit across from him, the glass on the floor all but forgotten.

"Sir… you know how you don't allow anyone to touch certain… areas of you? Like your back? It triggers you?"

I nod slowly. "Yes, what about it?"

Taylor sighs again. "Well… ever since the attack, Ana has similar… triggers. You've seen the marks on her wrists, right?"

"Yes, they're hard to miss."

"… she was bound, Sir. Bound at the wrists with rope… or cable ties… or string, she hasn't actually told me. But it's left her scarred. Like PTSD, I suppose. She can't be restrained by the wrist – not by rope, not by restraints, not even by hands."

I gape at him. "How do you know?"

He drops his head. "When I went to visit her in the hospital, she was… convulsing in her sleep, trying to talk but it was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs…" he swallows as if he's fighting down bile and choking out the words. "I made the mistake of holding her wrist… she was struggling, I was afraid she would hurt herself… anyway, she woke up and looked straight at me, but it was like she wasn't seeing me, like she was looking through me. And then she just went mad. Screaming, begging, flailing. I thought she was having a fit.

"The doctors came rushing in and sedated her. In an attempt to keep her from doing any further damage to herself, they put light restraints on her – just something to stop her from harming herself. When she woke and felt the restraints… I thought she was possessed. I never knew the human body could contort that way. That was our first clue that something… awful had left her traumatised.

"She won't talk about it. I don't even know all the details, only the basics that the police could give me. She won't make an official statement, she won't give names… every time someone brings the incident up, she shuts down. Her physical injuries are healing, Sir, she's getting stronger every day… but she has some serious mental battles ahead of her."

I run my hands through my hair. "Jesus, Taylor, why didn't you tell me?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't think I'd have to. I didn't think you'd be likely to touch her that way… didn't think you'd have cause to. My apologies, Sir. I should have told you sooner."

I nod. "Yes, you should have." His eyes flash up to mine but his expression is unreadable. "That being said, what's done is done and we can't change it now. Just… please let Anastasia know that I'm deeply sorry and that I didn't know. I'll be more careful in future."

He stands and nods. "I will, Sir. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to check on her and then go to bed. It's been one hell of a day."

I wave him off. "Please do, Taylor. Get some rest."

"Goodnight, Sir."

I watch him leave before dropping my head onto the breakfast bar with a hard thud. What the hell is going on here? This girl is beautiful and strong and fierce… but also as fucked up as I am, with demons clinging to her back and a darkness torturing her soul. Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to her – my essence recognises another as damaged as me.

Riiiiight, my inner voice hisses sarcastically. It has nothing to do with her killer rack and phenomenal ass, of course.

No, actually, it doesn't. Don't get me wrong, she is attractive and she does call to me on a physical level. But it's more than that. It's something in my blood, my soul; something that sits deep in the pit of my stomach and writhes like a tangle of snakes fighting to get out.

I groan and thump my head against the breakfast bar again. What the hell am I going to do?