Fifty Shades Darker

He smiles, sadly but doesn't answer. "Breakfast is here - pancakes and bacon for you.

Come, get up, I'm getting lonely out here." He swats me sharply on my behind, making me jump, and rises from the bed.

Hmm... Christian's version of warm affection.

As I stretch, I'm aware I ache all over... no doubt a result of all the sex, dancing, and teetering in expensive high-heeled shoes. I stagger out of bed and make my way into the sumptuously appointed bathroom while going over the events of the previous day in my mind. When I come out, I don one of the over-fluffy bathrobes that hang on a brass peg in the bathroom.

Leila - the girl who looks like me - that's the most startling image my brain conjures for conjecture, that and her eerie presence in Christian's bedroom. What did she want? Me?

Christian? To do what? And why the f**k has she wrecked my car?

Christian said I would have another Audi, like all his submissives. The thought is unwelcome. Since I was so generous with the money he gave me, there's not a lot I can do.

I wander into the main room of the suite - no sign of Christian. I finally locate him in the dining room. I take a seat, grateful for the impressive breakfast laid before me. Christian is reading the Sunday papers and drinking coffee, his breakfast finished. He smiles at me.

"Eat up. You're going to need your strength today," he teases.

"And why is that? You going to lock me in the bedroom?" My inner goddess jerks awake suddenly, all disheveled with a just-fucked look.

"Appealing as that idea is, I thought we'd go out today. Get some fresh air."

"Is it safe?" I ask innocently, trying and failing to keep the irony from my voice.

Christian's face falls, and his mouth presses in a line. "Where we're going, it is. And it's not a joking matter," he adds sternly, narrowing his eyes.

I flush and stare down at my breakfast. I don't feel like being scolded after all the drama and such a late night. I eat my breakfast in silence, feeling petulant.

My subconscious is shaking her head at me. Fifty doesn't joke about my safety - I should know this by now. I want to roll my eyes at him, but I refrain.

Okay, I'm tired and testy. I had a long day yesterday and not enough sleep. Why, oh why does he get to look as fresh as a daisy? Life is not fair.

There's a knock at the door.

"That'll be the good doctor," Christian grumbles, obviously still smarting from my irony. He stalks from the table.

Can't we just have a calm, normal morning? I sigh heavily, leaving half my breakfast, and get up to greet Doctor Depo-Provera.

We're in the bedroom, and Dr. Greene is staring at me open-mouthed. She's dressed more casually than last time in a pale pink cashmere twin set and black pants, and her fine blond hair is loose.

"And you just stopped taking it? Just like that?"

I flush, feeling beyond foolish.

"Yes." Could my voice be any smaller?

"You could be pregnant," she says matter-of-factly.

What! The world falls away at my feet. My subconscious collapses on the floor retching, and I think I'm going to be sick, too. No!

"Here, go pee in this." She's all business today - taking no prisoners.

Meekly, I accept the small plastic container she's offered and wander in a daze into the bathroom. No. No. No. No way... No way... Please no. No.

What will Fifty do? I go pale. He'll freak.

No, please! I whisper a silent prayer.

I hand Dr. Greene my sample, and she carefully places a small white stick in it.

"When did your period start?"

How am I supposed to think about such minutiae when all I can do is stare anxiously at the white stick?

"Er... Wednesday? Not the one just gone, the one before that. June first."

"And when did you stop taking the pill?"

"Sunday. Last Sunday."

She purses her lips.

"You should be okay," she says sharply. "I can tell by your expression that an un-planned pregnancy would not be welcome news. So Medroxyprogesterone is a good idea if you can't remember to take the pill every day." She gives me a stern look, and I quail under her authoritative glare. Picking up the white stick, she peers at it.

"You're in the clear. You've not ovulated yet, so provided you've been taking proper precautions, you shouldn't be pregnant. Now, let me counsel you about this shot. We dis-counted it last time because of the side effects, but quite frankly, the side effects of a child are far-reaching and go on for years." She smiles, pleased with herself and her little joke, but I can't begin to respond - I'm too stunned.

Dr. Greene launches into full disclosure mode about side effects, and I sit paralyzed with relief, not listening to a word. I think I'd tolerate any number of strange women standing at the end of my bed rather than confess to Christian that I might be pregnant.

"Ana!" Dr. Greene snaps. "Let's do this thing." She pulls me out of my reverie, and I willingly roll up my sleeve.

Christian closes the door behind her and gazes at me warily. "Everything okay?" he asks.

I nod mutely, and he tilts his head to one side, his face tense with concern.

"Anastasia, what is it? What did Dr. Greene say?"

I shake my head. "You're good to go in seven days," I mutter.

"Seven days?"

"Yes."

"Ana, what's wrong?"

I swallow. "It's nothing to worry about. Please, Christian, just leave it."

Christian looms in front of me. He grasps my chin, tipping my head back, and stares emphatically into my eyes, trying to decipher my panic.

"Tell me," he snaps insistently.

"There's nothing to tell. I'd like to get dressed." I pull my chin out of his reach.