Finding the Color in Grey; Chapter V

Five months later

The level of Elena’s manipulation runs deep. With each of the three boys, she employed a different technique. The two boys from lower income families, age 14 and 15 were hooked in for the promise of better opportunities. Elena was rigorously training them for a life of unending subservience that would have taken them far away from Seattle with possibly no hope of being able to escape. The 17 year old from our neighborhood was tougher to crack. Her abuse began right around the time I ended my contract. Which meant he was the same age as I was when I began with Elena, give or take a few months. 

How on earth didn’t Linc see this? There must have been some overlap with me and this kid?

I always hated him for what he did to Elena but with some perspective, I’ve realized… what else was a man to think or do if he came home to the kid he watched grow up, fucking his wife? Sometimes, I wish he had just called the cops. 

It’d be fucking rich of me to say that I don’t condone violence on a woman because whatever I was doing was exactly that, even if consent was involved. I’d come close to breaking skin a couple of times over the years. Needless to say my cognitive dissonance back then was tragic.

Linc moved operations to Oregon and washed his hands of the life he had here. Dad never understood why he was filing for divorce or why Elena refused to pursue equitable division of his assets and his general lack of consideration when his wife ended up in the hospital with a bruised body and broken jaw.

It all made sense that night when I confessed. 

It was hard for Mom and Dad to act like Elena’s friend because they are horrible at hiding their dislike in general. Dad can fare better than Mom, but still, they could use an acting class or two. It’s even harder to convince three sets of parents that their child is being abused because it feels like an affront to their parenting skills. How did they miss the signs? The guilt of letting it happen… it’s a crushing blow, not to mention convincing three adolescent boys that the woman showing interest in them and giving them pleasure is using them to further her own sick agenda. 

That crushes your self-worth. 

I know it crushed mine, long before I realized what Elena was really doing to me.

She made me believe I was a good Dom for all the things I could offer. The external trappings and glittery trinkets as incentives did nothing but reinforce the idea that I’m nothing more than my looks, big dick and money. 

And now, I don’t trust myself to ever scene again. Everything I’ve been taught was a lie. 

I’ve been to clubs over the past few months, but only to watch. Before, I never really noticed what others were doing because I didn’t care. I knew all that I needed to know but I’ve learned a wealth of information and realized that I knew nothing. The bond a Dom can have with his or her submissive, the level of trust and pleasure they can bring each other and in some cases, the joy they bring to each other’s lives can be a rewarding and fulfilling experience. I never had that. Not when I was a Dom and certainly not when I was a submissive. I merely lived from session to session, counting the seconds down to my next orgasm.

Elena may be physically out of my life but the mental damage will take a few years or a lifetime to rehabilitate.

It’s in reflective times like these when I wish I could speak to Steel again.

With the right amount of pressure, Elena’s sentence hearing was expedited. After initially pleading not guilty, she eventually did plead guilty to all charges brought against her. 

When she was brought in, her first phone call was to me. When I didn’t pick up, she called my Dad. He answered and offered fake sympathy, leading her to believe that he would help her fight the charges. A few days of being in lockup with no word from either of us led to her being assigned some newly graduated schmuck as her attorney. Bail was denied and I enjoyed watching that show in person and then again with Mom and Dad and the three families whose life she tried to destroy, at the sentence hearing.

Elena was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.

Steel was right, revenge is fun with an audience looking on.

It’s been two months since that happened. I still get calls from the women’s correctional facility. I like to watch the phone ring and voicemail notifications pop up only to delete it. It’s therapeutic. 

I won’t say that I’m all cured and have happy and fuzzy feelings but I am feeling much better than before. Flynn and I have been doing a lot of inner child, trauma dissecting and breaking down feelings to their root source kind of work. The fact that homework never ends even when you’re an adult is a fucking nightmare but it’s a small price to pay to be able to fully engage with family and start to slowly branch out of my very close and protected circle.

Elliot and I joined an intramural flag football team. I was initially nervous but so far it’s been good and the fact that I don’t get tackled is a plus. Mia and Dad come to cheer us on sometimes, so does Mom when she’s not on duty. Dad is a little too enthusiastic with his support but I realized that he’s never had the chance to experience this with me. Elliot was a sports star and he enjoyed going to his games when we were kids. He takes us out for burgers after a game every now and then. It’s ridiculous and hilarious. 

Mia’s only there to see the hot guys. We make sure to squeeze her into hugs when we’re all sweaty and smelling like garbage after a game. After all, isn’t that our job? To embarrass her for life? She’s threatened to stop coming to our games. I’m surprised she thinks that will make us go easy on her. 

“Hey Ros, hungry? I’m going to go and grab tacos from the food truck on Pike.” I ask, walking into her office. We’re both working late today and after being stuck inside since late afternoon, I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. 

“Yes. I’m starving. I want two carne asadas and two carnitas. Por favor, gracias. Que dios te bendiga siempre.”

I shake my head and fight a smile. “Careful, Gwen might add an extra mile to your hike this weekend.”

We hang out and go hiking at least once a month, though Gwen drags her ass every other weekend without fail. Ros claims she hates it but I see the way she looks at Gwen… she’d do anything that woman would ask her to.

“I wonder who will tell her since you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.” She says innocently and it’s not becoming of her at all. I prefer her in pitbull mode all the time.

I flip her the bird and head out. I’m almost always reminded of my walk that night when I venture out for food like this. I don’t do it often but definitely once a week. Sometimes, Ros will join me, sometimes it’ll be Elliot but on days when I’m alone, I really take it in. 

When I reach my destination, I give my order and patiently wait, first looking around and idly taking my surroundings to appreciate it. Pike Place actually looks beautiful after the rain. People shit on Seattle for the rain but I don’t mind it so much. It feels cleansing.

“If I call back, is there a way that I can request that I be connected to you?”

“We’re all volunteers, we don’t have set schedules and there’s no guarantee that you’ll get connected to this crisis center again.” She replies, apologetically. “But please don’t let that deter you from calling. If you need to talk to someone, call. There are many of us who are here waiting to help and hear you out.”

I swallow and look down at the streetscape, the sting of unintentional rejection spreading through me.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see.”

“You got this, Grey.” She says. “I’m going to stay on the line but you hang up whenever you feel comfortable. I’ll be here till then, okay?”

And she was, till she wasn’t.

I got the foolish idea that maybe her last name may be Steel, too. Only because I gave her my name as Grey or rather, gray. whatever, I had to try. It was driving me crazy.

A comprehensive search of any and all women named Steel in Washington state, yielded two not so viable options since the rest were deceased.

Penelope Steel, age 12. Obviously not her.

Riley Steel, age 31. Of consenting age and a red head but I wasn’t her type because I had a dick.

The fact that I was even thinking what her type would when I know absolutely nothing about this woman is… what the hell is this fixation? I’ve gone from punishing ghosts to idolizing them. 

Obsession. 

Those tendencies haven’t left me. I don’t suspect they ever will. 

Flynn has started to broach the subject of possibly dating and I think it too damn early to even think about talking to another woman like that. 

I’m still holding out on some random shred of hope that I might get the chance to talk to Steel again. If I get connected to her again, i’m going to do everything in my power to convince her to meet me. 

That, or I’ll wake Welch the fuck up and tell him to trace my damn call. 

I blow out a breath at the ridiculous memory of my ill-fated search results and plan of attack. Time to do something productive. Scrolling through the never ending emails in my phone when I sense someone walk up and stand parallel to me, a few feet away.

“What’ll it be, Steel? The usual?” The food truck owner asks. 

My heart stops. Time stops. My body is frozen.

“Yep!” A bright feminine voice answers, “actually, no wait. I’m feeling a little dangerous tonight, I’ll go for the fish tacos! Extra salsa verde on the side otherwise Kate will hunt y’all down.” She giggles. 

I know that voice. I memorized it. Dreamed of it and in some cases imagined it. But I am not imagining this. I close my eyes and open them again, staring at the gray sidewalk. If I look, will she disappear? I can’t risk that.

“You need to really revisit your definition of dangerous, chica!” 

“Whatever, Diego. That’s big talk from someone that’s got pandas and sloths painted on their food truck. The only message I’m getting is cute and fluffy.”

Deep breaths, Grey. It’s her, it’s really her.

“Take it up with management, aka my daughter, aka the scariest woman I’ve ever known.”

They both laugh and I’m overcome with emotion. 

Turning to peek a look at her, our eyes meet and I see the bluest of all blues, clear as cloudless sky. Taking her all in, I’m mesmerized by the young woman before me; long brown hair, petite frame, flawless skin, wearing a gray University of Washington hoodie. 

How fitting.

And she lives here. Fucking perfect. 

She gives me a smile, the kind you give a stranger who you’re waiting in line with before turning her attention back to her phone. She must still feel my eyes on her because she looks at me again with intent. I’m paralyzed and mute. I don’t hear or feel anything and I see her expression morph into suspicion when she notices that I’ve parked myself in creepville with my incessant staring. She exhales sharply and swallows, discreetly taking a step away to increase the distance between us.

GREAT JOB, GREY. Scared her right off the bat.

I look back at the food truck and try to calm my mind and body. I may look like I’m just quietly waiting for tacos but my hands are balled into fists in my pocket, I’m sweating like it’s a humid day in July with my jaw tightly clenched so I don’t fall into some form of verbal diarrhea and really fucking blow this.

How do I ever start a conversation with her? She probably doesn’t even remember me. I’m being an idiot. Judging by how she got so involved with me, she probably has helped so many people. How many could she possibly remember? 

Both of our orders are ready at the same time and handed to us by two different people from the truck. She bids them farewell and begins to walk in the opposite direction.

It’s now or never. She’s getting farther away from me. Last time she stayed on the line till I hung up and now she’ll stay in my line of sight but now it’s up to me to make sure she stays there. I can’t hang up again. I can’t miss this chance. I’ll never forgive myself.

I walk after her desperately trying to catch up. My heart is in my throat and my stomach in knots. 

“Sir?” I hear Taylor rushing behind me.

“Stand back, Taylor. I need to talk to that woman.” I dismiss him and when I’m finally about five feet away from her, I stop.

“Steel!” I call out. This could be a mistake and I may not survive the fallout if it truly is but I can’t deny this feeling or hope that I have. It was her voice, I’d recognize it anywhere…

She stops and slowly turns around. Her voice was always a soft and glowing light in my mind. I can’t say I associated any physical attributes to her because I just didn’t know what to think. But here she is in physical form. I hope this isn’t me projecting and absolutely losing it. 

I feel something so strongly for this woman. Every word and song I’ve heard suddenly makes sense. The rain has washed away all the gray and grime and now she’s here, like the daybreak, making my life brighter with color with each passing second. 

Her eyes narrow a little in confusion and then relax. But then I suspect a hint of recognition colors them and she gasps, her lips slowly turning into a breath-taking smile as she takes two steps forward.

 “Grey?”

---

A/N: I know, I know! You’re mad at me but don’t give up on me yet. Scroll down for a little surprise 😉

I know we’re all wondering how Ana came to work at a suicide prevention hotline and how the stars or in this case the switchboard randomizer connected these two souls together. This five chapter installment will explore Ana’s backstory and hopefully answer some questions.

What led Ana to her shade of gray and how did she find the strength from it?

Coming soon!