Updated on August 5, 2015
50 Shades Darker – Chapter 8
After a magical evening at a charity ball, Christian and Ana get back to his apartment to find that Christian’s psycho ex has slashed Ana’s tyres and given her car a paint job. Rather than waiting for back up, Christian heads up to the apartment ALONE. Aw, shit.
50 Shades Darker
“Please let me go in,” I plead.
Ah yes, because she’ll less likely to kill Christian if his new girlfriend shows up.
…all I hear is my aggravated breathing. It’s loud and shallow, my scalp prickles, my mouth is dry, and I feel faint.
Just say you’re afraid. It’ll save about twenty words and we’ll get this over with a lot quicker.
Christian appears at the door.
“All clear,” he says.
It’s no secret that I was hoping for a murder-suicide.
She goes to bed. She wakes up. We do not have a dream foisted upon us in the meantime.
Standing at the end of the bed is a shadow. A woman, maybe?
She’d better actually be there.
I reach across and switch on the bedside light … but there’s no one there.
Of course there isn’t.
She wanders about and listens in to Christian on the phone telling Mrs Robinson to just “leave her alone”, because we weren’t treated to enough moaning about this woman being a bitch in the last chapter. He hangs up and Ana walks in.
“…even in my T-shirt you look beautiful.”
Oh, an unexpected compliment.
From the man who compliments you every SINGLE time he sees you.
“Your beard grows quickly,” I whisper.
Brilliant. You might want to work on your compliments.
“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”
You’d be forgiven for thinking this was Christian speaking. But, nope, Ana has grown a spine.
“You opened the balcony door?” he asks.
End of sexy times. Crazy ex is inside. Or not. I’m getting mightily pissed off with all this mucking around.
“When I woke … there was someone in here,” I whisper.
“Are you sure? Who?”
Who. Who?! Oh, a gentleman with a top hat asking if he might polish my boots. No! Leila, obviously!
“She’s still fucking here.”
Well, get her to stop fucking and leave.
Christian calls his security guards and tells them he’s taking Ana away because the psycho might have a gun. Ana puts up some resistance – I have no idea why – and they start packing.
Christian emerges a couple of minutes later with a leather messenger bag, wearing jeans and his pinstriped blazer.
What he is wearing and the type of bag he is carrying SIMPLY DO NOT MATTER AT THIS POINT.
“I can’t believe she could hide somewhere in here.”
What, in the enormous apartment with so many rooms that it has its own SEX DUNGEON? Yeh, I’m sure she found a corner somewhere.
“Anastasia, she’s unstable and she may be armed.”
“So we just run?”
No, by all means, stay and chat with the unhinged gun-toter if you want.
“Ray was in the army. He taught me to shoot.”
Unbelievable. NOW she tells us this potentially crucial information. You know the quote, “If in the first act you hang a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired”? Yeh, you need to have the gun IN THE FIRST ACT for that to work.
“I can shoot, Mr Grey, so you’d better beware. It’s not just crazy ex-subs you need to worry about.”
It’s crazy current subs too!
The garage is deserted. Well, it is nearly three in the morning.
Well done for subtly slipping in that time check.
She has a look at the destroyed Audi again and Christian says he’ll give her a replacement on Monday. She’s kicked up proper shit about this car since day one but she seems to take this without a bloody word. Hypocrite.
The streets of Seattle are deserted.
Probably because it’s 3:07 in the morning.
“I worry that, you know … that I’m not enough.”
“You’re more than enough. For the love of God, Anastasia, what do I have to do?”
Tell me about yourself. Tell me you love me.
Yeh, he’s basically done both of those things already. I really don’t know what you want either.
“Why did you think I’d leave when I told you Dr Flynn had told me all there was to know about you?”
I know. I had to read it a few times too.
“You cannot begin to understand the depths of my depravity, Anastasia.”
Either this is true, in which case GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE. Or it isn’t and he’s just an attention-seeking misery, in which case GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
“Mia said you were a brawler.”
“Christ … You inveigle information out of people.”
Just because Microsoft Office suggests alternative words, it doesn’t mean you have to use them.
They drive to the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. In case you ever suspected it was a dive, EL James makes it clear that it’s ‘Seattle’s most prestigious hotel’. The receptionist shakes and giggles as soon as beautiful Christian walks in, and I roll my eyes so hard that a mysterious billionaire breaks down my door and fucks me right here in the living room.
The suite has two bedrooms, a formal dining room, and comes complete with a grand piano.
Good, he can wander off and play his moody renditions in the middle of the night, as usual.
“You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia.”
You never cease to tell her that.
“After a day like today … you’re not whining.”
Oh, trust me, she’s whining.
Very bravely – emboldened by the brandy, no doubt – I take Christian’s hand and pull him toward the bedroom.
Nothing, not wrecked cars, not death threats, not armed ex-girlfriends will get in the way of the sex scenes. Well, got to keep the people reading, I suppose.
This scene is so very like all the others that it’s hardly worth mentioning. She takes his clothes off, he’s scared that she’ll touch him, she doesn’t. The only difference is that, this time, SHE’S telling HIM exactly what she’s going to do. Character development, or some shit.
Taking a deep breath and beyond courageous, I … lift [my T-shirt] over my head so I am naked before him.
There is nothing more INFURIATING than someone telling you how courageous they are. Except maybe someone who thinks that BEING NAKED IN FRONT OF HER OWN SODDING BOYFRIEND is courageous.
…consuming him, my tongue as avaricious as his.
Avaricious. Avaricious?! Congratulations on managing to correctly type ‘other words for greed’ into Google, EL James, but that word is specifically used to denote greed for MONEY.
“You’re going to unman me, Ana.”
What does that mean? Is she gripping too tightly?
There are orgasms.
With all the fucked-up stuff, I am losing sight of his simple, honest journey with me.
THEY’RE ON A JOURNEY! CAN YOU SEE IT? A JOURNEY! HAVEN’T THEY DONE WELL?
When I open my eyes, light is filling the room.
“Dr. Greene will be here shortly.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten about Christian’s inappropriate intervention.
In case you’d forgotten, Christian has decided it’s high time Ana got more effective contraception, because he doesn’t like condoms. Whoever said 50 Shades isn’t about female empowerment?
I stagger out of bed and make my way into the sumptuously appointed bathroom while going over the events of the previous day in my mind. … Leila – that’s the most startling image my brain conjures for conjecture.
Honestly, you can skip over characters’ bathroom breaks. You do not need to use them as a way to recap everything we’ve all ALREADY READ.
Why, oh why does he get to look as fresh as a daisy? Life is not fair.
You’re sleeping with a stonkingly attractive BILLIONAIRE. Shut up about life not being fair.
The doctor arrives and tells Ana that, because she stopped taking her contraceptive pill, she could be pregnant. Ana is shocked because WHO KNEW THAT COULD FUCKING HAPPEN?! She pees in a cup and the doctor tests it.
“When did your period start?”
How am I supposed to think about such minutiae when all I can do is stare anxiously at the white stick?
Given how profoundly you’re staring at the pregnancy test, I would have thought this question is the exact OPPOSITE of minutiae.
“You’re in the clear.”
Thank God, this absolute dunce won’t have to raise a child.
Dr. Greene launches into full disclosure mode about side effects [of the contraceptive injection], and I sit paralyzed with relief, not listening to a word.
Well, unless you want to bugger it all up again, I’d bloody LISTEN.
“Ana!” Dr. Greene snaps. “Let’s do this thing.”
What a joke of a scene. An unwilling, ignorant moron gets an injection because her boyfriend told her to. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucking horrifying.
“You love me,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he whispers. “I do.”
Oh, never mind all that then. That’s the moral of the story, kids! It’s all OK if he says he loves you.
Read Chapter Nine.