Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck on my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture—candle-making—my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally, she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope Bob—her relatively new but much older husband—is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Ana?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I know I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine,” I answer quickly. “Ana? Have you met someone?” Wow…how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive and he’s still watching soccer on TV (and going bowling or fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not). Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening—we want some time off from our studies, our work, and student newspapers—when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend José, clutching a bottle of champagne. “José! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” José is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each other that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we also discovered that Ray and José Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become good friends, too. José is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. José has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me—you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease. He scowls playfully at me. “The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing! Congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Yes. No. Not really.” He raises an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. “Boyfriend?” I flush. “No, a friend. An ex-boyfriend.” “Maybe tomorrow you’d like to come for a drink after work. You’ve had a stellar first week, Ana. We should celebrate.” He smiles and an unsettling emotion flits across his face, making me uneasy. Putting his hands in his pockets, he saunters through the double doors. I frown at his retreating back. Drinks with the boss, is that a good idea? I shake my head. I have an evening of Christian Grey to get through first. How am I going to do this? I hurry into the restroom to make last-minute adjustments. In the large mirror on the wall, I take a long, hard look at my face. I’m my usual pale self, with dark circles around too-large eyes so I look gaunt and haunted. And not for the first time, I wish I knew how to use makeup. I apply some mascara and eyeliner and pinch my cheeks, hoping for some color. Then I fluff my hair so it hangs artfully down my back. I take a deep breath. This will have to do. Nervously I walk through the foyer and give a smile and a wave to Claire at Reception. I hope she and I will become friends, when I’m feeling more like myself. Jack is talking to Elizabeth as I head for the doors. Smiling broadly, he hurries over to open them for me. “After you, Ana,” he declares. “Thank you.” I smile, embarrassed. Outside on the curb, Taylor is waiting. He opens the rear door of the car. I glance hesitantly at Jack, who has followed me out. He’s looking toward the Audi SUV with curiosity. I turn and climb into the back, and there he sits—Christian Grey—wearing his gray suit, no tie, white shirt open at the collar. His gray eyes are glowing. My mouth dries. He looks glorious except he’s scowling at me. Why? “When did you last eat?” he snaps as Taylor closes the door behind me. Crap. “Hello, Christian. Yes, it’s nice to see you, too.” “I don’t want your smart mouth now. Answer me.” His eyes blaze. “Um…I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Oh—and a banana.” “When did you last have a real meal?” he asks acidly. Taylor slips into the driver’s seat, starts the car, and pulls out into the traffic. I glance up and Jack is waving at me, though how he can see me through the dark glass, I don’t know. I wave back. “Who’s that?” Christian snaps. “My boss.” I peek up at the beautiful man beside me, and his mouth is pressed into a hard line. “Well? Your last meal?” “Christian, that really is none of your concern,” I respond, feeling extraordinarily brave. “Whatever you do concerns me. Tell me.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Anastasia, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you—what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign. If you do sign and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?” I take a long sip of my wine. My subconscious taps me hard on the shoulder. You must keep your wits about you. Don’t drink too much. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust,” he continues. “If you don’t trust me—trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you—if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.” Oh my, we’ve cut to the chase quickly. How far he can take me. Holy shit. What does that mean? “So it’s quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?” His eyes are burning, fervent. “Did you have similar discussions with…um…the fifteen?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.” “Is there a store you go to? Submissives ’R’ Us?” He laughs. “Not exactly.” “Then how?” “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.” I swallow. Do I trust him? Is that what this all comes down to—trust? Surely that should be a two-way thing. I remember his snit when I phoned José. “Are you hungry?” he asks, distracting me from my thoughts. Oh no…food. “No.” “Have you eaten today?” I stare at him. Honesty… Holy crap, he’s not going to like my answer. “No.” My voice is small. He narrows his eyes. “You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. What would you prefer?” “I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.” He smiles sardonically. “Do you think that would stop me?” His words are a sensual warning. My eyes widen, and I swallow again. “I hope so.” “Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” He smiles at me enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to me. “Bring your wine.” Placing my hand in his, I slide out and stand up beside him. He releases me, and his hand reaches for my elbow. He leads me back through the bar and up the grand stairs to a mezzanine floor. A young man in full Heathman livery approaches us. “Mr. Grey, this way, sir.”

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  Daisy asked. I nodded. Sometimes I wondered why she liked me, or at least tolerated me. Why any of them did. Even I found myself annoying. I could feel sweat sprouting from my forehead, and once I begin to sweat, it’s impossible to stop. I’ll keep sweating for hours, and not just my face or my armpits. My neck sweats. My boobs sweat. My calves sweat. Maybe I did have a fever. Beneath the table, I slid the old Band-Aid into my pocket and, without looking, pulled out a new one, unwrapped it, and then glanced down to apply it to my finger. All the while, I was breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, in the manner advised by Dr. Karen Singh, exhaling at a pace “that would make a candle flicker but not go out. Imagine that candle, Aza, flickering from your breath but still there, always there.” So I tried that, but the thought spiral kept tightening anyway. I could hear Dr. Singh saying I shouldn’t get out my phone, that I mustn’t look up the same questions over and over, but I got it out anyway, and reread the “Human Microbiota” Wikipedia article. The thing about a spiral is, if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely. — I sealed the Ziploc bag around the last quarter of my sandwich, got up, and tossed it into an overfilled trash can. I heard a voice from behind me. “How concerned should I be that you haven’t said more than two words in a row all day?” “Thought spiral,” I mumbled in reply. Daisy had known me since we were six, long enough to get it. “I figured. Sorry, man. Let’s hang out today.” This girl Molly walked up to us, smiling, and said, “Uh, Daisy, just FYI, your Kool-Aid dye job is staining your shirt.” Daisy looked down at her shoulders, and indeed, her striped top had turned pink in spots. She flinched for a second, then straightened her spine. “Yeah, it’s part of the look, Molly. Stained shirts are huge in Paris right now.” She turned away from Molly and said, “Right, so we’ll go to your house and watch Star Wars: Rebels.” Daisy was really into Star Wars—and not just the movies, but also the books and the animated shows and the kids’ show where they’re all made out of Lego. Like, she wrote fan fiction about Chewbacca’s love life. “And we will improve your mood until you are able to say three or even four words in a row; sound good?” “Sounds good.” “And then you can take me to work. Sorry, but I need a ride.” “Okay.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  My surroundings are sparse, but I think it’s a design statement rather than frugality. I’m seated on one of two dark-green chesterfield couches made of leather—not unlike the couch that Christian has in his playroom. I stroke the leather appreciatively and wonder idly what Christian does on that couch. My mind wanders as I think of the possibilities… No—I must not go there now. I flush at my wayward and inappropriate thoughts. The receptionist is an attractive woman with dark, glossy skin, large silver earrings and long straightened hair. She has a bohemian look about her, the sort of woman I could be friendly with. The thought is comforting. Every few moments she glances up at me, away from her computer, and smiles reassuringly. I tentatively return her smile. My flight is booked, my mother is in seventh heaven that I am visiting, I’m packed, and Kate has agreed to drive me to the airport. Christian has ordered me to take my BlackBerry and the Mac. I roll my eyes at the memory of his overbearing bossiness, but I realize now that’s just the way he is. He likes control over everything, including me. Yet he’s so unpredictably and disarmingly agreeable, too. He can be tender, good-humored, even sweet. And when he is, it’s so left field and unexpected. He insisted on accompanying me all the way down to my car in the garage. Jeez, I’m only going for a few days; he’s acting like I’m going for weeks. He always keeps me off balance. “Ana Steele?” A woman with long, black, pre-Raphaelite hair standing by the reception desk distracts me from my introspection. She has the same bohemian, floaty look as the receptionist. She could be in her late thirties, maybe in her forties. It’s so difficult to tell with older women. “Yes,” I reply, standing awkwardly. She gives me a polite smile, her cool hazel eyes assessing me. I’m wearing a black pinafore over a white blouse, and black pumps. Very interview, I think. My hair is restrained in a tight bun, and for once the tendrils are behaving themselves. She holds her hand out to me. “Hello, Ana, my name’s Elizabeth Morgan. I’m head of human resources here at SIP.” “How do you do?” I shake her hand. She looks too casual to be the head of HR. “Please follow me.” We go through the double doors behind the reception area into a large brightly decorated open-plan office and from there head into a small meeting room. The walls are pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the maple conference table sits a young man with red hair tied in a ponytail. Small silver hoop earrings glint in both of his ears. He wears a pale-blue shirt, no tie, and stone chinos. As I approach him, he stands and gazes at me with fathomless dark-blue eyes.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Date: May 23 2011 20:33 To: Christian Grey Okay, I’ve seen enough. It was nice knowing you. Ana I press send, hugging myself, laughing at my little joke. Will he find it as funny? Oh, shit—probably not. Christian Grey is not famed for his sense of humor. But I know it exists. I’ve experienced it. Perhaps I’ve gone too far. I wait for his answer. I wait…and wait. I glance at my alarm clock. Ten minutes have passed. To distract myself from the anxiety that blooms in my belly, I start doing what I told Kate I would be doing—packing up my room. I begin by cramming my books into a crate. By nine, I’ve heard nothing. Perhaps he’s out. I pout petulantly as I plug in my iPod earbuds, listen to Snow Patrol, and sit down at my small desk to reread the contract and make my comments. I don’t know why I glance up—maybe I catch a slight movement from the corner of my eye, I don’t know—but when I do, he’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, watching me intently. He’s wearing his gray flannel pants and a white linen shirt, gently twirling his car keys. I pull out my earbuds and freeze. Fuck! “Good evening, Anastasia.” His voice is cool, his expression completely guarded and unreadable. The capacity to speak deserts me. Damn Kate for letting him in here with no warning. Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m still in my sweats, unshowered, yucky, and he’s just gloriously yummy, his pants doing that hanging from the hips thing, and what’s more, he’s here in my bedroom. “I felt that your email warranted a reply in person,” he explains. I open my mouth and then close it again, twice. The joke is on me. Never in this or any alternative universe did I expect him to drop everything and turn up here. “May I sit?” he asks, his eyes now dancing with humor. Thank heavens—maybe he’ll see the funny side? I nod. The power of speech remains elusive. Christian Grey is sitting on my bed. “I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” he says. I glance around it, plotting an escape route. No, there’s still only the door or window. My room is functional but cozy—sparse white wicker furniture and a white iron double bed with a patchwork quilt, made by my mother when she was in her folksy Americana quilting phase. It’s all pale blue and cream. “It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” he murmurs. Not at the moment…not with you here. Finally, my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose. I breathe. “How…?” He smiles at me. “I’m still at The Heathman.” I know that. “Would you like a drink?” Politeness wins out over everything else I’d like to say. “No thank you, Anastasia.” He smiles a dazzling, crooked smile, his head cocked slightly to one side. Well, I might need one. “So, it was nice knowing me?”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  There seems to be a tidal shift in Christian’s attitude. He denies it, but he admits he’s trying for more. What could have changed? What has altered since he sent his long email and when I saw him yesterday? What has he done? I sit up suddenly, almost spilling my soda. He had dinner with…her. Elena. Holy fuck! My scalp prickles at the realization. Did she say something to him? Oh, to have been a fly on the wall during their dinner. I could have landed in her soup or on her wineglass and choked her. “What is it, Ana, honey?” Mom asks, startled from her torpor. “I’m just having a moment, Mom. What time is it?” “About six thirty p.m., darling.” Hmm, he wouldn’t have landed yet. Can I ask him? Should I ask him? Or perhaps she has nothing to do with it. I fervently hope so. What did I say in my sleep? Crap…some unguarded remark while dreaming about him, I bet. Whatever it is, or was, I hope the sea change is coming from within him and not because of her. I am sweltering in this damned heat. I need another dip in the pool. As I get ready for bed, I switch on my computer. I have heard nothing from Christian. Not even a word that he’s arrived safely. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Safe Arrival? Date: June 2 2011 22:32 ET To: Christian Grey Dear Sir, Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you. Your Ana x Three minutes later, I hear the ping from my email inbox. From: Christian Grey Subject: Sorry Date: June 2 2011 19:36 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know. I don’t want to cause you any worry. It’s heartwarming to know that you care for me. I am thinking of you, too, and as ever looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. I sigh. Christian is back to formality. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: The Situation Date: June 2 2011 22:40 ET To: Christian Grey Dear Mr. Grey, I think it is very evident that I care for you deeply. How could you doubt that? I hope your “situation” is under control. Your Ana x P.S. Are you going to tell me what I said in my sleep? From: Christian Grey Subject: Pleading the Fifth Date: June 2 2011 19:45 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, I like very much that you care for me. The “situation” here is not yet resolved. With regard to your P.S., the answer is no. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Pleading Insanity Date: June 2 2011 22:48 ET To: Christian Grey

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I switch off the BlackBerry, unable to shake my anxiety. Something is up with Christian. Perhaps “the situation” is out of hand. I sit back, glancing up at the overhead bin where my bags are stowed. I managed this morning, with my mother’s help, to buy Christian a small gift to say thank you for first class and for the gliding. I smile at the memory of the soaring—that was something else. I don’t know yet if I’ll give my silly gift to him. He might think it’s childish—and if he’s in a strange mood, maybe not. I am both eager to return and apprehensive of what awaits me at my journey’s end. As I mentally flick through all the scenarios that could be “the situation,” I become aware that once again the only empty seat is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn’t talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridiculous—no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely. I close my eyes as the plane taxis toward the runway. I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and holding up a sign that reads MISS A. STEELE. Honestly! But it’s good to see him. “Hello, Taylor.” “Miss Steele,” he greets me formally, but I see a hint of a smile in his sharp brown eyes. He looks his usual immaculate self—smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie. “I do know what you look like, Taylor. You don’t need a sign, and I do wish you’d call me Ana.” “Ana. Can I take your bags, please?” “No, I can manage. Thank you.” His lips tighten perceptibly. “B-but, if you’d be more comfortable taking them,” I stammer. “Thank you.” He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the clothes my mother has bought me. “This way, ma’am.” I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact—and the thought unsettles me—he’s the only man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship. We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala. The journey is slow, caught up in rush-hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him. I can bear the silence no longer. “How’s Christian, Taylor?” “Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele.” Oh, this must be “the situation.” I am mining a seam of gold. “Preoccupied?” “Yes, ma’am.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rearview mirror, our eyes meeting. He’s saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tight-lipped as the control freak himself. “Is he okay?” “I believe so, ma’am.” “Are you more comfortable calling me Miss Steele?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Oh, okay.” Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think that Taylor’s recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been hell on wheels, was an anomaly. Perhaps he’s embarrassed about it, worried that he’s been disloyal. The silence is suffocating. “Could you put some music on, please?” “Certainly, ma’am. What would you like to hear?” “Something soothing.” I see a smile play on Taylor’s lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror. “Yes, ma’am.” He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’s Canon fills the space between us. Oh yes, this is what I need. “Thank you.” I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along Interstate 5 into Seattle. Twenty-five minutes later, he drops me outside the impressive facade that is the entrance to Escala. “In you go, ma’am,” he says, holding the door open for me. “I’ll bring up your luggage.” His expression is soft, warm, avuncular even. Uncle Taylor, what a thought. “Thank you for meeting me.” “It’s a pleasure, Miss Steele.” He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman nods and waves. As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous? And I know it’s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood; my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves. The elevator doors open, and I’m in the foyer. It is so strange not to be met by Taylor. Of course, he’s parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry, talking quietly as he stares through the glass doors at the early evening Seattle skyline. He’s wearing a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he’s running his hand through his hair. He’s agitated, tense even. Oh no, what’s wrong? Agitated or not, he’s still a fine sight. How can he look so…arresting? “No trace?… Okay… Yes.” He turns and sees me, and his whole demeanor changes. From tension to relief to something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a look of sensual carnality, his eyes scorching. My mouth goes dry and desire blooms in my body. Whoa. “Keep me informed,” he snaps and shuts off his phone as he strides purposefully toward me.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  If I’d not met him, I’d still be sweetly and blissfully oblivious. My mind drifts to last night and this morning…and the incredible, sensual sexuality I’d experienced. Do I want to say goodbye to that? No! screams my subconscious. My inner goddess nods in silent Zen-like agreement with her. Kate wanders back into the living room, grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps she’s in love. I gape at her. She’s never behaved like this. “Ana, I’m off to bed. I’m pretty tired.” “Me, too, Kate.” She hugs me. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece. There’s something about Christian,” she adds quietly…apologetically. I give her a small, reassuring smile, all the while thinking, How the hell does she know? This is what will make her a great journalist, her unfaltering intuition. Collecting my purse, I wander listlessly into my bedroom. I am weary from all the carnal exertions of the last day and from the complete and utter dilemma I’m faced with. I sit on my bed and gingerly extract the manila envelope from my bag, turning it over and over in my hands. Do I really want to know the extent of Christian’s depravity? It’s so daunting. I take a deep breath, and with my heart in my throat, I rip open the envelope. Chapter ElevenThere are several papers inside the envelope. I fish them out, my heart still pounding, and I sit back on my bed and begin to read. CONTRACT Made this day ________ of 2011 (“The Commencement Date”) BETWEEN MR. CHRISTIAN GREY of 301 Escala, Seattle, WA 98889 (“The Dominant”) MISS ANASTASIA STEELE of 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888 (“The Submissive”) THE PARTIES AGREE AS FOLLOWS 1 The following are the terms of a binding contract between the Dominant and the Submissive. FUNDAMENTAL TERMS 2 The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive to explore her sensuality and her limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits, and her well-being. 3 The Dominant and the Submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures may be agreed in writing. 4 The Dominant and the Submissive each warrant that they suffer from no sexual, serious, infectious, or life-threatening illnesses, including but not limited to HIV, herpes, and hepatitis. If during the Term (as defined below) or any extended term of this contract either party should be diagnosed with or become aware of any such illness, he or she undertakes to inform the other immediately and in any event prior to any form of physical contact between the parties.

• From From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity (2013)

  Clement would har- ness conventional medical wisdom in the name of not just healthful bal- ance, but also transformation. “Food is for hunger and drink is for thirst, but it calls for the most acute self- protection against any slip, for one step down the path of wine makes one apt to fall. With care we can keep our souls pure, dry, and luminous.” Th e more extreme regimes of mortifi cation, which will exploit the medical tradition with gusto, lie not far in the future.  Clement’s Christians fi nd their will to transcend the lures of desire and plea sure threatened in every direction. His writings are an unmatched guide to the mundane dangers of modest wealth in a house hold of the Ro- man Empire. He is the fi rst Christian to worry about the temptation that slaves, specifi cally eunuchs, posed to the women of a house hold. He is dis- tressed by the built environment of the ancient city, aghast at a culture in which erotic art was a normal accoutrement of the domestic sphere. Clem- ent’s believers faced constant visual bombardment. Th ey were surrounded by the vibrant erotic anarchy of ancient Alexandria. Clement was, like so many of his contemporaries, acutely sensitive to the ocular experience of living in a great Roman town. For him the words of Christ not to look with lust posed an overwhelming challenge. “He pulls up desire from its root.” Inviting looks were “nothing other than adultery with the eyes, desire cast from afar through them. For the eyes are corrupted before the rest of the body.” In his belief that vision was a sort of particulate intromission, it has been noted, Clement is not at all far from Achilles Tatius, who described  FROM SHAME TO SIN the erotic gaze as “fondling from afar.” What for Achilles was one of the harmless thrills of life was for Clement an environmental hazard, clogging the air with pollutants that threatened the purity of the body.  Clement’s attitude toward same- sex love is a predictable extension of his commitment to Pauline authority and his strict procreationism. Following Philo, Clement believed that the Mosaic prohibition on the consumption of hare, that “lewd beast,” was really a ban on pederasty. Clement also believed that Moses had condemned same- sex relations literally, for he repeatedly cited the triune ban on “fornication, adultery, and the corruption of chil- dren,” and, wrongly, attributed it to Moses. Th e injunction against peder- asty has even snuck into the Ten Commandments, between adultery and theft! For Clement, Paul’s condemnation of same- sex love in Romans was a straightforward continuation of the Mosaic law. Clement elaborates on the idea of “natural use” with unsparing literalism. Every orifi ce, every canal, every protuberance had a natural use, to which it was limited.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, giving us both the opportunity to slow our breathing. After a moment, he kisses my forehead, inhales deeply, his nose in my hair, and then he releases me, stepping back. “As you wish, Miss Steele,” he says, his face impassive. “I’ll escort you to the lobby.” He holds out his hand. Leaning down, I grab my purse and place my hand in his. Holy crap, this could be it. I follow him meekly down the grand stairs and into the lobby, my scalp prickling, my blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if I decide to say no. My heart contracts painfully in my chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl. “Do you have your valet ticket?” I fish into my clutch purse and hand him the ticket, which he gives to the doorman. I peek up at him as we stand waiting. “Thank you for dinner.” “It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele,” he says politely, though he looks deep in thought. As I peer at him, I commit his beautiful profile to memory. The idea that I might not see him again haunts me, unwelcome and too painful to contemplate. He turns suddenly, staring down at me, his expression intense. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” He sounds hesitant. “We’ll see. Maybe,” I breathe. Momentarily, he looks relieved, and then he frowns. “It’s cooler now. Don’t you have a jacket?” “No.” He shakes his head in irritation and takes off his jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching cold.” I blink up at him as he holds it open, and as I hold my arms out behind me, I’m reminded of the time in his office when he slipped my coat onto my shoulders—the first time I met him—and the effect he had on me then. Nothing’s changed; in fact, it’s more intense. His jacket is warm, far too big, and it smells of him…delicious. My car pulls up outside. Christian’s mouth drops open. “That’s what you drive?” He’s appalled. Taking my hand, he leads me outside. The valet jumps out and hands me my keys, and Christian coolly palms him some money. “Is this roadworthy?” He’s glaring at me now. “Yes.” “Will it make it to Seattle?” “Yes. She will.” “Safely?” “Yes,” I snap, exasperated. “Okay, she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me.” “Oh, Anastasia, I think we can do better than this.” “What do you mean?” Realization dawns. “You are not buying me a car.” He glowers at me, his jaw tense. “We’ll see,” he says tightly. He grimaces as he opens the driver’s door and helps me in.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  It’s been hardly any time at all. Yet I feel like I’ve known Christian for a lifetime. He powers down Charlie Tango, flipping various switches so the rotors stop, and eventually all I hear is my own breathing through the headphones. Hmm. Briefly it reminds me of the Thomas Tallis experience. I blanch. I don’t want to go there right now. Christian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine. “Good trip, Miss Steele?” he asks, his voice mild, his eyes glowing. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey.” “Well, let’s go see the boy’s photos.” He holds out his hand and we climb out of Charlie Tango. A gray-haired man with a beard walks over to meet us, grinning broadly, and I recognize him as the old-timer from the last time we were here. “Joe.” Christian smiles and releases my hand to shake Joe’s warmly. “Keep her safe for Stephan. He’ll be along around eight or nine.” “Will do, Mr. Grey. Ma’am,” he says, nodding at me. “Your car’s waiting downstairs, sir. Oh, and the elevator’s out of order; you’ll need to use the stairs.” “Thank you, Joe.” Christian takes my hand, and we head to the emergency stairs. “Good thing for you this is only three floors, in those heels,” he mutters in disapproval. No kidding. “Don’t you like the boots?” “I like them very much, Anastasia.” His gaze darkens and I think he might say something else, but he stops. “Come. We’ll take it slow. I don’t want you falling and breaking your neck.” We sit in silence as our driver takes us to the gallery. My anxiety has returned full force, and I realize that during our time in Charlie Tango, we were in the eye of the storm. Christian is quiet and brooding…apprehensive even; our lighter mood from earlier has dissipated. There’s so much I want to say, but this journey is too short. Christian stares pensively out the window and I wonder what he’s thinking about. “José is just a friend,” I murmur. Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes dark and guarded, giving nothing away. His mouth—oh, his mouth is distracting, and unbidden. I remember it on me—everywhere. My skin heats. He shifts in his seat and frowns. “Those beautiful eyes look too large in your face, Anastasia. Please tell me you’ll eat.” “Yes, Christian, I’ll eat,” I answer automatically, a platitude. “I mean it.” “Do you, now?” I cannot keep the disdain from my voice. Honestly, the audacity of this man—this man who has put me through hell over the last few days. No, that’s wrong. I’ve put myself through hell. No. It’s him. I shake my head, confused. “I don’t want to fight with you, Anastasia. I want you back, and I want you healthy,” he says. What? “But nothing’s changed.” You’re still fifty shades. “Let’s talk on the way back. We’re here.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Thank you for the offer. But I’d be happier taking a scheduled flight.” He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it. “As you wish.” He sighs. “Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?” “No.” “Good. You’re still not going to tell me which publishing houses?” “No.” His lips curl up in a reluctant smile. “I am a man of means, Miss Steele.” “I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?” I ask innocently. “Actually, I’ll be quite busy this afternoon, so I’ll have to get someone else to do it.” He smirks. Is he joking? “If you can spare someone to do that, you’re obviously overstaffed.” “I’ll send an email to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count.” His lips twitch to hide his smile. Oh, thank the Lord, he’s recovered his sense of humor. Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast and we eat quietly for a few moments. After clearing the pans, tactfully, she heads out of the living area. I peek up at him. “What is it, Anastasia?” “You know, you never did tell me why you don’t like to be touched.” He blanches, and his reaction makes me feel guilty for asking. “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anybody.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at me impassively. And it’s clear to me that he’s never confided in anyone. Doesn’t he have any close friends? Perhaps he told Mrs. Robinson? I want to ask him, but I can’t—I can’t be that invasive. I shake my head at the realization. He really is an island. “Will you think about our arrangement while you’re away?” he asks. “Yes.” “Will you miss me?” I’m surprised by his question. “Yes,” I answer honestly. How could he mean so much to me in such a short time? He’s gotten under my skin…literally. He smiles and his eyes light up. “I’ll miss you, too. More than you know.” My heart warms at his words. He really is trying hard. He gently strokes my cheek, bends down, and kisses me softly. It is late afternoon, and I sit nervous and fidgeting in the lobby waiting for Mr. J. Hyde of Seattle Independent Publishing. This is my second interview today, and the one I’m most anxious about. My first interview went well, but it was for a larger conglomerate with offices based throughout the United States, and I would be one of many editorial assistants there. I can imagine being swallowed up and spat out pretty quickly in such a corporate machine. SIP is where I want to be. It’s small and unconventional, championing local talent, and has an interesting and quirky roster of authors.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Christian says, and suddenly my blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my system. He starts talking to air traffic control again, but I am no longer listening. I think I’m going to faint. My fate is in his hands. We are now flying among the buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall skyscraper with a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It’s getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger…just like my anxiety. God, I hope I don’t let him down. He’ll find me lacking in some way. I wish I’d listened to Kate and borrowed one of her dresses. She’s always foisting her clothes on me, but I like my black jeans, and I’m wearing a soft mint-green shirt and Kate’s black jacket. I look smart enough. I grip the edge of my seat tighter and tighter. I can do this. I can do this. I chant to myself as the skyscraper looms below us. The helicopter slows and hovers, and Christian sets it down on the helipad on top of the building. My heart is in my mouth. I can’t decide if it’s from nervous anticipation, relief that we’ve arrived alive, or fear that I will fail in some way. He switches the ignition off, and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all I hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing. Christian takes his headphones off and reaches across and pulls mine off, too. “We’re here,” he says gently. His look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright, white light from the landing lights. Dark knight and white knight, a fitting metaphor for Christian. He looks strained. His jaw is clenched and a frown mars his forehead. He unfastens his seat belt and reaches over to unbuckle mine. His face is inches from mine. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, don’t you?” His tone is so earnest, desperate even, his eyes impassioned. He takes me by surprise. “I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, Christian.” And as I say the words, I don’t quite feel their conviction, because at this moment in time, I’d probably do anything for this man seated beside me. But this does the trick. He’s mollified. He eyes me warily for a moment, and somehow, even though he’s so tall, he manages to ease his way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. He jumps out, waiting for me to follow, and takes my hand as I clamber down onto the helipad. It’s very windy on top of the building, and I’m nervous about the fact that I’m standing at least thirty stories high in an unenclosed space. Christian wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I nod, too stunned to speak. “Taylor can take them. He’s my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he’ll be able to take the equipment, too.” “Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away. “Could you please drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?” “Certainly, sir,” Taylor replies. “There. Now can you join me for coffee?” Grey smiles as if it’s a done deal. I frown. “Um, Mr. Grey… Er… This really…” I stop, then look directly at him. “Look, Taylor doesn’t have to drive them home.” I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. “I’ll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment.” Grey smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile. Oh my… He opens the door of the suite. I scoot around him to reenter the room, finding Katherine in deep discussion with José. “Ana, I think he definitely likes you,” she says with no preamble whatsoever. José glares at me in disapproval. “But I don’t trust him,” she adds. I raise my hand in the hope she’ll stop talking. By some miracle, she does. “Kate, if you take Wanda, can I take your car?” “Why?” “Christian Grey has asked me to go for coffee with him.” Her mouth pops open. Speechless Kate! I savor the moment. She grabs me by my arm and drags me into the bedroom off the suite’s living area. “Ana, there’s something about him.” Her tone is full of warning. “He’s gorgeous, I agree, but I think he’s dangerous. Especially for someone like you.” “What do you mean, someone like me?” I demand, affronted. “An innocent like you, Ana. You know what I mean,” she says a little irritated. “Kate, it’s just coffee. I’m starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won’t be long.” She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine. “I’ll see you later,” Kate says. “Don’t be long, or I’ll send out search and rescue.” “Thanks.” I hug her. I emerge from the suite to find Christian Grey waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine. “Okay. Let’s do coffee,” I murmur, flushing a beet red. He grins. “After you, Miss Steele.” He stands up straight, holding his hand out for me to go first. I make my way down the corridor, my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic, uneven beat. I am going to have coffee with Christian Grey…and I hate coffee. We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What should I say to him? My mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on earth do I have in common with him?

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Come,” he shouts above the noise of the wind. He drags me over to an elevator, and after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It’s warm inside and all mirrored glass. I can see Christian to infinity everywhere I look, and the wonderful thing is he’s holding me to infinity, too. Christian taps another code into the keypad, then the doors close and the elevator descends. Moments later, we’re in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table, and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings everywhere. He opens a set of double doors, and the white theme continues across a wide corridor where directly opposite is the entrance to a palatial room. It’s the main living area, double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads onto a balcony that overlooks Seattle. To the right is an imposing U-shaped sofa that could seat ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless-steel—or maybe platinum, for all I know—modern fireplace. The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside us, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a breakfast bar that seats six. Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full-size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes…he probably plays the piano, too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live. “Can I take your jacket?” Christian asks. I shake my head. I’m still cold from the wind on the helipad. “Would you like a drink?” After last night? Is he trying to be funny? For one second, I think about asking for a margarita—but I don’t have the nerve. “I’m going to have a glass of white wine. Would you like to join me?” “Yes, please,” I murmur. I’m standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. I walk over to the glass wall, and I realize that the lower half opens concertina style onto the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. I walk back to the kitchen area—it takes a few seconds, it’s so far from the glass wall—and Christian is opening a bottle of wine. He’s removed his jacket. “Pouilly-Fumé okay with you?” “I know nothing about wine, Christian. I’m sure it will be fine.” My voice is soft and hesitant. My heart is thumping. I want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the-top Bill Gates–style wealthy. What am I doing here? You know very well what you’re doing here, my subconscious sneers at me. Yes, I want to be in Christian Grey’s bed. “Here.” He hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich—heavy, contemporary crystal.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Over the first year of life the baby needs access to the primary care-giver, whether mother or father, as often as possible, especially at times of stress, which is often during the night when she wakes with a tummy-ache, or because she is hungry, or because of the many complicated parts of the child’s environment to which the baby needs to adjust. The role of the primary caregiver is to provide a steady base of security by consistently and predictably responding to the baby’s needs. During the second year, a toddler relying on this solid base of security is ready to venture out and explore the world. It’s okay to try the playground slide because the safest lap you know is waiting at the bottom to catch you. The child’s interest in the world, her capacity for learning, and her cognitive, emotional, and social development rest on her sense of a solid base. Very few studies have looked at infants and toddlers who visit overnight in the other parent’s home. One very important study at our center carried out by Dr. Judith Soloman shows that these very young children are exquisitely sensitive to the relationship between their divorced parents.8 If the parents are angry or unable to cooperate or communicate well with each other, the children show disorganized attachment to both, meaning that they don’t trust either mommy or daddy as protective figures. They feel insecure everywhere. If the parents are able to cooperate, talk about the child’s care together and to exchange the baby peaceably, the baby may thrive. But even though some parents may try to ease the young child into feeling comfortable in two homes, let’s face a hard truth. When a marriage fails in the last trimester of pregnancy or a few months after the birth of a child, the man and woman are likely to be hurt and angry. When a court orders overnight visits in these situations, I doubt very much that many parents are able to cooperate about the details of the child’s feeding or sleeping or what to do about colic. They are very distressed, sometimes distraught people.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, anytime, any way I want—anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me. “But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The ‘or otherwise’—again, it’s to help you get into the mind-set; it means anything goes.” He’s so passionate, mesmerizing. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… I can’t take my eyes off him. He really, really wants this. He stops talking and gazes at me. “Still with me?” he whispers, his voice rich, warm, and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding mine. The waiter comes to the door, and Christian subtly nods, permitting the waiter to clear our table. “Would you like some more wine?” “I have to drive.” “Some water, then?” I nod. “Still or sparkling?” “Sparkling, please.” The waiter leaves. “You’re very quiet,” Christian whispers. “You’re very verbose.” He smiles. “Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?” Ana! “Yes, I do,” I respond spontaneously, not thinking. Because it’s true—I do trust him. He looks relieved. “Well, then, the rest of this stuff is just details.” “Important details.” “Okay, let’s talk through those.” My head is swimming with all his words. I should have brought Kate’s digital recorder so I can listen to this again later. There is so much information, so much to process. The waiter reemerges with our entrées: black cod, asparagus, and crushed potatoes with a hollandaise sauce. I have never felt less like food. “I hope you like fish,” Christian says mildly. I make a stab at my food and take a long drink of my sparkling water. I vehemently wish it was wine. “The rules. Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?” “Yes.” “Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Last onto the stage are Kate and Christian. Christian stands out in his bespoke gray suit, copper highlights glinting in his hair under the auditorium lights. He looks so serious and self-contained. As he sits, he undoes his single-breasted jacket, and I glimpse his tie. Holy shit…that tie! I rub my wrists reflexively. I cannot take my eyes off him. He’s wearing that tie, on purpose no doubt. My mouth presses into a hard line. The audience sits down and the applause ceases. “Look at him!” one of the girls beside me hisses enthusiastically to her friend. “He’s hot.” I stiffen. I’m sure they’re not talking about Professor Collins. “Must be Christian Grey.” “Is he single?” I bristle. “I don’t think so.” “Oh.” Both girls look at me in surprise. “I think he’s gay,” I respond. “What a shame,” one of the girls groans. As the chancellor gets to his feet and kicks off the proceedings with his speech, I watch Christian subtly scanning the hall. I sink into my seat, hunching my shoulders, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I fail miserably as a second later his eyes find mine. He stares at me, his face impassive, completely inscrutable. I squirm uncomfortably, hypnotized by his glare as a slow flush spreads across my face. Unbidden, I recall my dream from this morning, and the muscles in my belly do the delectable clench thing. I inhale sharply. The shadow of a smile crosses his lips, but it’s fleeting. He briefly closes his eyes and, on opening them, resumes his indifferent expression. Following a swift glance up at the chancellor, he stares ahead, focusing on the WSUV emblem hung above the entrance. He doesn’t turn his eyes toward me again. The chancellor drones on, and Christian still doesn’t look at me. He just stares fixedly ahead. Why won’t he look at me? Perhaps he’s changed his mind? A wave of unease washes over me. Perhaps walking out on him last night was the end for him, too. He’s bored of waiting for me to make up my mind. Oh no, I could have completely blown it. I remember his email last night. Maybe he’s mad that I haven’t replied. Suddenly, the room erupts into applause as Miss Katherine Kavanagh has taken the stage. The chancellor sits, and Kate tosses her lovely long hair behind her as she places her papers on the lectern. She takes her time, not intimidated by a thousand people staring at her. She smiles when she’s ready, looks up at the captivated throng, and launches eloquently into her speech. She’s composed and funny, the girls beside me erupting on cue at her first joke. Oh, Katherine Kavanagh, you can deliver a good line. I am so proud of her at that moment, my errant thoughts of Christian pushed to one side. Even though I have heard her speech before, I listen carefully. She commands the room and takes her audience with her.