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So Christian goes to take a shower. Ana then scrambles around trying to find her pants, which are nowhere to be found. Christian, after taking the quickest shower known to man, emerges, all perfect and gross and god-like, and finds Ana scrambling around his room in a shirt and underwear.
“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”
Wow, that doesn’t sound threatening. His gaze is a dark obsidian?
Also, in case you’re not familiar with igneous rocks, this is obsidian:
The word “dark” was completely unnecessary in that sentence. That implies that there is such a thing as “light” obsidian, which is like saying “light black,” which is stupid.
Fun fact for writers: don’t use unnecessary words. I don’t care if it sounds pretty to you. Streamline that shit. We already know obsidian is dark, you don’t need to tell us.
Sorry, I get mad about word choice sometimes.
So then Ana gets in the shower.
I want Christian Grey. I want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go to bed with a man. I want to feel his hands and his mouth on me.
For the first time she wants to go to bed with a man… she didn’t say this is the first time she’s wanted to go to bed someone, she specifically said man, leaving out woman…which means…
KATE + ANA FOREVER.
KANA! KANA FOR LIFE!
This is getting out of hand.
He said he likes his women sentient. He’s probably not celibate then. But he’s not made a pass at me, unlike Paul or José. I don’t understand. Does he want me? He wouldn’t kiss me last week. Am I repellant to him? And yet, I’m here and he brought me here. I just don’t know what his game is.
Really, Ana? We’re just going to gloss right over the “sentient” thing? We’re just going to ignore how fucking creepy it is that he described the women he likes to sleep with as “sentient”? Am I the only one here who thinks he sounds like a serial killer?
Meanwhile, Ana continues showering, IN THE WEIRDEST WAY POSSIBLE.
The water is warm and soothing. Hmm…I could stay under this shower, in his bathroom, forever. I reach for the body wash and it smells of him. It’s a delicious smell. I rub it all over myself, fantasizing that it’s him – him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long-fingered hands. Oh my. My heartbeat picks up again. This feels so…so good.
That. is. gross.
Don’t masturbate in other people’s showers, dude. That’s weird. Wait until you get home for that shit.
Thankfully, Christian knocks on the door and disrupts Ana’s happy time to tell her that breakfast is ready. Ana then is apparently just…done with her shower, even though she didn’t wash her hair or do anything other than soap up and play with herself. Clearly she doesn’t know how to shower.
And then we find out that Christian had one of his body guards go out and buy Ana not only a new pair of jeans, but a new pair of shoes (converse, to be exact, because she’s soOoOo quirky and unique), a new shirt, socks, bra AND panties. And everything fits perfectly. And Ana isn’t creeped out by this in the slightest.
Ana goes out and finds Christian in the dining room (which is apparently the size of a tennis court. Jesus christ.) with an absolutely insane amount of food because he wasn’t sure what Ana liked.
“Your hair’s very damp,” he scolds.
“I couldn’t find the hairdryer,” I mutter, embarrassed. Not that I looked.
Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything.
WHY ARE YOU GETTING MAD AT HER FOR HER HAIR BEING WET.
That is the most bullshit thing to be mad about, what the fuck is wrong with you.
And then Ana finally, FINALLY asks Christian why he bought her those ridiculously expensive books.
“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you were looking up at me – all ‘kiss me, kiss me, Christian’.” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat.
NO ONE FUCKING TALKS LIKE THIS. JESUS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. This is the most uncomfortable dialogue I’ve ever read in my whole life, oh my god.
“There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”
My appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away!
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
He gasps, his eyes wide.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
HE IS GOING TO EAT YOUR LIVER WITH SOME FAVA BEANS AND A NICE CHIANTI.