The Vine

by C. A Ellis

  The dress adorning me is the most beautiful, shiny ecru colour, which is composed of a strapless bodice that looks like it is made from the finest Italian silk money could buy. It is magical the way it enhances my bust in such a delicate fashion. The full skirt of the dress comes out from low on my hips and has layer upon layer of soft gold Italian lace. I look at myself, taking in every detail of the dress; it is stunning. What the hell—I look stunning.

  Stefano had done me proud; he had arranged all this knowing full-well I would never have agreed to a dress like this. I feel like a fairy princess and Cinderella all rolled into one, and when Dad used to read me fairy stories at bedtime, this was the dress I dreamed of. It looks so expensive; Luke had probably told him cost isn’t a factor and I could have whatever I want. I will thank them both later.

  A tear slides down my cheek. At the sound of sniffing across the room, I look around and catch Sabrina’s eye. She is dabbing hers with a tissue and I smile at her. “Sabrina, this dress is truly the most magnificent, stunning dress I have ever seen, thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry for my teary behaviour, Lizzy; it’s very unprofessional I know, but you look absolutely incredible. I hope you don’t mind, but Stefano told me you and your future husband’s story, and if anyone deserves a happy ending it’s you.” Sabrina stops her emotional outburst as her phone starts buzzing. “Excuse me,” she says as she steps away to take her call while I admire myself some more.

  A few seconds later, she tells me she is just popping downstairs since another delivery has arrived here for her; she looks confused, mumbling she’s sure she had brought everything. She leaves the door ajar as she goes, and I turn back to study myself in the mirror. This is so not like me, but I can’t get enough of looking at myself in this exquisite gown. I can’t believe how beautiful I look. I am shocked with myself at how vain I sound, or should I say, how Katy-like I sound, but it feels so nice to feel good about myself. I feel annoyed I have been putting myself down so much; Mum and Dad would have been terribly cross with me for doing that.

  It hits me like a train at that moment that I am a good person; I have always known how lucky I am to have Luke in my life of course, but now I think he is lucky to have me too. I am as good for him as he is for me, and just thinking of my beautiful man brings a smile to my face. I look down shyly as sexy thoughts of him run through my mind, and I smile and bite my bottom lip shyly as I think about him saying, You’ve got a naughty look in your eye, Angel, in that sexy tone of his.

  Hearing the door creak as Sabrina comes back into the room brings me back to the here and now. I look back up to the mirror, and that’s when confusion hits me and my smile slowly fades. I don’t know if this is someone’s idea of a sick joke, but standing behind me is a woman—and she is dressed as a bride. She is not only wearing a wedding dress, but her dark hair is pulled up into a neat chignon with a tiara—not dissimilar to mine—placed on her head. It’s such a surreal moment; I must be in shock because I’m standing here, and she’s standing there, but I’m just noticing normal things—how neatly applied her makeup is on her pale striking features, and how she is wearing red lipstick, which is far too harsh for a wedding—but this is anything but normal.

  What I should be saying is, Who the hell are you? What on earth are you doing here? And get the fuck out of my room now, you crazy bitch! but something is telling me to keep quiet, so for now, I am going with that gut instinct. I’m staring at her like The Vine must be haunted and she is a ghost just standing there as still as a statue, or maybe I’m dreaming, so I blink a couple of times, but when I look back, unfortunately she’s still there. I would say she is beautiful, but the hard look on her face prevents me from doing so. She is standing rigidly straight holding a bouquet of flowers; it’s almost as if she is standing at an altar.

  Finally she speaks, and her voice is chilling; it’s like something out of a horror movie. “I don’t believe we have formally met, Elizabeth. I am Saskia, Lucas Castle’s true love and his bride to be.” She purses her lips, but I can see the evil smile behind her eyes as goose bumps erupt over my whole body and my mouth dries completely. I’m frightened—no, in fact, I’m terrified as I realise now just how unhinged this woman really is. She walks over to me as I continue watching her through the mirror; I want to turn to face her, but I am frozen rigid to the spot in shock. Saskia stands behind me and places her flowers on the table before she starts to circle me slowly, rather like a shark would its prey.

  Suddenly, she stops dead in front of me. She stares right into my face, taking in all my features one by one, and the sneer on her face tells me she is not happy with what she sees. I jump out of my skin when she shouts, “WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE SEE IN YOU?!” I flinch as she leans into me, growling in her menacing tone, “You are vile, you are ugly and you are nothing compared to me,” then her tone softens, which is even more chilling as she says, “so I’ll ask you again—what does he see in you?”

  Still I say nothing; I don’t even know if she wants an answer. The problem is—her vicious words may hurt some people, but she’s not telling me anything I haven’t told myself over the years.

  “I bet you’re not even a good fuck; you’re probably all timid and prissy and just lay there in the missionary position like a fucking wet blanket while he sticks it to you whenever he pleases. The thing is, sweetie, if you are the fucking bore that I’ve just described—and something tells me you are—he will be doing it with other women behind your back; he’s a man, after all, and will need to get his kicks somewhere if you’re not doing it for him. It could be I’m reading you all wrong, and maybe to keep him you’ll let him do whatever he wants with you sexually. Does he fuck you up the arse because he can’t bear to look at your dreadful face? Because if he does I hate to tell you this sweetheart but he’s probably closing his eyes, whilst imagining he’s having sex with me. Does he loan you out to his mates, or maybe his brothers, like some sort of cheap sex slave? It’s got to be something, because this…” she says, moving her hand from my body up to my face, and from my face down to my body, “…is not what keeps a man like Lucas Castle.”

  At this point, I close my eyes trying to ignore her vile, cruel words and to take myself off to a happier place, where Luke and I are making passionate love and not fucking like animals like this lunatic is trying to paint a picture of. I need to visualise him, as I’ve got the feeling this is the last time I’m going to get the chance. I hear her speak again, much softer this time, almost serene. I open my eyes and she’s behind me again.

  “Let me help you out of your dress,” she says as she puts her hands to my zipper. I don’t know what to do; if she is as crazy as we all believe, she could do anything. I decide to play along; plus, I’m completely restricted in my dress, and without it I might have a better chance of defending myself should she attack me. She seems quite calm at the moment, but who knows? After all, she is standing here in full wedding regalia for Christ’s sake, and she keeps changing personalities—vile and callous one minute, and calm and serene the next—so I have no idea what she is capable of.

  She seems calm enough as she helps me out of my dress. I can’t believe this is happening, and I feel angry when she throws the dress on my bed instead of hanging it up; I mean, I shouldn’t care when I have a psycho undressing me, but I do—I love that dress! Okay, now I’m not restricted, but I feel totally vulnerable standing here exposed in just a strapless bra and thong.

  I see her look at my body with pure disgust as she says angrily through gritted teeth, “You repulse me.” Her evil, vicious tone returns. “Look at you; not exactly arm candy, are you, Elizabeth? You’re like a fucking ironing board, with not an ounce of womanly shape in sight, and you have the cheek to wear a bra! To lift and cup what exactly? Because there are no tits there. Have you thought that a training bra might be more appropriate?.” At this, she roars with laughter, an insane, evil cackling that goes right through me. She walks over and picks her flowers up off of the table, and j
ust as I wonder what she is up to now—and thinking how I might have a chance to tackle her—I see a glint, as from out of the middle of the flowers, she pulls a knife.

  Terror is now locked in my throat; I cannot talk, so I certainly can’t scream for help. I see her walk back to me with the knife. Where the hell is Sabrina? What’s taking her so long? Although it probably hasn’t been as long as it’s seemed to me. Saskia stands in front of me, and I am shaking all over now I am so petrified. After all I have been through in my life, after all Luke and I have been through the last few months, please don’t let all that have been in vain. We deserve happiness, but it doesn’t look to me like we are going to get it, just more misery.

  I can’t see how on earth I’m going to get out of this situation without being badly hurt or killed. A woman doesn’t go this far unless she’s planning on doing some serious harm. Luke won’t be able to cope with it; as strong as he is, he has all but admitted to me his life means nothing to him without me in it. Saskia is now standing face-to-face with me as she lifts the knife up to my neck. I can feel the tip digging into me, and I lose bladder control as I feel water dribble from me and run down my legs to form a puddle around my bare feet. I have heard and seen in films that fear can make people wet themselves, and I always wondered if it was true. As I stand in a puddle of my own urine, I find the answer; I should feel disgusted and ashamed of myself, but I’m too frightened to care.

  Saskia looks at me with revulsion, but then, as if reading my mind, she says, “You’re disgusting! But don’t feel too ashamed with yourself, Elizabeth, you have every right to be frightened…petrified, in fact, because I am going to kill you.” She sneers at me with pure loathing and hatred, and I just wish she wouldn’t drag this out any longer. If she is going to kill me like she says she’s going to, she should just do it quickly and get it over with. But for her, she’s probably enjoying this bit just as much as when she finally pushes that knife deep into me. I hear the door creak and we both swing around to it—me out of hope, and her in anger—and I expect to see Sabrina, but I don’t. I see Luca. The smile on his face instantly disappears as I hear him say, “What the hell?” before I see Saskia storm over to him, waving her knife around franticly.

  I see her change her grip on the knife, obviously to give her more power while she thrusts it at him, but as she swings it he lifts his arm up, and she swipes the knife across it. I see the cut in his shirt, and then the blood starts to seep through. I gasp and throw my hand up to my mouth as I turn to face them, but he doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered as he battles on with her, trying to grab her arm as she continues to wave her knife at him.

  I need to do something; I need to help Luca. I look around, frantically trying to find a weapon, anything. My eyes fall upon a heavy-looking plant pot; I instantly rush over to it and pick it up, lifting it high as adrenaline takes over and my natural strength grows, and I head over toward Saskia. Luca glances over to me; I think he’s hoping it will make Saskia turn around to see what he’s looking at, but instead, she uses it as an opportunity to plunge the knife deep into his side. As she does, I bring the plant pot down on top of her head and let it go. There is screaming and crashing, and then silence.

  With Saskia now unconscious, I run over to Luca but he is just laying there lifeless, and I’m crying and screaming his name as blood seeps from him. My brain kicks in as I tell myself, I can’t break down now; Luca needs my help. I ring reception and tell them I need an ambulance and the police immediately, and then I ring Luke.

  I’m sobbing as it rings once, then twice and thank God he finally answers and I hear him happily greet me, “Hey, Angel, I was just about to ring you. I’m just in the lobby and wondered if it was safe to come up. I don’t want to see my bride in her wedding dress before our big day do I?”

  I hear the laughter in his voice die away as through my sobs, I choke, “Luke, I need you.”

  “I’m coming, baby,” I hear him say as the line goes dead, and I don’t know if he’s cut me off or dropped his phone in his haste to get to me. Seconds later, he bursts through the door, and seeing the look of shock register on his face, he clearly wasn’t expecting this sight when he entered the room—an unconscious Saskia, an injured Luca and me in my underwear standing over him trying to stem the bleeding.

  Luke bends down and grabs me. I hold onto him for dear life, but he eases me away, holding my arms up as he says, “Oh, baby, are you okay?” while his eyes frantically search my body for injury.

  “I’m fine, Luke, honestly,” I sob, “but Luca’s hurt. We have to help him!” When Luke is sufficiently convinced I am fine and none of the blood is mine, he takes over helping Luca, and his voice is kind and caring when I ask warily, “Is he dead?”

  “No, baby, he’s got a pulse.” I sit on the floor beside the two men, my good friend and the love of my life, wondering how such a happy time could turn so bad. My choked sobs are slowing as I clutch my knees to my chest and begin to rock back and forth.

  Minutes later, our room is a hive of activity; paramedics and police are everywhere. They manage to bring Saskia around and handcuff her, but not before she screams and shouts further obscenities at me. When she spots Luke, she looks at him with nothing but love in her eyes, and I can see him shaking as he tries to control himself from doing something stupid.

  All he says is, “Get that crazy fucking bitch out of here before I do something I’ll regret.” The police do exactly that, and the paramedics get Luca stable so they can move him to the ambulance to take him to the hospital.

  When Saskia and Luca have both been taken away, Luke speaks to the police, telling them all that has happened with Saskia leading up to this moment. I’m in shock as I take the opportunity to pack the beautiful dress away. I’m not normally a superstitious person, but we definitely don’t need any more bad luck.

  Eventually, Luke and I are left alone. He opens his arms to me and I step into them, and then I start to sob as all what’s just happened finally comes to a head. Luke rubs my back and soothes me with his words, and as I calm I start to tell him all the horrible, cruel words Saskia had said to me. He’s rigid with anger as I speak about my ordeal, but I need to get it all out, all the vile things she said about me, about him and about us.

  “Hey, come on now; everything’s going to be okay. She’s gone and is going to be put away where she belongs for a long time; I’ll see to that. She’s obviously mentally unstable to go to the lengths she went to, to destroy us,” he says as he continues to rub my back, soothing me.

  “I didn’t believe the horrid things she said about you,” I say, my bottom lip sticking out sulkily.

  “I should think not,” Luke guffaws, “because firstly, I would never want any other woman, secondly, I would never fuck you so viciously—I would never take a chance of hurting you, and lastly, I would never share you with my friends or brothers,” he says incredulously. “If you only knew what even the thought of that does to my blood pressure…” I nod, smiling into his chest.

  I turn serious again as I ask, “What about poor Luca?” I notice this is the first time Luke doesn’t stiffen at the mention of Luca’s name.

  “He’ll be fine; according to the paramedics, the cuts seem to be flesh-wounds, and the knife hadn’t seemed to penetrate anywhere it would cause severe injury.”

  “Why did he collapse then?”

  “The paramedics said sometimes it’s through the sheer pain and the blood loss,” he explains.

  I nod, relieved and pacified, although I’d rather get to the hospital and see for myself.

  “Luca saved my life,” I say.

  “I know, Angel, and I’ll be forever in his debt for that. Now let’s get you dressed, shall we?” I look down, only just realising I’m still in my underwear. All the police and paramedics that’d been milling around saw me like this.

  “How embarrassing,” I say.

  “They’re probably used to stuff like that, so don’t let it bother you.” Then I hear h
im chuckle.

  “What?” I ask, wondering what on earth could possibly be funny about this situation.

  “I was just thinking—you probably brightened their day.”

  I tut at his silliness, ignore his remark and tell him, “I’ll just have a quick shower and then we’ll head over to the hospital.”

  “Just pop some clothes on,” Luke suggests.

  “No, I need a shower,” I say, embarrassed and ashamed again. When he gives me a questioning look, I explain, “Well, apart from the blood, when she had her knife pressed against my throat, I sort of had a little accident.” I nod toward the puddle over by the mirror before looking down.

  “Aw, baby, anyone would in that situation. Having a knife pressed to your throat, you’re lucky you just wet yourself; I probably would have shit myself too.”

  I nod, still embarrassed. “All the time that knife was pressed to my throat, the only thing I could think about was I might not see you again.” At this, my eyes well up again.

  Luke envelopes me and says, “Don’t, baby—don’t torture yourself anymore. You’ve done a lifetime of that and she’s not worth it. You go and have a shower, and I’ll clean up in here.”

  I like that he’s trying to help me and look after me, but I really don’t want him cleaning up my pee; that’d just be gross for him. “No, you don’t have to do that,” I say, wrinkling my nose up in disgust for him.

  “Lizzy, regardless of what’s happened today, in a few days’ time, you are about to become my wife, so don’t get embarrassed about me cleaning up that little puddle for you.”

  Still mortified, I give in knowing full well I won’t win this debate, and I head off to the shower.