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Four in.
Hold.
Four out.
Hold.
“Then again, with someone like you, maybe that was the theme you had in mind, dungeons and perversion?” The women on the table clucked like loyal hens at feeding time.
“It matches my wedding dress.”
“I better see this dress then, because no son of mine is getting married dressed like something from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Again her loyal hens clucked. By the time Ivy got the picture of her dress up on her phone, her hands were trembling.
“It’s an original design, by a top designer.” She hated how weak, how timid her voice sounded. For a moment, she saw Evelyn’s eyes widen in surprise. For just one second, she thought something other than venom would spew from her mouth.
What a fool she’d been.
“You can’t seriously be thinking about wearing white, can you? I mean, the media will have a field day. Besides, don’t you think it would be better to leave this dress for someone who it would enrich? I mean, look at you, you wear this, and no one’s going to be looking at the dress, they’re going to be looking at the horrific disfigurement. They won’t see a bride, they’ll see a victim. I mean, it’s a beautiful dress,” she paused dramatically, lifting her pale green eyes to meet Ivy’s, “for someone else, don’t you think?”
The entire table was silent now, no more chatter blending into the background. Even the man behind the bar had become deathly still. “I’m only being honest. The press will have a field day. Forget the bride of Dracula. The headline will read the bride of Frankenstein.”
“Frankenstein was the doctor,” Ivy uttered, her voice weak as she snatched the image of her in the dress away from their sight. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t. But what’s worse, as she looked at the picture again, she could see it. She could see her every scar, her silver stripes and hideous marks, and those were just the ones visible down her arms. Ivy tugged the sleeves of her cardigan lower. Yes, it was over a hundred degrees out today, and she still wore something to cover her scarring. Why had she been so foolish, so caught up in the moment she hadn’t seen what everyone else would?
Evelyn was right, they wouldn’t see a blushing bride ready to start her life. They’d see a scarred figure haunted by her past.
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ve got just the dress for you. I mean, it’ll be a bit big, but with the way you’re gaining weight, that won’t matter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this really was a shotgun wedding. At least then you’d be bringing something good into the family, but you don’t even want that, do you? Anyway,” she huffed, “I can have my people make a few tweaks, but this is more you, don’t you think?”
Evelyn opened the folder to what had to be the most horrific dress Ivy had seen. Old-fashioned with giant puffy sleeves in a drab beige shade. The top puffed out, sucking in at the waist only to repeat the same bubble motion at the hips before hugging the legs tightly and ending in a fishtail. Sure, this may be someone’s dream dress, but it sure as Hell wasn’t hers. “It also fits with the beige and cream colour scheme we thought would be best. You have to remember, this isn’t just your wedding, it’s Miles’ too, and he’s representing our family. This is no backstreet event, this is newspaper spread. You wouldn’t want us to be further embarrassed, would you?”
“This was a mistake.” Ivy rose from her seat.
A sly smile crossed Evelyn’s face as her fingers tapped against the table. “Listen, Pet—”
Ivy wasn’t sure what was said after that. The world around her became a blur of static. That one word, the way she said it, how she’d tapped her fingers in that precise manner, stirred something, something that stole her breath and focus as she was forced to relive it…
…“Listen, Pet, you can keep screaming, but that’ll only make me fuck you harder.” Owner’s voice growled, his hot breath a mixture of coffee and vanilla as he leaned over her, his fingertip tracing the bloody welt he’d left across her arm. Owner was cruel. He wielded a whip with precision. If he wanted to, she was certain he could flay her alive. “Besides, we have company. You’re going to show them all what a good little slut you are. And if you do well, you’ll be rewarded.” He tugged her hair, yanking her head back, sending a splintering pain down her neck. “You like rewards, don’t you?” Ivy nodded as best she could, the tears squeezing from her eyes. Rewards were better than pain, better than punishments. “But disappoint me.” Another crack filled the air. She bit down on the scream, trying her best to be the good pet he wanted. “If you disappoint me, I’ll have to let them see me make an example of you. What’s it going to be, Pet? Are you going to make me proud?” Ivy nodded, the warmth of tears burning her face.
She realised too late he’d wanted a verbal response. Another crack sent a wave of heat and sickness through her. “Yes, Owner.” She choked, sucking in a laboured breath through the pain that lapped like liquid fire across her skin.
“Don’t forget, Pet. That wet pussy of yours is mine, but they can take anything else they want. Your only concern is making them happy. Understand.”
“Yes, Owner,” she whimpered. Owner had never shared her before. Never let anyone else touch her, except that one time with James after he’d given her stitches.
“To that end, I got you a present.” He placed a metal contraption on the bed. It took a second for her to realise it was some manner of chastity belt, except it was designed to ensure one place could still be accessed. “Now, come and thank your owner, Pet.” Beside it he placed the all too familiar L-shaped vibrator, her stomach clenched, understanding all too well what he had planned. She crawled towards him, ready to show her gratitude, praying it would be over soon…
…“Do all this for her, and she’s not even got the common decency to pretend she’s listening. Honestly, what my son sees in her, I’ll never know.” Ivy felt the bile burn her stomach, her mind hazy as she glanced around desperately seeking the sign she needed. Running to the bathroom, she barely made it to the sink before she vomited. A quiet knock sounded on the door just seconds after the heaving stopped.
She half expected to see Mrs Taylor there, gloating, looking down on her like the gutter scum she tried to convince her she was. A slight tingle of relief surged through her as she saw it was the waiter.
“You alright?” His voice was filled with sympathy, eyes flooded with concern. Unable to hold his gaze, she glanced around, noticing the urinals, and groaned. She couldn’t even run into the right toilets. She shook her head, taking the bottle of water the man offered, her hands shaking so badly, her body so weak, she couldn’t break the seal. In one smooth movement, he did it for her, placing it back in her hand.
“Is there … is there a back door?” She needed to get out. The last few times she’d met Evelyn had been bad, but this, this was something new. The closer to the wedding they became, the worse she was. Even Miles’ attempt to give her a constant distraction had been no match for Mrs Taylor’s venom.
“I can take you out through the kitchen. If you don’t mind a bit of advice, people like that, they don’t stop. Before you came, she was making a bet she could trigger you. I mean, you’re her, aren’t you? Ivy Sinclair?”
Ivy felt the water threaten its return. She counted, breathing slowly.
Just a few years ago, she’d have been cowering in a corner. Or sliding to her knees almost trance-like. The fact she could think, could feel, was a sign of how far she’d come. But why did everything have to feel so raw? Why did every flashback come with the burning memory of his touch and a bottomless pit of shame? She needed to shower, to scrub herself until her skin was red and she no longer felt sullied.
