"Being in love is obviously working wonders for your creative juices." Angela comes and stands beside me as I admire the timeless art work that some local artists had long ago created. The display is nowhere near finished, but myself and Deborah have already made an impressive start on it.

With my hands satisfyingly resting on either side of my hips, I proudly smile. "Thanks, it's coming along nicely, isn't it?"

Angela nods, all too keen to agree with me. "It certainly is." She stands a little closer, her smile still fixed on her beaming and amiable face. "So, are you and Rex all ready for Saturday?"

I beam now, from one ear to the other. "We are."

"I think Aidan is just as excited as you are." She amusingly tells me, still grinning so very widely.

"I bet he is, bless him. It's so lovely that he's helping Rex bring his things to mine this weekend." I say to Angela, giving one last glance to the partially done display before picking up a folder that I need to file back in my office. "Walk with me?" I ask with a relaxed smile, wanting to get the folder safely back in my filing cabinet. The neat freak in me, is ever present this afternoon.

Angela smiles back, strolling close beside me as we leisurely head back to my office. "Aidan is happy to help. Besides, it's not really all that much because most of Rex's stuff will be going into storage, won't it?"

"That's true." With a firm nod, I totally agree.

"Any idea where you will both want to eventually buy a house?" Angela cheerfully asks.

Shrugging slightly, I shake my head with the smallest of frowns. "Absolutely no idea whatsoever." My frown is quickly replaced with a bright and open smile in Angela's thoroughly attentive direction. Rex and I really don't have a clue where we want to eventually set up home together. It's not exactly the highest thing on our priority list right now. But once he is finally here with me in Bath, and after our wedding, I am sure that it will move right on up to the top spot of that priority list of ours. Opening up the door to my quiet and empty office, Angela and I both happily stride in together. With an occupied mind, I walk towards one of the filing cabinets, open the top drawer and search for the correct partition to carefully put the folder into. Once in its correct place, I casually close the large draw and turn around. It is then, that I notice a single yellow tulip lying down on the top of my tidy desk. Excitement silently pumps its way all around my delighted body, Rex must be here! Rushing towards it, I take the tulip between my overly eager fingers. "Did you know?" I now look at Angela, now absolutely buzzing because I know that Rex is here. He obviously meant soon soon.

"Know what?" She hesitantly smiles, somewhat puzzled.

I am smiling, but my tone is impatiently sharp. "That Rex was coming?"

Angela now looks completely baffled and her eyes are narrowed with total confusion. "Um...is he?" She warily asks with an uncertain tone and an even more uncertain smile.

Dismissing the way in which she is pretending to know absolutely nothing about Rex being here, I happily ramble on with the fresh tulip being twirled around by my fingers. "Oh, I get it...he has told you to keep it a secret from me, hasn't he?" I stare down at the single flower, the flower that represents so much between Rex and I. "He knows how much I love yellow tulips and he did say this morning that he didn't think he could wait until Saturday to see me." I am drifting off into my very own happy place, unaware of Angela at this very blissful point. "Is he taking me out for lunch?" My eyes move from the flower, over to Angela, who is now looking at me like I have completely lost my mind.

With rapid blinks, she is glancing all around my office, almost as though she is looking for an answer to give me. "Um, I'm not quite sure what you're on about, Angel, but Rex isn't here...at least, I don't think he is." Her gaze on me is clouded with such confusion. "Did he say he was coming today, then?"

My eyebrows squish together, almost more puzzled than she is. "Well, no...not really." I rub my forehead, starting to now believe Angela and disbelieving myself. "But this tulip can only be from Rex, it's kind of our thing." My brows furrow further as I try to explain the relevance of the flower that has been left for me. "Are you sure you haven't seen him?" I have to ask, just one more time.

Angela firmly shakes her head, offering me an awkward smile. "Honestly, I haven't."

Trying to make sense of it all, I start throwing explanations into the air. "Well, either he is here and you just haven't seen him yet, or he has got someone else to put the tulip on my desk?" I am happy with either one of those explanations. They are both perfectly plausible reasons.

Angela is hesitant, almost unsure. "Mmm, maybe." She sceptically replies, glancing up at the clock on my office wall. "Why don't we go and see whether he is around?"

Her idea is a bloody great idea. "Yes, let's!" I enthusiastically state, really keen to now go and find him. Placing the tulip back where I first found it, I walk with hurried heels out of my office.

Angela and I looked absolutely everywhere in the museum and asked literally everyone if any of them had seen Rex. We even asked whether any of them had been asked to put the yellow tulip on my desk, but no one had. It was then that I had decided to text Rex. I knew he would be sleeping, but I had to text him. It would seem that the romantic side of him is starting to get very sneaky and adventurous.

Hey, I'm not really sure how you done it, but thank you for the lovely yellow tulip. I love and miss you lots and lots.

Love, Angel xxxxxxxx

I was bitterly disappointed to discover that he wasn't actually at the museum, but the tulip being left by him, I know that is his very sweet way of letting me know that he is thinking of me, even when he regrettably can't be around.

**

After work, I nipped to the local supermarket. For dinner, I thought myself and Faith could have Thai style fish cakes, salad and some homemade chunky chips. And I fortunately remembered the washing up gloves that my darling sister had requested this morning. I am actually impressed that I remembered anything during my very brief shopping trip, because all afternoon, my thoughts were completely wrapped up in Rex. He still hasn't messaged me back, which again, has left me bitterly disappointed. But I know that he will, just as soon as he is awake. Arriving home, the evening is just starting to darken the September sky above me. As I lock my car, a chilly breeze whips itself around my body, causing me to shudder. Gripping onto the shopping bag and my briefcase that are being held by each one of my hands, I prepare to do battle with the really stiff catch on my garden gate. But my garden gate is unusually open. As I walk up my cottage path, only to myself, I am cursing the distrait person who decided to leave it wide bloody open. Again, yet another one of my bug bears.

I honestly don't know what is wrong with people. Gates are created to be opened and bloody closed! Then just when I am already mad enough, I notice that the identical stone flowers pots that prettily sit either side of my front door, have been completely knocked over. If it weren't for my anger, I think I would have been concerned. But after my productive but thoroughly disappointing day, I just want to get in the warm and get dinner on the go. Opening up my front door, I just drop everything down onto the hallway floor and then quickly put my beloved pots back where they were before, scooping up all of the soil that had fallen out with my clean and bare hands. Thankful that my flowers are still in tact, I glance down at their floral prettiness before closing my door on them and rush towards the kitchen to wash my now soiled hands. As soon as I walk in there, I honestly feel like I am about to lose my shit. The light is on, and has obviously been left on all bloody day by Faith. My patience is truly wearing thin now. I need to calm down before she arrives, or I'm at risk of saying something I may just regret. In a huff, I go back out to the hallway and lift the bags that I had just angrily thrown inside of my front door. Putting my briefcase neatly beside my sofa, I carry the shopping bag out to the kitchen with tired and heavy heeled feet. As I am putting the shopping away, I decide to have a quick shower before starting dinner. I just need to wash away all of my disappointment of the day. Wash away my anger at whoever left my garden gate open and whoever knocked over my long-loved potted plants and also wash away my annoyance with my sister for forgetting to turn off the kitchen light. Trudging up the creaky stairs, I try to curb all of my negative thoughts.

Rex will ring later.

All will feel better after a nice warm shower and some nice food.

That is what I tell myself, giving me some simple but lovely things to look forward to. The first thing I do, is turn on the shower. With my back to it, I start getting undressed. As I slowly step out of my skirt and start undoing the buttons on my satin blouse, the steam starts filling the bathroom with cloudy swirls of evaporating mist. As I slip the heels from off my very exhausted feet, I happen to glance up at my ornate mirror that hangs just above the bathroom sink. It is that simple act of looking up that seems to squeeze my heart so achingly tight with fear, it actually stops it from beating. With panic exploding inside of my chest cavity, my damp eyes are fixed on the words that have been scribbled on the surface of the mirror: I am watching you.

Those menacing four words are invisible to the naked eye, but the steam has insidiously revealed its taunting secret to me. Frozen to the steamy spot, I am too scared to move any of my terrified body. I just stand there, wanting to run, but find that my muscles have completely seized up with terror. And my thoughts are just as incapacitated as my body. I will them to start telling me what I should do. I will for them to please start talking to me.

You need to move, Angel.

You need to run, and run now.

That is what they eventually tell me to do, but my body isn't yet able to cooperate. My afraid eyes scan the parts of the misty room that they are able to see, because my head is still too heavy with dread to freely turn. Even over the sound of the loud shower, it's only the pounding beat of my horror-struck heart that I can clearly hear. Because I know who wrote those horrifying four words and I know who is here.

You need to move, Angel.

You need to run, and run now.

My thoughts are firmer this time, boldly ordering me to do as they have so desperately told me to do. But my fear has crippled me. The shower is on but my bravery is off.

Creak!

My head violently turns to the sickening sound of one of the steps on my stairs. Hurrying to turn off the distracting spray of the shower, I listen harder.

Creak!

Hearing it again, internally turns me cold.

Creak!

Hearing another, causes me to uncontrollably shake.

Creak!

Another, has burning tears gathering on my lower lashes.

Creak!

I can't actually breathe now.

Creak!

The adrenaline in my body is making me dizzy. But I can't pass out. I need to run, and I need to run now. Each creak means that he is getting closer. I can't let him corner me in the bathroom, I just can't. From god knows where, I summon the terrified strength to fight back. Tiptoeing behind the bathroom door, I wait.

Creak!

Creak!

Creak!

Quietly taken footsteps come scarily closer and closer. With my heart wildly stampeding, I wait for him to stand in the doorway. With my own breaths being suppressed, I listen out for his. He is there. Only the bathroom door now separates us. Using all of my determined strength, I violently slam the door into him. Through the crack of the hinge, I can see he has fallen hard against the hallway wall. With a skewed sense of time, I run. In just my underwear, I flee from the bathroom, run towards the stairs and sprint down them. When I get to the front door, relief spurs me on to open it. As much as my hands try to, it just won't. It is locked and my fingers just aren't working quickly enough. Laughter echoes from behind me, coming closer and closer. "Everything is locked, it's just you and me now." Jonathan Ford confidently descends my creaky stairs, his dark eyes alive with hatred.

My head falls against my traitorous front door, the one who wouldn't open up for me when I so desperately needed it to. "My sister will be here in a minute." I tell him, my voice cracking with throbbing fear.

He just ghoulishly grins. "Get back upstairs." As he inches closer, his disgusting eyes dare me to try and stupidly set one foot wrong in front of him. I know he is here to do me harm, it's fiendishly written all over his weathered face.

With afraid little steps, I wrap my arms around myself and do as he asks. "I know you're angry, but please just think about what you are doing." I start talking, trying to put out his fierce fire that burns within him. "We can talk things through."

A hand violently pushes me from behind, making me fall forward and bang my head hard on one of the carpeted steps. "No talking, just walk."

Disoriented, I do as he says. My head is hurting, but I don't want to cry out in pain. I may be trapped, but I still have plenty of fighting spirit left within me; I'm just saving it for when I really do need it. Even though I am walking up the stairs, I just don't seem to be doing it quickly enough for Jonathan Ford. Tutting, he grabs hold of my hair and drags me up the rest of them. "Come on, I don't have all day." He twists my hair between his clenched fist, wanting to cause pain in whatever way he can. Hurling me into my bedroom, he menacingly stands over where I clumsily land. "Get on your knees." His glare is icily savage. "You have taken everything away from me. You have destroyed my life. You are nothing but a filthy whore. A whore who will never be worthy of my son." He bends over me, smirking. "I have had to wait a long time for this." Stroking my cheek with his rough fingers, he then angrily rubs them across my quivering lips. "I have enjoyed messing with your head, Whore." Noticing the glimmer of confusion in my dull eyes, he savours the joy of enlightening me. "You have been like a frightened little kitten, all jumpy and skittish." His fierce fingers then immerse themselves in my hair, screwing it around and around until I cry out with the scalp pain. "It hurts being screwed with, doesn't it?" Yanking my head back, he forces me to look right at him. "I have been watching you for a long time, for much longer than you think." When I try to speak, he pulls harder on my hair. "Don't say one word. I am the only one allowed to speak here." His face is nauseatingly close to mine. He's so close, I can feel his hateful, whiskey-soaked saliva spraying against my skin. "You hate mess, don't you? Everything has its place and its purpose. Your toothbrush and towels are always in the same place. Your nightie is always put under the same pillow. You make your bed like you are living in a show home. Every single element of your life has its rightful place. Which is why I have enjoyed playing with that whore head of yours." His savage smirk returns. All the times that I thought Rex had been here, I now realise that it had been his father all along. The whites of my eyes flash with knowing terror. This seems to please Jonathan Ford no end. "Is it all finally dawning on you now, is it?" He finally lets go of my tangled hair but keeps his persecuting presence hatefully close. "I wanted to give you just enough to unsettle you, but not enough to really go on." He gravelly gloats, not once freeing me from his sinister stare. "You really need to improve your security on this place. You made a schoolboy error, Whore...you left your keys on a hook right beside your front door." Shaking his head at me, he tuts over and over. "You made it all too easy for me to get a copy of your key." His smirk is now maliciously crooked.

He has been playing with me for so long, he thinks he has already won the game. "You've made your point. Please just let me go."

Slap! He strikes my insolence with the back of his violent hand. "I told you not to talk." Slap! He hits me again, just to ensure that I understand. "I haven't even started with my point, Whore." He goes to hit me again, so I cower before him. This makes him laugh. His power over me, actually makes him filthily laugh. "Okay, let's get to my very valid point. After all, I have been very patient up until now." Kneeling down in front of me, he inspects my already sore cheek. "You have a pretty face but you're still nothing but an ugly whore. That night I first met you, I knew you were trouble, but your pretty face pulled me right into the line of trouble. I knew you were lying to me about your age, but I was willing to overlook it because we both needed something from each other. I needed to be sucked off, you needed money." Using one hand, his vice-like fingers hold my chin firmly in place. "I actually felt sorry for you when you puked by my car, I stupidly felt sorry for you. So I let you go, I even paid you to do that. For some unforgiving reason, that night always stayed with me. You kept chipping away at me, over and over. But I could cope with it, because I never thought I would see you again. Then you eventually showed up on my front door with my son, who was madly in love with you. I had been battling the guilty memory of you for years, then you just showed up on my door like some fucking bad dream. I knew then that my coping mechanism had finally snapped. I know you chose to leave Rex's life, but you never really left mine. From that night, my life fell apart. My drinking spiralled. I was forced into early retirement. My marriage disintegrated. Every single thing and every single person I ever cared about, had gone." He angrily squeezes my chin between his tormenting fingers, enjoying the pain he inflicts. "You were my downfall. I am going to be yours." The squeezing becomes more aggressive, more cruel. "Through you, I will get my own back. With you gone, Rex will be free of you but will never be free of me. And because of that, Elizabeth will never be free of me either." He pulls my face closer to his, clenching his jaw with his eyes shut tight. Turning his cheek, he then roughly rubs my lips across it and expels an aroused breath. "Your whore lips still feel good." His eyes suddenly open again, stripping me bare with their dark depravity. "I am going to hell, anyway...I intend on taking you with me." Violently, he pushes me back.

"Please don't." Thwack!

This time, his fist is what violently strikes my cheek. "How many times do I need to tell you?" He straddles where I have fallen, cruelly pulling me up by my hair. "That mouth of yours is now only good for one fucking thing." His starts undoing his belt and his trousers, and that is when the true horror of his intentions starts to unfold.

His firm arousal is repulsive.

This is what I have been saving my fighting strength for. I saved it all for this sickening moment. With all that I have, I vigorously push him away by using both of my hands against his chest. He lands with a heavy thud and I try to run. But he's quick and he is still strong. Lunging at my legs, I too, land with a heavy thud. He crawls over my back, punching me wherever he can. Screaming as loud as I possibly can, I keep struggling beneath him. The more I wriggle, the more he punches me. The more I scream, the more violent the punches become. I know I am fighting for my life, which is why I try to stop him from turning me around. Between the punches from his ferocious fists, he is trying to grab my throat. I know that if his hands manage to wrap themselves around my neck, he will squeeze all of my life from out of me. So I continue to scream and continue to fight. The palm of his hand is trying to muffle my piercing screams, but he can't keep me still long enough to cover my mouth. So his aggression escalates, raining powerful punches to the back of my head and neck. He knows that the only way he is going to stop me from fighting back, is to knock me unconscious. I scream, cry and yell, so using both of his monstrous hands, he gets fistfuls of my hair and starts slamming the front of my head against the bedroom floor. My blood starts running cold, because I know I am weakening. With each sickening thud, the more of my strength I lose. My head is hurting so much and my vision is blurry and obscure. I know I am still alive, because I can hear my heartbeat despairingly drumming inside my wounded head. My face is no doubt a bloody mess, but all the time I can still hear the dull drum of my beating heart, I know I am still alive. Warm dripping blood and agonising pain, are making it harder and harder to see. My lids are getting heavier and heavier. Everything is starting to fade—my vision, my hearing, my strength, my heartbeat, my hope—it's all fading away.