Happy Thursday night! Let’s get set for the weekend with Chapter Nine of Fifty Shades Darker. Come on, you know you love it! It’s so bad it’s fun to snark about it!
It’s such a liberating realization as if a crushing millstone has been tossed aside. This beautiful, fucked-up man, whom I once thought of as my romantic hero– strong, solitary, mysterious – possesses all these traits, but he’s also fragile and alienated and full of self-loathing. My heart swells with joy but also pain for his suffering. And I know in this moment that my heart is big enough for both of us. I hope it’s big enough for both of us.
Again, the trope of woman as savior for dark, despairing hero shows up here. You can’t change someone just by loving them. They have to want to change their behavior, and he is clearly doing so because he wants to.
Gazing at us both in the mirror – his beauty, his nakedness, and me with my covered hair–we look almost Biblical, as if from an Old Testament baroque painting.
Biblical. Well, they already know each other quite well in the Biblical sense.
He grins at me with his boyish, carefree, I’m-only-twenty-seven smile, and my heart lurches into my mouth.
No one should look this good. And I don’t know if it’s the momentary distraction of his sheer perfect looks or the knowledge that he loves me, but his threat no longer fills me with dread.
Yes, yes, we know he loves you. You don’t have to tell us 20,000 times.
Dante gives me a friendly smile. He’s black and beautiful, his dark eyes assessing me and not finding me wanting, it seems. One large diamond stud winks at me from his ear. I like him immediately.
God, every guy thinks that she’s just so hot. What is it about Ana that makes her, like, so hot? She can’t even explain it herself!
As we talk, it strikes me that he’s turned from Hardy’s Alec to Angel, debasement to high ideal in such a short space of time.
I don’t think it’s always good to go from one extreme to the other, do you?
He looks delighted and delightful in one yummy scrumptious package.
Yes, you’re a lucky bitch, my subconscious snaps. But you have your work cut out with him. He’s not going to want this vanilla crap forever . . . you’re going to have to compromise. I glare mentally at her snarky, insolent face and rest my head against Christian’s chest. But deep down I know my subconscious is right, but I banish the thoughts. I don’t want to spoil my day.
And that’s it for this week! Have a great weekend!