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“

Don

’

t

,

please

.

”

I

recoil

from

him

.

There

’

s

no

way

I

can

tolerate

his

touch

now

,

it

will

slay

me

.

“

I

can

’

t

do

this

.

”

Grabbing

my

suitcase

and

my

backpack

,

I

head

for

the

foyer

.

He

follows

me

,

keeping

a

careful

distance

.

He

presses

the

elevator

button

,

and

the

doors

open

.

I

climb

in

.

“

Good

-

bye

,

Christian

,

”

I

murmur

.

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“

Ana

,

good

-

bye

,

”

he

says

softly

,

and

he

looks

utterly

,

utterly

broken

,

a

man

in

agonizing

pain

,

reflecting

how

I

feel

inside

.

I

tear

my

gaze

away

from

him

before

I

change

my

mind

and

try

to

comfort

him

.

The

elevator

doors

close

and

it

whisks

me

down

to

the

bowels

of

the

basement

and

to

my

own

personal

hell

.

TAYLOR

HOLDS

THE

DOOR

open

for

me

,

and

I

climb

into

the

back

of

the

car

.

I

avoid

eye

contact

.

Embarrassment

and

shame

wash

over

me

.

I

’

m

a

complete

failure

.

I

had

hoped

to

drag

my

Fifty

Shades

into

the

light

,

but

it

’

s

proved

a

task

beyond

my

meager

abilities

.

Desperately

,

I

try

to

keep

my

emotions

banked

and

at

bay

.

As

we

head

out

onto

Fourth

Avenue

,

I

stare

blankly

out

the

window

,

and

the

enormity

of

what

I

’

ve

done

slowly

washes

over

me

.

Shit

—

I

’

ve

left

him

.

The

only

man

I

’

ve

ever

loved

.

The

only

man

I

’

ve

ever

slept

with

.

I

gasp

,

as

crippling

pain

slices

through

me

,

and

the

levees

burst

Tears

course

unbidden

and

unwelcome

down

my

cheeks

,

and

I

wipe

them

away

hurriedly

with

my

fingers

,

scrambling

in

my

bag

for

my

sunglasses

.

As

we

pause

at

some

traffic

light

,

Taylor

holds

out

a

linen

handkerchief

for

me

.

He

says

nothing

and

doesn

’

t

look

in

my

direction

,

and

I

take

it

with

gratitude

.

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“

Thank

you

,

”

I

mutter

,

and

this

small

discreet

act

of

kindness

is

my

undoing

.

I

sit

back

in

the

luxurious

leather

seat

and

weep

.

THE

APARTMENT

IS

ACHINGLY

empty

and

unfamiliar

.

I

have

not

lived

here

long

enough

for

it

to

feel

like

home

.

I

head

straight

to

my

room

,

and

there

,

hanging

limply

at

the

end

of

my

bed

,

is

a

very

sad

,

deflated

helicopter

balloon

.

Charlie

Tango

,

looking

and

feeling

exactly

like

me

.

I

grab

it

angrily

off

my

bedrail

,

snapping

the

tie

,

and

hug

it

to

me

.

Oh

—

what

have

I

done

?

I

fall

onto

my

bed

,

shoes

and

all

,

and

howl

.

The

pain

is

indescribable

…

physical

,

mental

…

metaphysical

…

it

is

everywhere

,

seeping

into

the

marrow

of

my

bones

.

Grief

.

This

is

grief

—

and

I

’

ve

brought

it

on

myself

.

Deep

down

,

a

nasty

,

unbidden

thought

comes

from

my

inner

goddess

,

her

lips

contorted

in

a

snarl

…

the

physical

pain

from

the

bite

of

a

belt

is

nothing

,

nothing

compared

to

this

devastation

.

I

curl

up

,

desperately

clutching

the

flat

foil

balloon

and

Taylor

’

s

handkerchief

,

and

surrender

myself

to

my

grief

.

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