Description
A Vanity Fair writer does what it takes to get the biggest scoop! Written for Cosmopolitan.com's 50 Shades of Grey contest! ~My heart slowed down when we got to his high-rise. I didn't ask questions. I didn't wonder why we were here and not my apartment. Maybe because they'd be stupid questions. Maybe the answer was obvious but my eyes were too muddled to see. But I didn't care. I welcomed the vast black, marble floor of his apartment; I welcomed the hearth where a picture frame of his family sat upon the mantle; I welcomed the plush, dark sofa that accepted my frail, shaking body as I sank into it. I welcomed the floor to ceiling uninterrupted window view, where on a cold, dark, night like this one, the universe graced me with a blanket of twinkling stars and a moon so pure, so rich, so beaming with tranquil light, the soft rays ebbed with a certain serenity only dreams could conjure. "Here," Christian said and handed me an icy can of carbonated lemonade. "I don't want it," I said, monotone. He pushed my hand away. "It'll take the edge off. Just drink." I gave in. I didn't want to fight any more tonight. I took one sip, then two, then three. On the third, I brought the fluffy, grey blanket over my head when I burst out crying. I sniffed, trying to contain myself. Christian pulled the blanket back, but I covered my face with the open palms of my hand. He chuckled lowly. "Don't hide." "I'm sorry," I wailed, tears rushed out like a waterfall. "I'm trying to stop." "Don't. Let it out." "Ugh," I scoffed. "Don't look at me." I turned my head to avoid his gaze. "Why?" "I must look like a rodent, right now." He cackled bubbly. "You look beautiful." He placed a finger underneath my chin and turned my face to face him. "Look at that-" he pushed away strands of hair that stuck to my cheek with my tears as adhesive. His fingers delicately stroking my jawline, the sensation so calming I closed my eyes- "Beautiful."~ Enter if you dare...
Black Silk
