Paging Dr. Steele

Chapter 1: Introducing...

This is my story--a fanfic I started in 2013. The first draft can be found on Fanfiction. However, my current updates can be found at https://butterflysaga.wordpress.com/journey-of-miles/paging-dr-steele/ which is my personal website. I keep finding my story added to Wattpad by other writers and have decided that maybe, if I add it myself, they will stop doing it, so here goes...

If you are coming over from Fanfiction and have already read "Paging Dr. Steele," please know that this version of the story has been updated and many events and names have been changed. You may want to start over from the beginning.

I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you-as a fellow fan-enjoy it, too.

Chapter 1-Introducing...

MEET ANASTASTIA STEELE

I was scared and confused... and anxious to get away from everything that had happened to me before now. But after a year in college, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had to do something, I knew.... but what?

So they have these little people they call "career counselors." They talk to you about your likes and dislikes-your hopes and your dreams-your childhood, your deepest, darkest secrets-blah blah blah... and then they come up with a career path for you.

Go into psychology, she said.
You're a great listener, she said.
It'll be just what you need-you can help others while you help yourself, she said.

So here I am-after undergrad, grad school, the internship, and the student loans-listening to another group of grown ass men and women whining about how their self-confidence was shattered beyond repair because in 7th grade, the kids picked them last for dodge ball on the playground. Now don't get me wrong, I understand what it's like to have problems; I know all about the issues that can affect you and shape the person you become. That's why I chose this field in the first place. But if I have to hear one more blubbering crybaby suffering from low self-esteem because Mom bought her Malibu Barbie instead of Ballerina Barbie, thereby squashing her spirit and forever crushing her dancing dreams and aspirations, I'm going to fucking shoot myself!

People are dying of grave diseases. War and poverty are rampant all over the world. And here I sit facilitating yet another bi-weekly mind-numbing group therapy session listening to Melba Sornson going on about how she was never able to overcome her obstacles in life because Marvin Handley stood her up for the prom.

It's a good thing I've perfected "the look." You know... the look. That's where you sit with your legs crossed, elbow on your armrest with your chin resting on two or three of your bent fingers and your thumb, looking around the speaker's head, but never directly in their eyes-giving them the illusion that they have your undivided attention. Our current whiner... um, I mean speaker is pouring her heart out for the hundredth time about how her parents' divorce when she was 14 left her with trust issues against men. Both of her parents have since remarried and are in long-lasting, loving relationships. They are even friendly with each other. From what she has shared from her childhood memories before they divorced, they were freaking miserable! Mom was creeping up on suicide, Dad was two steps behind homicide, and she herself sounds like she was battling depression.

She is now 33-or so she claims-and still can't wrap her mind around the fact that her parents were toxic to each other and chose to move on instead of continuing to kill each other slowly. She has decided to join us this evening sporting workout garb for the flirty 21-year-old. Her way-too-red hair is styled in this way-too-big bouffant that doesn't match her outfit in any way. She looks ridiculous-like "Clash of the Decades"-sort of Margaret Thatcher meets Flashdance (Sorry, Mrs. Thatcher, and sorry, Flashdance). I just want to scream at her, "Pick an era, Lady-preferably one that's suitable for your age!"