Claiming of Fifty shades

The fate of Ana

The smooth droning rumble of the jet taking off did nothing to bring me out of my stupor. The stupor my senses hadn't yet managed to shake off. There was anger, shame, then anger again.

Then there was a crushed hope too.

I had managed to glare head on at the world, but I had never managed to make eye contact with myself so far. These revelations had reduced me into a puddle of humiliation.

All these years, my father had remained my one hope. Now I had received my punishment for making the mistake of hoping. Lesson learned.

The four hours flight would be a savage one, I could tell. I took a large gulp of my coffee and looked out the window at the clouds.

There were people, when life threw them a curve-ball, they got hit, they licked their wounds, they bounced back, they shrugged and simply moved on. Then there were people, people like me, when life threw them a curve ball, they aced at ducking, but if God forbid, they got hit, they festered the wound until and unless it became a raging torment.

People also usually forgave. I didn't. Forgiving was difficult—a celestial act. Holding resentment and grudges was easy. Sometimes you hold resentment for so long, it becomes a part of you. It becomes a part of who you are. My grudge against the first few years of my life had shaped me into what I had become. It would be so very easy for someone to indifferently suggest it was only four years, you should move on. Can a sturdy house be built on an unsteady sea? You need to have a foundation of a strong ground to built an even stronger building. My foundation, my root, had been wrong and wobbly from the beginning.

The first four years, I spent like a punishment. The next six years, I spent on the edge, waiting for the dream to end, stealing food from Grace's fridge or pantry and hiding it in odd places, just in case the new mommy decided to not feed me my next meal. The next five years, I was content, since it didn't turn out to be a dream after all. But I never fit in. I tried. But I never held the childlike innocence, that casual attitude that others my age heedlessly paraded with. No one made the effort to make friends with me. I was the scary freak who wouldn't let anybody touch him, who never shared his lunch and who always had a little scrape of food behind rotting in his locker.

I didn't know why I did what I did. I still don't. Then Elena happened. Had I been some other fifteen year old, she would've done him a great injustice by seducing him and robbing him of a normal teenage life. I, on the other hand, I never had much of a life. She, in some twisted morbid way, helped me. I know it was statuary rape. I hadn't amassed a great amount of fortune through sheer stupidity. Let's just say, if I had a younger brother who I was as protective of as I felt for Elliot, a perfectly healthy fifteen year old, I wouldn't have Elena so much as take an eyeful of him.

My success had turned me into a cynical bastard, I would concede to that. You'd be surprised what people were willing to do to get into my good graces after I struck it rich. They would swarm around me like ants near sugar. It was amusing. It had also hardened me. It continues to harden me.

What did one do when they had so much to deal with and so little time? Often times, they detached themselves from the situation. Detachment, so far, had always put me right in the middle of winning situations. Detachment, brought me sex. Detachment brought me money. Detachment will bring me Anastasia. And detachment will be the way I will deal with this onslaught of information.

I had hated my mother for as long as I remembered. How did one forgive someone who had single-handedly destroyed your life? She'd been a monster of my dreams for so long, that envisioning her as a victim, of my father's no less, was a notion too... easy, laughable even, and contemptible. The situation begged to exempt her of the violent wreckage she had made out of my person. I could've taken her neglect, but she was cruel, deliberately cruel.

I would hate her forever! I concluded. Perhaps this success was a way for life to make it up to me. I would take from this pillage whatever slice of life I can manage to steal. Mainly a certain brunette who looked like sunshine and her scent was unlike anything I had smelled before.

I was a product of rape, abuse and violence. Figures!

My father, who I was most certainly a physical clone of, had forced himself onto my mother. And then out popped a hungry little bastard—me.

It was a cycle of abuse, from my well esteemed grandfather to my grandmother. From her to my father—can you abuse someone with love and care to the extent of smothering them? If not, then she managed to do it. From my father to my mother—he too wanted to smother her with his unwanted affection and then violence. From my mother to me. And from me...?

I hadn't abused anybody yet. Anastasia perhaps? So far I had been occupied with getting my hands on her, by hook or by crook. I hadn't thought what I'd do after that. Would I abuse her? I knew for certain I'll have her, one way or another. It was fate. However, was I capable of abusing a creature as gentle as her? Thoughts were descending from everywhere in my mind with cold calculation and no amount of shame. It was a fairly scientific estimation. I was capable of violence, that I already knew. But if I was prone to abuse, I needed to make sure to curb such urges and if I ever stoop low enough to indulge in them, I needed to make sure that Anastasia didn't prattle to anybody about them.

If Grace, my gentle sweet angel of a mother, ever got the gist of my contrived thoughts, she would certainly faint. I wasn't planning on abusing Anastasia. But if this thing was hereditary, I needed to sweeten the deal for her. I wouldn't have her leaving me, in case misfortune befell me or—to be literal—her.

Hypothetically thinking, what would seal her mouth if such situation ever arose?

Sweeten the deal a little bit more?

Reward her with a vacation on a private island every four months?

Expensive gifts almost every day?

Give her free access to money?

Get her heavily dependant on me and make her an addict of the lavish lifestyle only I would be able to provide?

Buy her a business? I frowned at that. That would be giving her too much control. Buy myself a business and let her control it? By that she will have an illusion of control and would still remain under my thumb.

Make sappy romantic gestures for her? How does one make sappy romantic gestures anyways.

Cuddle her in the night? Although how the fuck I was going to cuddle with my no touch policy was beyond my comprehension.

Spoon-feed her food from my own fucking plate?

Watch movies with her?

Fuck that shit!

For starters, I'll just give her free access to money, gifts, those vacations and that should do nicely!

"Sir we've landed."

"What?" So engrossed in my thoughts, I was startled. I looked at Taylor's ever-ready smooth countenance with a mix of envy and admiration. What I wouldn't do to be alike Taylor for a day. He was collected, but his calm nature had made me keep him as long as I had. He had a simple life. He was also taken with my house keeper and was slowly pursuing her. So normal yet so difficult.

"We've landed Mr. Grey."

"Okay."

I marched towards my residence with purposeful gait. My face a mask of granite. With familiar ease, I finished taking my shower and changed into my perfectly ironed Italian black dinner-suit. I put my cuff-links on. Sprayed cologne. Made a stiff shot of whiskey and swiftly downed it to numb the dull thud of pain in my senses and my head. I looked into the mirror, at the image I presented. Harshly rubbed my red eyes to dispel any remnants of today's events.

My image was now perfect. I put on the mask that I donned every single day to hide my grotesque reality. Christian Grey was ready to conquer the world again.