Well Done

The only part.

It was a lot messier than he expected, holding onto something so slippery while trying to drive a blade deep enough to accomplish anything. At least the flesh was soft. It only took one slice before his father took the knife from his hand, "like this Ted."

It looked so natural, the way his father cut a turkey. Christian put the knife back into the tray and snapped his fingers for the house-keeper and returned to his seat the head of the overly long dining table. His mother smiled at him, her eternally placating smile, "Teddy, how was your flight?"

"It was fine, I'm sure", his father answered for him, "I sent the jet for him after all, not likely he could have gotten here otherwise." Theodore mumbled his thanks for his father sending a private jet to fly him out of a storm that was leaving most aircraft grounded in Boston.

"It's a shame that Phoebe couldn't join us."

Christian stared Ana into silence before speaking. "Perhaps she could have, if she had been considerate enough to not get herself addicted to vicoden on her first week away from home. Maybe then I wouldn't have had to go through the trouble of having her locked in rehab over Christmas." Silence reigned.

"I've arranged for a coach to help you work on your game while you're here." Theodore watched the house-keeper serve the first dish to his father, "Thank you father, I wouldn't want to go soft over the holidays." His smile returned, "You're welcome, I knew you wouldn't want your final year to be a disappointment."

The clatter of silverware carried them through another few minutes before Theodore knew it was his turn to make conversation. "You look very nice mom", he offered. She looked up and dabbed the bit of gravy from the side of her lips before attempting to respond.

Christian aborted her gratitude, "Yes, she is looking much better than last year. I've put her on a fantastic new medication that helps with her appetite." "It's not so challenging to eat a proper meal now, is it?" Ana nodded, smiling again, a little red in the cheeks.

Theodore imagined him entering her in one of those farm animal competitions, toting her around naked on a leash in the midday sun. The mix of arousal and shock at his own thoughts must have been a visible reaction, since his father eyed him with concern. "You don't look so well Teddy, why don't you go lie down for a little." That wasn't a suggestion.

He could relax a little, back in his old room. None of his things remained, but at least the layout was familiar and he was alone. Theodore wasn't really that imaginative, after all, he'd seen the leash when wandering his father's closet as a child. That wandering had earned him three days confined to this room. It would have been impossible for his parents to raise him without a notion of BDSM. Only Taylor knew in fact that he himself had been thrown out of a fetish party at the age of 15, refusing to take no for an answer from the woman he was playing with. Taylor had promised to keep it quiet for him, and he was very good at keeping things quiet.

The scene was one that Theodore often replayed in his mind, shocked at his own behaviour, angry that it was all that he knew at the time. Three ex-girlfriends later, he had a pretty good idea of how people in the outside world related to their significant others. He hoped he could leave his reputation at school and make a fresh start somewhere else after graduation. His suitcase brought a more favourable fantasy to mind: the one where he dropped off the map. He'd considered it a few times in the last few years, leaving everything in his majestic Harvard campus brownstone and vanishing to a far away land where no one would phone his professors or fly their doctor over to examine his girlfriend should he let slip that they'd had a pregnancy scare. She'd wanted a break after that and Theodore was not particularly proud of how he had handled it.

His musings were interrupted by a clatter from the dining room and a muffled cry, "No, not now!" With a softness born from years of practice, Theodore crept from his room and toward the dining area. He knew what he was going to see when the thumping and clatter grew obviously rhythmic, but didn't stop himself.

His father had finished by the time he was able to see around the corner. He was rebuckling his belt while his mother gasped for breath. There were the beginnings of deep bruises in the red handprint on her neck, makeup smudged by tears. Christian Grey walked back to the head of the table where Theodore could only see the back of his head. There was blood on the napkin in his hand, which he tossed carelessly onto the floor, "Go clean yourself off."

It was a lot messier than he expected, holding onto something so slippery while trying to drive a blade deep enough to accomplish anything. At least the flesh was soft. It only took one slice before his father's grip on his arm relaxed and reality began to sink in.

50 Shades of Grey is a story about a physically and emotionally abusive relationship, not BDSM. For more information, visit http://jennytrout.com/?p=3007. Thanks for reading.