Grey : 50 nuances de zizi qui parle (47)

Le début est toujours par là (c’est bon il a pris racine maintenant il ne bouge plus)

Résumé des épisodes précédents : Nous avons fini la séance de psy, et on tourne toujours autour de la même chose « han mais elle peut pas m’aimer je suis trop vilain », « han mais je veux être avec elle ! », « oui mais je suis trop un tordu », bref, il nous donne le tournis à force de ne rien faire à part courir après sa queue (non je n’ai pas honte ^_^)

Allons-y pour la suite !

Wednesday, June 8, 2011
(chap. 24 – part 1)

Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time.

I shake her. She doesn’t wake up. I call her. She doesn’t wake up. He isn’t here and still Mommy doesn’t wake up.
I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair to the sink and I have a drink. The water splashes over my sweater. My sweater is dirty. Mommy is still asleep. Mommy, wake up! She lies still. She is cold. I fetch my blankie and I cover Mommy and I lie down on the sticky green rug beside her.
De toute façon, un cœur qui ne soit pas brisé en mille morceaux c’est tellement surfait T.T

My tummy hurts. It is hungry, but Mommy is still asleep. I have two toy cars. One red. One yellow. My green car is gone. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the icebox I find peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly. They make my tummy hurt. I sleep beside Mommy.
Le pire c’est de se dire que ça pourrait être vrai… >.<

The peas are gone. In the icebox is something. It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue sticks. I eat it slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water. I play with my cars and I sleep beside Mommy. Mommy is so cold and she won’t wake up. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie.
Pauv’ petit bouchon éè

Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked-up bitch. Shit. Fuck. Get out of my way, you little shit. He kicks me and I hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. My head hurts. The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. I stay by Mommy.
Mais !! T______________T

No. Stay away from me. The lady policeman has my blankie and she grabs me. I scream. Mommy. Mommy. The words are gone. I can’t say the words. Mommy can’t hear me. I have no words.
Je n’ose même pas imaginer combien ça doit être effrayant d’être d’un coup prisonnier de la sorte, sans pouvoir exprimer sa souffrance éè (enfin j’en ai eu un petit aperçu y a quelques temps mais rien de comparable heureusement)

 

I wake breathing hard, taking huge gulps of air, checking my surroundings. Oh, thank God—I’m in my bed. Slowly the fear recedes. I’m twenty-seven, not four.

This shit has to stop.
I used to have my nightmares under control. Maybe one every couple of weeks, but nothing like this—night after night.
Since she left.
C’était donc bel et bien un nénuphar doudou ! ôô

I turn over and lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. When she slept beside me, I slept well. I need her in my life, in my bed.
Oui, quand même, ne perdons pas le sens du commerce…

She was the day to my night. I’m going to get her back.
How?
“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?”
She wants hearts and flowers. Can I give her that?
A défaut tu dois pouvoir en acheter. Plein. Tu es très riche n’oublie pas…

I frown, trying to recall the romantic moments in my life…And there’s nothing…except with Ana. The “more.” The gliding, and IHOP, and taking her up in Charlie Tango.
Maybe I can do this. I drift back to sleep, the mantra in my head: She’s mine. She’s mine
Plus exactement là non… et de toute façon c’est pas un meuble donc…

and I smell her, feel her soft skin, taste her lips, and hear her moans. Exhausted, I fall into an erotic, Ana-filled dream.
I wake suddenly. My scalp tingles, and for a moment I think whatever’s disturbed me is external rather than internal. I sit up and rub my head and slowly scan the room.
In spite of the carnal dream, my body has behaved. Elena would be pleased.

She texted yesterday, but Elena’s the last person I want to talk to—there’s only one thing I want to do right now. I get up and pull on my running gear.
I’m going to check on Ana.

 

HER STREET IS QUIET except for the rumble of a delivery truck and the out-oftune whistling of a solitary dog walker. Her apartment is in darkness, the curtains to her room closed. I keep a silent vigil from my stalker’s hide,

staring up at the windows and thinking. I need a plan—a plan to win her back.
As dawn’s light brightens her window, I turn my iPod up loud, and with Moby blaring in my ears I run back to Escala.
Il serait temps tout de même ! èé/

 

“I’LL HAVE A CROISSANT, Mrs. Jones.”
She stills in surprise and I raise a brow.
“Apricot preserves?” she asks, recovering.
“Please.”
“I’ll heat up a couple for you, Mr. Grey. Here’s your coffee.”
“Thank you, Gail.”
She smiles. Is it just because I’m having croissants? If it makes her that happy, I should have them more often.
Ben c’est surtout que tu demandes à manger. Preuve que tu vas mieux déjà. Enfin un peu mieux au moins…

 

IN THE BACK OF the Audi, I plot.
Houlà !

I need to get up close and personal with Ana Steele, to begin my campaign to win her back.
Qu’est-ce que je disais >.<

I call Andrea, knowing that at 7:15 she won’t be at her desk yet, and I leave a voice mail. “Andrea, as soon as you’re in, I want to run through my schedule for the next few days.” There—step one in my offensive is to make time in my schedule for Ana. What the hell am I supposed to be doing this week? Currently, I don’t have a clue.
Et ben ça fait sérieux dites…

Normally I’m on this shit, but lately I’ve been all over the place. Now I have a mission to focus on. You can do this, Grey.
But deep down I wish I had the courage of my convictions. Anxiety unfurls in my gut. Can I convince Ana to take me back? Will she listen? I hope so. This has to work. I miss her.
Aaaah on fait moins le malin d’un seul coup mon bon monsieur sans son nénuphar personne hein !

 

“MR. GREY, I CANCELED all your social events this week, apart from the one for tomorrow—I don’t know what the occasion is. Your calendar says Portland, that’s it.”
Yes! The fucking photographer!
I beam at Andrea, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Mais attends, tu as l’air CONTENT ! Excuse-moi du peu mais y a de quoi être renversée oui !

“Thanks, Andrea. That’s all for now. Send in Sam.”
“Sure, Mr. Grey. Would you like some more coffee?”
“Please.”
“With milk?”
“Yes. Latte. Thank you.”
She smiles politely and leaves.
This is it! My in! The photographer! Now…what to do?
S’acheter un sens de l’humour. Acheter aussi une personnalité d’être humain décent.

 

MY MORNING HAS BEEN back-to-back meetings, and my staff have been watching me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Okay, that’s been my modus operandi for the last few days—but today I feel clearer, calmer, and present; able to deal with everything.
… sauf les nénuphars en pot.

It’s now lunchtime; my workout with Claude has gone well. The only fly in the ointment is that there’s no more news about Leila. All we know is that she’s split up with her husband and she could be anywhere. If she surfaces, Welch will find her.
I’m famished. Olivia sets a plate down on my desk.
“Your sandwich, Mr. Grey.”
“Chicken and mayonnaise?”
“Um…”
I stare at her. She just doesn’t get it.
Olivia offers an inept apology.
“I said chicken with mayonnaise, Olivia. It’s not that hard.”
En même temps elle a un souci si même un sandwich elle sait pas faire >.<

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grey.”
“It’s fine. Just go.” She looks relieved but scrambles to leave the room.
I buzz Andrea.
“Sir?”
“Come in here.”
Andrea appears at the doorway, looking calm and efficient.
“Get rid of that girl.”
Non là franchement il a raison, faut pas la laisser là

Andrea pulls herself up straight.
“Sir, Olivia is Senator Blandino’s daughter.”
Ca la rend pas plus utile pour autant

“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of fucking England. Get her out of my office.”
“Yes, sir.” Andrea flushes.
“Get someone else to help you,” I offer in a gentler tone. I don’t want to alienate Andrea.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“Thank you. That’s all.”
She smiles and I know she’s back on board. She’s a good PA; I don’t want her to quit because I’m being an asshole.
AH !! LA !! Un signe d’intelligence ! ôô

She exits, leaving me to my chicken sandwich—no mayo
Non mais déjà, je ne comprends même pas le concept d’un bout de pain avec du poulet sans rien avec. Y a bien que des anglo-saxon pour imaginer un concept pareil…

—and my campaign plan.
Portland.
I know the form of e-mail address for employees at SIP. I think Anastasia will respond better in writing; she always has. How to begin?

Dear Ana

No.

Dear Anastasia

No.

Dear Miss Steele

Shit!
AHAHAHAH ! Ca commence bien XD

 

HALF AN HOUR LATER I’m still staring at a blank computer screen. What the hell do I say?
Come back…please?
Sur un malentendu, ça peut marcher

Forgive me.

I miss you.

Let’s try it your way.

I put my head in my hands. Why is this so difficult?
Parce que t’es un crétin

Keep it simple, Grey. Just cut the crap.
I take a deep breath and tap out an e-mail. Yes…this will do. Andrea buzzes me.
“Ms. Bailey is here to see you, sir.”
“Tell her to wait.”
I hang up and take a moment, and with my heart pounding, I press send.

From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:05
To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it’s going well. Did you get my flowers?

I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend’s show, and I’m sure you’ve not had time to purchase a car,
Parce que je t’ai stalkée à mort que je connais jusqu’à la moindre rognure d’ongle le contenu de ta poubelle, mais je ne suis pas creepy du tout

and it’s a long drive. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish.

Let me know.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 

Et parce que c’est pas très long et que jamais deux sans trois… la suite tout de suite !

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