December 19, 2005

12:45 A.M.

My very first memory had Christian in it. Hell, 85% percent of my memories have Christian in it. My whole life has been surrounded around one person; one main conflict for over 20 years. I never had normal problems, or normal priorities. But then, I've never had a normal life or a normal family. The Grey's are the type of family you see on Dateline: NBC; the perfect little suburban, close-knit family that can do no wrong.. But then when you dig deeper, it's just a bunch of disturbing shit you really wish you never found out.. Or wonder how anyone could even live in that environment.

You know how normal teenagers worry about... being popular? Or, who will take them to prom? Or, maybe about how they'll make it through those four years with perfect grades? Maybe even the one most worry about-which college they'll go to (if they can even make it that far.) I was an abnormal teenager; none of those things seemed to worry me. I had the easiest time handling 5,000 word essays and quadratic equations. And popularity? What was that? I was completely fine with my three measly friends I had. I guess I would refer to myself as a "misfit". Oh, and prom? I attended elegant galas throughout my whole life-what would a rinky-dink little high school prom be compared to that?

It was a breeze for me handling all of life's problems thrown at me. I handled puberty like no other teenage girl who had graced the face of the Earth. I was smart, well-liked, and well-behaved. I didn't think of myself as beautiful-surely no one else but my family had called me that.. But then, I was also never called ugly. I guess that's a small victory. I had an easy life, but there was just one thing that terrified me. Terrified me so much that I was scared of my feelings. They were abnormal, intrusive... disgusting even. I cried at night because there had to be something wrong with me. These emotions had to be fake-I had to be dreaming. Every day it just got worse and I just got more scared. My heart was wrapped in a cold, airtight vice that harbored nothing but terror.

Terror for who I was. And terror for the things I thought.

When it comes down to it, I didn't have normal problems. I only had one, and that problem was harder to handle than all the others combined.

That problem was Christian Grey.

My brother.

September 10, 1982

5:19 P.M.

Her mouth was agape in absolute wonder, not that she even noticed. All her attention was stuck on the living, breathing creature writing softly in her arms. Her eyes were staring into powder blue orbs that stared right back at her. Although those same eyes had just entered the world five hours ago, they were wise beyond belief. An "old soul" some people would call it-was exactly how she thought of the little girl in her arms.

An old soul, indeed.

She glided a finger across the soft, angelic cheek of her baby, still completely in shock that this life was her's. This soul, the flesh of her flesh, was her's to keep. Forever and always until the day she died. Looking at how beautiful she was-bright, rosy cheeks. A small tuft of curly, brown hair; and puckered lips soft to the touch.

Grace shed a tear-or several-looking at the life in front of her. How was it possible? Grace was deemed infertile by all of the doctors she had seen, but then this little one came along.

"She's beautiful," Carrick whispered, marveling at the small child who had a fist wrapped around his finger, "Just like you."

Carrick was a gruff man-never really showing emotion unless it was absolutely necessary. However, this one event was an exception, as his eyes turned misty under the weight of his emotions.

Grace turned to look at him, a smile lighting up her already beautiful face. Tears glistened down her cheeks, sparkling in the fluorescent light of the hospital. They did not speak, but every thought they had was conveyed back to each other.

Wonder, amazement, happiness, disbelief.

Their eye contact was broken momentarily, as they heard two sets of childish footsteps racing down the hall.

"They're here," Carrick declared, a slight smile at the corners of his lips.

"I hope they'll like meeting their baby sister," Grace whispers, stroking the child's face.

The hospital door bursts open, Elliot racing through the entrance first, Christian trailing behind him at a much more hesitant pace.

"Mommy!" Elliot exclaims, racing to her bedside, slightly bumping the wheels of the bed causing it to skid to the right.

"Shh!" Carrick slightly admonishes. "Mommy is very tired and you might wake the baby."

"Sorry," Elliot says, much quieter this time. He changes his focus to the baby in Grace's arms, who is now his baby sister. His eyes open wide, amazed-much like the rest of his family. "She's pink, Mommy!" He exclaims again.

Grace giggles, nodding her head.

"Yes, darling she is." She strokes Elliot's hair.

"Can I hold her?" He asks, still looking intently.

"Not yet, buddy. Maybe when you get cleaned up. The baby is very young and she can get sick easily."

"Well, maybe just for a minute," Grace argues.

Carrick gives her a pointed look, already very protective over his little girl. She purses her lips, not quite agreeing with his decision, but going along anyway.

She pats Elliot's head again.

"You can hold her tomorrow when she gets home."

Elliot perks up and smiles softly.

The four of them-wrapped around in their own bliss-barely notice the copper-haired little boy standing in the doorway. He is scared, wondering why he is back in a hospital. He hasn't been here since he met Grace. Would he be getting another mommy again? Would this little girl replace him?

He hugs his blanket to his chest, the tattered and stained cloth providing him some comfort. Even after he had been adopted, he wouldn't allow anyone to take his blanket away. It was the only thing that provided him solace in moments like these. He places a thumb into his mouth, his tiny little limbs shaking. He doesn't want another mommy. He likes Grace.

Carrick turns towards him, his arm outstretched.

"Don't you want to meet your little sister, Christian?" He asks, a smile plastered to his face. It does a good job of hiding his unease, but there's still a faint trace of it there.

There is always unease where Christian is involved.

The little boy blinks. Sister? What is a... Sister?

He stands still, eyes wide and blank. His thumb is still placed in his mouth, his blanket latched tightly in his grip.

"Come here, baby," Grace calls, her voice soft.

Christian immediately moves, never wanting to upset his mother. He had to keep her happy, or she'll leave. He doesn't want another mommy to leave him.

His pace is slow, but soon he is at her bedside. He stares, confused at what he is seeing. What is that strange creature? The pink, small blob everyone is staring at adoringly. And why is mommy crying?

"Here, look at your sister," Grace whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She pulls the blanket down slightly, allowing the baby's face to be more visible. "Isn't she beautiful?" She smiles.

Christian stares, his face blank.

Grace frowns. She was expecting the same reaction that Elliot had given, but knew that Christian was more closed off than Elliot. Her poor, poor broken baby. Her heart cried for him every day.

"Come here, sweetheart," she demands softly.

Christian hurries over to her side, slightly confused on what she wants. He is scared to be by the newborn baby, never before seeing anything like it.

"Give me your hand."

Christian hesitates, fear creeping in fiercer than before. The thought of being touched is one of his worst fears. The only touch he's ever known was the rough kind.

Grace notices his hesitation and smiles softly, reassuring him. His hands were usually a safe-zone, unlike his chest. No one-not even his own adoptive mother-was able to touch him there. There have been many nights where Grace has wept; being a mother and not being able to touch your child is the worst kind of private hell.

Slowly, Christian gives her his hand. She is soft and warm-like his blanket after it's been taken out of the dryer. This thought soothes him a little, calming his nerves.

"I won't touch you anywhere else," Grace reassures.

She guides his hand to the small, writhing bundle in her arms. His hand stiffens, but he lets her continue. He doesn't want to disappoint his new mommy. She places his hand into the little girl's grasp, which is already quite strong. Her little hand clamps down on one of Christian's finger, causing the little boy to gasp.

"Christian," Grace begins, "This is your little sister. A sister is someone that will always love you no matter what. You are her big brother and it is up to you to always keep her safe. Can you do that, sweetheart?" Grace asks, her gaze hopeful.

Sister.. The little boy thinks, mulling over the word. Someone to always love him? No matter what he did? He was a bad boy-he remembers the scary man telling him so. Bad boys get left behind.. But his sister won't leave him. She can't.

Christian looks into the powder blue eyes of the little girl, her eyes gazing back at him. In that moment they have an agreement-a mutual understanding. Although no one else can see it, their hearts are wound together in that very moment.

"Sister.." Christian whispers, so quiet it is almost completely inaudible.

Grace and Carrick gasp-Christian barely speaks. Grace nods her head, tears sliding down her porcelain cheeks once more.

Christian understood what he had to do as a big brother.. And a big brother he would be.