Chistian Grey

Brazil is a strange country. Lots of ethnic diversity. Elisabeth had never cared about it. Studies were locked up again and she was looking for a job. Things weren't going well. Working as a street vendor...

It was the rainy season. The cold was starting to herald the beginning of winter. She coughed. She even ached to breathe in her lungs. She needed antibiotics. Pneumonia is never just a start like a heart attack. She needed rest and nourishment. There were bills to pay.

The result of the areography examination was conclusive. Auscultation of the lungs, x-ray, and tomography of the chest. And she wasn't even surprised. It was the second time she went to the health center in search of medication. They expected a new shipment in fifteen days.

He had appeared as a prince. And even princes turn into cursed frogs.

Hardworking and well-liked by everyone around. Elisabeth would never think the hell her life would become in just a few short months.

Violent and jealous temper. A month of coexistence. His family was horrible.

-Will leave?

It was a simple question. She was unemployed and waiting for the holiday season in town to end. And leave resumes to look for jobs. She intended to pick up a novel from the library. Romance that was still in the bag as it had never been returned. He hadn't left.

Elisabeth still kept among her most valuable possessions an old copy of Alexandre Dumas's classic novel The Three Musketeers. Bed? She could write a little book with all the excuses you made for a man to avoid bed.

- I'll get a book and...

-I don't want you on the streets. There's nothing to do by wasting time reading books.

It was a sexist comment. Elisabeth could even understand his insecurity over social and cultural differences. Even so... Why, it was revolting. She didn't intend to accept impositions like that. She liked to read and study and write.

-I'm going to the library.- She challenged him stubbornly.

- There is no one to take care of the house...

She shook her head. House? Or false imprisonment? He probably should have read the novel Fifty Shades of Gray and she meant to make it very clear that she wasn't a submissive. Nor would he be a classic dominant male imposing rules.

-I'm going anyway. It's not my obligation...

Things went from bad to worse. His temper changed drastically.

Greed. Pedro hoped to get his family's inheritance and was determined to make everyone's lives hell.

-My mother and my brother...

Elisabeth put her hands on her hips with some irritation.

- It's not my son. It's your brother. Might as well take care if he has problems. Did you think you were going to get a nurse without paying a full-time salary?

Discussions were inevitable. He was the miserable type and a sadist. The kind of man no woman would want. More than that, Elisabeth knew about the fights that would be announcing that she had finally got a job working in a restaurant. He wouldn't like to spend his nights alone and she could only thank heaven for divine providence.

- No need to work...

- But of course, I do. If you don't intend to work. - she rebelled.

And there were other reasons. She could still hold her disgust in front of the lunch table. There were farm chickens in the yard. The seasoned meat on the platter... Well, the animal was dying and with tetanus on both wings. More. There, they wasted nothing.

-- And meat. I even eat dog and cat meat. That cat over there. I don't think I'm buying feed without investments. It will make a great succulent stew.

Elisabeth forced her best smile, looking away from her pet with deep hatred. Expectations had been the best. And it's so easy to get rid of a counterfeit Cristan Gray from the countryside. A sharpened scissors.

Elisabeth cut her hair short knowing how furious it would make him.

He had been away from home for two days and she could only say thanks. Sometimes miracles happened. He could be run over. Dying from the heart. There were always miracles from God.

-I brought mortadella. And we will...

Elisabeth tried to smile, biting her tongue to contain the urge to correct grammatical errors.

-I'm a nurse.

Everything is fine. Everyone has their bouts of madness one day. He had gone mad after all. She could be genetic. DNA.

-I don't like you reading these things...- he got tired of complaining after announcing to the whole family that she was a trained doctor.

Elisabeth could laugh out loud.

You're a vet, you retard!

- I told you I'm not a doctor. These are articles in English. If you studied nursing and took care of so many patients in hospitals, you must have come across some monograph in English.

The nurse's job was cleaning at the hospital in the center of a big city. They had traveled inland. And he freaked out.

A Christian Grey. Dirty. Stinky. And with dirty shitty clothes to wash.

He'll end up asking for the clothes. And you'll find I threw it in the trash. I should learn to bathe. There were always complaints. Elisabeth had the sixth sense. She could wake up at dawn before he did and jump out of bed.

-You woke up early. damn, I thought you and I were in bed...

Not even in your dreams you filthy.

-I start work today. The time starts around three o'clock.

He rolled his eyes angrily.

-Till what time? he asked suspiciously.

-Until three in the morning. It's a great restaurant. It depends on the movement.

And there was never a lack of movement. But at least he could choose decent food on his plate for meals and not what he used to call food. Not after she bought food and cooked with her money. And having to listen to his mother complain about the gas and throw the food to the damn chickens in the backyard.

She was saving money. She was leaving. He was already looking for a room. The accusations had started.

-You're having fun on the street screwing males around. Where have you seen women work at dawn on the streets?

Elisabeth could scratch his snarky smile off his dirty face with her fingernails. Damn it. Her hands were cut and burned. There were boxes and boxes of vegetables to be cut. The worst part was the peppers. Amazing how much pepper and chopped green tomatoes could burn. And they hurt. It was blistered burns and raw hands and that asshole she was lying with men on the street.

-If one day... if one day I catch you with another man... I swear I'll kill you, bitch.

Elisabeth took a deep breath keeping calm before screaming and screaming louder. He was the kind of man who liked to beat up women. finding out his criminal record. It didn't help. Domestic violence. Aggression against women. Assassination attempt. And suspected murder. Small town and family in influence. The police station had refused to accept her complaint of domestic violence.

Sadistic and miserable… She had learned to hate him. And hate only becomes the deepest contempt. His escape was almost ready. She was now increasingly on the job and looking for excuses to have more work and miss her ride home. Her handbag had cookies in it. It was a house of horrors with food locked in cupboards with chains and padlocks. Hell welcomed the earth.

She was prepared for fights.

He won't accept...

- You're packing your bags... Why are the clothes...?

Elisabeth forced her best smile with forcedly passionate looks. She could bear a kiss. And then take a scalding bath to clean the disgust of his touch. Just a kiss.

- I'm changing my time, honey. There are openings at work and two more girls are also sleeping there because of a big celebration the restaurant owner is preparing.

Caution. No fuss. Her pulse was a thousand. Freedom beckoned like most aphrodisiac drugs. She would never go near another man in that miserable city again.

-Can I give you a ride...

-It's not necessary, love.

Try not to be so touchy-feely. She will be suspicious, Elisabeth.- She spoke to herself.

-Are you leaving me?

With the threat of death? And others more? I couldn't complain about you. But it's a matter of time. You'll never see me again, you miserable dialing bastard.

-No, not at all now Elisabeth was lying absurdly.

She carried the bags with her hands numb from the cuts she'd crossed after so many hours in the kitchen working. There was no more pain. They were insensitive. The inflamed burns needed tending or she couldn't take another day in the kitchen with her injured hands.

She was leaving. And she never pretended to look at that pig again.