Doctor Grace Trevelyan Grey meets Anastasia Steele


Chapter 1 - The Worried Brother

"So do you think he might be sinking into a depressive state?" I asked Elliot, worried by what he'd been telling me about Christian.

"Well I couldn't say for sure, Mom. You know Christian, he never really opens up does he? All I know is that when we went hiking today, he wouldn't talk about himself at all. I tried to get him to come out for a drink afterwards to unwind, but as usual he said he was too busy. He just seems…preoccupied somehow. "

"Maybe I should call him…" I pondered.

"He'll tell you he's fine Mom. It's only when you actually see him, you know?"

"Hmm, yes, I know what you mean. I haven't seen him for nearly two weeks now… maybe I should drop by unannounced so that he can't fob me off."

"Well, that might not be such a bad idea. Then you can assess him properly. He won't bite your head off the way he does mine either. I do happen to know he'll still be around tomorrow morning."

"Yes, well I could drop by Escala then, and insist on taking him out to lunch."

"That would be great, Mom. I'd feel a lot happier if I knew you'd checked up on him. But I should go over quite early, just to make sure you catch him."

"Yes, that's what I'll do then. And thanks Elliot, for being such a caring and concerned brother to Christian, I know he doesn't always make it easy for you."


So the following morning I head off to my younger son's luxurious penthouse apartment. There was no doubt whatsoever that Christian was an extremely successful and hugely wealthy young man now. But was he happy? Would he ever be able to find any kind of personal contentment and act more like the twenty seven year old young man he was, rather than some cold, middle aged business tycoon?

Given the horrendously abusive early start in life that he'd had, it was no wonder that Christian was such a complex and difficult young man. I'll never forget the day he was brought into the hospital where I was the receiving doctor on duty. He was barely alive, he was so dehydrated and emaciated. The police believed that he'd been left alone shut up in a slum apartment with the body of his dead mother for several days after she died, with nothing to eat or drink. She was a drug addict, who had turned to prostitution to fund her crack cocaine addiction. Her young son had clearly been neglected and abused for most if not all of the four short years of his life with her. Her evil pimp had no doubt found having a young child around not conducive to securing clientele for his prostitute mother, and had taken his fury out on the poor child by beating and tormenting him.

It made me sick to my stomach to think of what this little boy had gone through. Even in the neglected state that he was in, he was such a beautiful child; he had a mop of unruly dark copper hair, piercing sad gray eyes, with a face that had the most exquisite bone structure. I think his mother could have made a fortune if she had only had the wherewithal to have gotten him to any modelling agency, instead of spending her time craving the next fix to get her back into a drug induced state of ecstasy. Of course he should have been taken into care years before, but was he one of those unfortunate kids who slip through the net, who never register on the social workers radar. I guess his natural mother must have loved him in her own way, as she had kept him and tried to look after him, even though she just wasn't capable.

I could barely contain my own fury as I'd tried to examine this beautiful little boy. He was filthy dirty and his clothes were little more than rags. He clung tightly to his precious soft comforter blanket, the only thing that seemed to bring him any solace. The nurse tried to take it away from him because it too was filthy, but I ordered her to let him keep it, as it was all he had in the world that he treasured. I could see that he had cigarette burns over his chest and back, as well as numerous cuts, bruises and other injuries, evidence of the brutal beatings that he'd clearly endured over a long period of time. He couldn't bear to be touched by anyone, and he was mute, never spoke a word or made a sound other than to scream if he was touched or handled in any way, although it was clear that he understood what was being said to him.

I went home in floods of tears that night, very reluctant to leave this poor little boy alone in the hospital, but having no choice. I'd already made up my mind that we were going to adopt him, come what may, and I begged Carrick to support me in my wish. Luckily he is a wonderful man and fully supported me, once I'd apprised him of all the horrendous facts.

I was unable to have children of my own, and we had already adopted one child, our son Elliot. He was a sweet natured boy, and I thought that he would be able to cope with us adopting a brother for him.

And so we adopted Christian, although naturally it took time for all the due process to be followed, despite the fact that we were already approved as adoptive parents. Christian had to be placed with foster parents while checks were made to ensure he didn't have any living relatives who would have the right to adopt him if they wished. No one was unearthed to come forward, so I got my wish, we adopted Christian and gave him our family name of Trevelyan Grey.

It was not easy. It soon became clear that he was an extremely bright and intelligent boy, but he still didn't talk. He would let us know what he wanted by nodding or shaking his head, or pointing to what he wanted. And he suffered the most dreadful nightmares that had him waking up drenched in sweat and screaming blood curdling screams. He still couldn't bear to be touched or held or cuddled, but I used to lie down next to him on the bed to calm him down, gently whispering and singing to him and stroking his hair. Eventually he would go back to sleep.

Finally we had a break through with Christian, when he was about six years old. I like to play the piano, and would play songs to the boys, in the hope that it might encourage Christian to find his voice and join in. Elliot would join in for a while, but would then get bored and run off to play with something else. But Christian would sit next to me on the piano stool and watch my hands on the keys, clearly fascinated.

"Would you like me to teach you how to play for yourself?" I tentatively asked him. I was thrilled when, after thinking about this for a minute or two, he nodded his head and gave me a little smile. So I did, and right from the start he clearly loved it. After just a few sessions, he'd picked it up so quickly that it was obvious he had a natural talent. We found him a proper piano teacher, and she said he was the most talented pupil she had ever had. And finally, Christian relaxed enough with us to start whispering a few words.

Then we adopted Mia to complete our family. She had been abandoned by her teenage mother when she was just a tiny baby, so we managed to adopt her by the time she was six months old. We thought long and hard about whether it was the right thing to do, as we already had our two boys, one of whom had special needs. In the end, we decided we had enough love to go around, and so would go ahead and do it. Christian was actually a very self-sufficient little boy, who looked after himself most of the time. He would eat anything that was put in front of him, and I encouraged him to help himself to any food he wanted if he was hungry, assuring him that he would never be scolded for doing so. On a healthy diet, he quickly filled out and grew to make up for lost time, and actually was quite tall for his age by the time he was six.

When we brought home baby Mia, Elliot was the most putout at having to put up with a demanding baby, while Christian simply adored her from day one. His love and concern for her made him speak to me more, as he hurried to fetch me if she was stirring in her crib, or if he thought she needed feeding or a diaper change.

"Mommy, mommy come now. Baby Mia needs you, Mommy," he would urge me, as he'd tug on my my sleeve insistently.

He would spend ages just watching her sleep, gently touching her cheek or stroking her dark silky baby hair. It was a revelation, and a turning point. This was the wonderful kind, caring little boy that had been hidden for so long behind his fear.

So Christian was able to go to normal school, but he found it difficult. He still couldn't bear to be touched in any way. He didn't make friends, and he had the most ferocious temper that could explode into uncontrollable rage at the slightest provocation. He was exceptionally bright, and found school boring because everything was so easy that it presented no challenge to him. We were reluctant to let him be accelerated into classes with older children, as we felt he needed to develop his personal skills first, but in the end we gave in, and he ended up in a lot of classes with his older brother.

Elliot was protective of Christian, but also a little scared of him because he had seen his violent temper in full vent. But Elliot's natural good nature and temperament meant that he always tried to look after his little brother, and I was proud of him for that. I'd explained to him when we first adopted Christian that he had been treated very unkindly when he was little, so it was our job as his family to make up for that by giving him extra love.

Of course when his teenage hormones started kicking in, Christian became a nightmare to handle. His violent temper frequently surfaced with a vengeance, and he got into a lot of trouble and was thrown out of school for fighting. I also suspected that he was drinking, and I even feared that he might turn to drugs as his mother had. From what we had found out about her, she had been an extremely clever girl who had won a scholarship to college, but had then got in with a bad crowd that dabbled in drugs, which was how she'd become addicted to crack cocaine. This had led to her dropping out of college and ending up as a prostitute. Her family had been killed in a car crash, so she had no one to turn to or to help her.

And somehow at that time, I could see history repeating itself as Christian seemed set on a similar path of self-destruction. It was a very worrying time, and I was lucky to have the support of my good friend Elena, who provided a shoulder for me to cry on as I unburdened myself to her with my worries about my son. We insisted Christian had to have counselling, but it didn't seem to help. And then when he was fifteen, coming up to sixteen, he suddenly seemed to calm down. Maybe his hormones levelled out, maybe the counsellor at the time finally managed to reach out to him. Whatever it was, he settled down, got on with his studies and eventually got into Harvard.

He hated Harvard. It wasn't so much the studying – he found anything to do with business and economics incredibly easy – I think it was the whole lifestyle. We tried to talk him out of dropping out when he had just a year left to complete, but he'd made up his mind. Carrick was furious with him, and I'm not sure he's ever really forgiven him, despite how successful he's become. Christian might be one of the wealthiest young men in America now, but his father still thinks he ought to have finished at Harvard before launching out into the business world.

As things stand now, I'm very proud of my son for his incredible business success, but I'm worried for his personal happiness. He was a beautiful little boy, and he's grown into a very beautiful young man, he is very handsome indeed. He literally has women swooning at his feet, and yet he shows no interest in any of them. He can be totally charming when he wants to, but that's as far as it goes. Christian has never brought a girlfriend home, and it doesn't seem natural to me. Most young men, like Elliot, have lots of girlfriends and give in freely to their natural feelings and needs.

So I've come to the conclusion that Christian just isn't interested in women, and that he is most likely gay. But as I've never seen him with a gay partner, I can only assume he's celibate. Lord alone knows what he saw as a small child when his prostitute mother entertained her clients, and maybe this helps to explain why he is repressed and celibate. I suppose I should at least be grateful that he hasn't turned out to be one of those disturbed young men that have unusual and depraved tastes.

So this morning as I make my way up in the elevator to his apartment, I'm worried that his damaged childhood is still affecting him, now that Elliot has told me of his concerns that he's becoming reclusive and withdrawn. I can't stand the thought of him brooding alone, and potentially having negative thoughts that could set him on a path to self-destruction again. Now that he's met the challenge of becoming super rich, what new challenges can he find? He has every material comfort he could possible want, but I don't believe that is enough for anyone to be truly happy. Carrick and I have been blessed in our very happy marriage, and I would so dearly like to see Christian find a life partner - a gay one if that's what would make him happy - to share everything he has with. It all seems so pointless otherwise.

When I reach his apartment and Taylor tells me Christian is still in bed, my worst fears are realized. Knowing how hard he still finds it to sleep and that he never sleeps in late, the only reason I can possibly imagine for him being in bed at this time of day is that he is in some way ill. I insist to Taylor that I have to see him, and determinedly make my way towards his bedroom.

I don't own any of the Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters therein. They belong to E L James. I'm just borrowing them for fun and not for profit