Chapter 5 - Trapped

(Alicia)

The call from the woman named Chiara comes as I’m once again reduced to eating cereal. I ignore it, along with her next four calls and messages. I’m busy with training, and some part of my brain really wants to ignore the previous day and all its implications.

The woman is pushy and clearly a bit miffed that I’ve been ignoring her. Womp-womp.

She drones on about dress fittings and flower choices like she’s planning a human wedding. Am I getting married to a human? I only half-listen as she mentions how she’s got this schedule that she’s sharing with my email account and that I ‘better not miss any of the appointments’. But I’m fully awake when she ends the call with ‘Oh, and the King asked me to mention that Luka sends his regards’.

A white-hot fury makes me almost sling my phone against the wall, but I rein that anger in quickly.

Not here. Not now.

Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl who’s been hauled to heel by a schoolmaster, I check my emails. Yes, there are all the neatly synced appointments, starting tomorrow morning. The loathing rises up like bile in my throat once again, but what can I do? I’m trapped.

A particular email catches my eye. It’s from Student Services at the College where I’m currently in my final year of studying art conservation. I click on it to open the message and read it.

“Dear miss Sunblade. It is with regret that we notice you have cancelled your studies with Hazelfell University. Attached is a current copy of your progress report as well as the final bill, payment upon which your account will be closed. We wish you all the best for your future.”

I think if steam could escape from my ears, it would. He cancelled it. The low-life, manipulative creep cancelled my studies. He had no right! I was one semester away from graduating!

This time I do sling my phone to shatter against the wall where, just to add insult to injury, it leaves a dent too. I sag onto the couch and just let it go – all my anger, all my frustration, all my helplessness comes tumbling out in a torrent of tears and sobs that I just can’t seem to stop; and I despise myself for it.

I don’t cry. I freaking deal. No matter what, I. Never. Cry.

But as my wails intensify and I’m even more freaked out by it, I just sag into this helpless crying heap and throw the pity party I’ve always denied myself of having. Why did I have to care about Luka? Why couldn’t I just be more like my perfect half-sister? Why couldn’t I just be a normal elf, or even a human?

When it starts to get dark, I wipe my tears and drag myself off to bed. I am too exhausted from all the crying to think of a solution. That’s a problem for future-Alicia.

*********

Chiara is exactly like I’d imagined her to be. She would have been perfect for the lead role in ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. My instant dislike of her is mutual.

Because this is a first dress fitting and I’m definitely not going to be standing naked or dressed in only underwear in front of her, or any strangers. I make sure to wear tight, high-rise exercise shorts and a sports bra. She can see my back markings only, nothing else.

Now I’m standing on a circular dais in the back of a super-exclusive human wedding dress shop – the kind where the price tags will make even a billionaire’s eyes water. I’ve been compliant, although scowling. I’ve shown her exactly how little interest I have in the way I look with my lacklustre attitude. I’m making an effort to let her earn every penny daddy dearest is paying her to tolerate me. Fuck ‘em.

I see her swallow back a bitchy retort when I refuse to undress fully, and I smirk inwardly. I’m sure, in her mind, she’s silently counting to ten and cursing this particular assignment; wondering why it’s me she has to deal with rather than darling princess Charmaine.

Me too, stick-insect, me too.

She has somehow managed to squeeze me into a form-fitting dress that will severely restrict my ability to move quickly, or at all. It’s from a thick, luxurious-feeling material that is deceptively simple, yet subtly textured. And it covers every inch of skin from my neck down to my wrists and my ankles, which is the only reason I agree to put it on.

But it’s going to need a slit of some sort, or I’ll have to be carried down the aisle. I may not care how I look for the occasion, but I do care if I’m unable to defend myself from a surprise attack due to a lack of mobility.

“You’ll need to add a slit to this dress, up to here,” I tell the girl flitting around me with pins and a measuring tape, tapping my finger just above mid-thigh on my right leg. She looks up at me, surprised that I’ve actually said something for the first time since this session started. She’s the one that gasped when she saw my back for the first time and looked at me wide-eyed.

“No! You will do no such thing! It will ruin the look!” stick-insect interjects. “With you all covered up like this, the wolf will be intrigued!”

I freeze.