WHEN SHE CAME TO, she was lying on a bed of roses. Her vision was bedazzled with stars as she looked around confusedly, unable to orientate where she was. What was the last thing that had happened? She remembered the monarch butterflies, but in her thoughts their wings kept being ripped to shreds. Her head was filled with fog as she tried to push herself up, not caring for how the thorns were digging in her hands. It wasn't like she felt it. For some reason, her whole body was numb.

Was this the garden? She tried to stand up, only succeeding at the third try. Her knees were bleeding from how often she fell back to the ground, blinking as she tried to make the world stop spinning. When it finally did somewhat, she started recognizing the roses around her, the ones below having been plucked to form a bed for her. How had she even slept on something so uncomfortable? How had she even slept at all?

"Where am I?" she said, but the words warped into something incoherent when she spoke, her tongue tangling in itself.

The sun above her started smiling with sharp teeth and even sharper heat, burning her as she started walking through the maze of roses. She couldn't piece together her memories of yesterday, her gaze absentmindedly focusing on the bloody footprints she was leaving behind, darkening each time she stepped into thorns again. Quietly she started humming a children's lullaby, one which her mother had sung to herself, each time she started dreaming while being awake again.

"Gentle love, come to me," she sung softly, the sound eery in the all-consuming silence," you'll meet me again underneath the willow tree."

No one replied and she kept walking, until she reached the house. Nathan wasn't anywhere in sight and she didn't call for him, even though she wanted to, more than anything. It was terrifying, being alone, but his finger on the trigger kept replaying in her mind, over and over. Even if it had been a dream, she didn't want to discover what she'd see if a bullet pierced through her skin. If it did, she hoped he would have the mercy to shoot one right through her head.

Tick, tick, tick. The grandfather clock in the living room quietly continued on, Helene passing by in a daze. She bumped against a picture which was lying on the table, still too unstable to walk straight, the glass shattering beneath her feet. Absentmindedly she took the picture out, paying no attention to the shards as she stepped through them.

A girl. She was colorful amidst a field of peonies, with a blue eye and purple bruises. Still, she was smiling, one tooth missing and eyes gentle like spring. Eyes which were the color of dusk, even though hers didn't seem haunted. Nathan's sister, she realized. He had kept the picture. Was it out of sentiment or was it because he knew she'd see it? Everything he was doing was to keep her by his side, she knew that and yet she couldn't get herself away from him.

They never had discovered what had happened to his sister. She didn't think he had killed her, but in the end, it didn't matter. The past wouldn't stop her fate from running it's course, whatever that might be. To be honest, she hadn't used to believe in any kind of divine entity, but she could practically see the thread of her life running out, tightening it's grip around her neck. Perhaps it was inevitable that she'd come face to face with it or perhaps it was the aftermath of whatever pills she had taken, but anything was possible right now. If she wanted to, she could fly. The line between reality and her dreams had become blurred for a long time now anyway.

The picture fell out of her hand as she continued on, straight towards the door. She didn't know if she wanted to escape, but what she did know was that the lack of any serotonin in her brain was starting to weigh heavy on her. If she didn't get out of a confined space soon enough, she'd start screaming. If she did, she might start screaming as well. Her thoughts turned dark, nothing blooming in the shadows as she breathed heavily. She was starting to feel light-headed.

When she turned the door knob, she had expected it to be locked, but as soon as it clicked open, all she could do was stare. There hadn't been any plan in coming here, just the need for fresh air and the remaining logical part of her shouting that she needed to get out. One moment she couldn't leave his side and the other she couldn't wait to get away. Why was she so fickle? No, that wasn't it. Fickle wasn't a word complex enough to describe what she was feeling. She couldn't even explain it herself, not with her years of university nor with her years of abuse. There was no language she could be fluent enough in to voice her thoughts, just a fear of abandonment she'd never be able to shake.

She looked back over her shoulder, the suffocating realization suddenly dawning on her that she was completely alone. Oh my God, she couldn't breathe. The mismatched balance of hormones in her head screamed at her, causing a sharp headache to start pounding through her head. Her head was going to burst open. What had he given her? Perhaps it'd be easier if she'd just end things.

The door completely opened then, an eery sensation filling her as she looked around. There was no one in sight, but something was wrong, terribly wrong. She knew it even before she saw what it was, even before she lowered her gaze to the doormat. A new one, she noticed. It welcomed her home, right beside the severed head of someone she couldn't remember anymore. His lips were parted mid-scream, or perhaps it was the decay which had let his mouth fall open, the skin tearing and the bone eroding. Art, she thought. Why did he remind her of art?

"My dear Helene, you must've been frightened."

Nathan pulled her closer from behind, wrapping his arms around her as he grazed his teeth past her neck.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered.

She looked at the head for a moment longer, before deciding it wasn't real. Nathan was, she could feel his body heat straight through her thin dress. Without replying to him she leaned in to his embrace, resting her head against his chest as she closed her eyes.

"No, look," he said, tone sweet but cold nonetheless," you have to look, Helene. You have to see how scary it is outside. This is why you're safe with me."

"Is that why you killed him?" she said," to prove that to me?"

"Who?" he asked, even though they both knew the answer.

She opened her eyes, whirling around as he tangled her hands in his hair. His smile widened when she looked at him, like that was all he needed in this world. In a way, he also was the only thing keeping her grounded, just like he was the only thing turning her insane. Perhaps she should kill him. Perhaps she should kill herself.

"All of them," she said.

"Are you placing all the blame on me?" he smiled, almost looking exhilirated at her touch," you can, if you want to, Helene. I don't mind being your scapegoat. If you want, you can dissect me as well."

"You know the only one I hate is myself," she whispered," just like I always have."

An uncharacteristic sincerity flashed over his face as he placed his hand over hers, intertwining them so her hand would tangle further in his hair.

"I'd rather you'd blame me," he said," it would make you happier."

"Is that what you want?" she asked," for me to be happy?"

"I -" he began, searching for an answer he didn't understand," I don't know. I hate when you're frowning, but a part of me can't help but be pleased that I'm the one making you experience those emotions, whether they be positive or negative. Is that sick of me, that I want all your emotions to be mine? That I don't care how I evoke them, as long as I do?"

"What does it matter what I think?" she said,

"It matters to me."

He stared at her, before letting her go, her hands sliding down to his chest, lingering at his heart.

"What happened to your sister?" she asked.

Of course he wasn't surprised by the question, not when he had placed the picture down for her to see. Was it pity he had wanted her to have or empathy? Or maybe it was simpler. Maybe he just had wanted her to know.

"What always happens to innocence in this world," he said," it gets corrupted."

"Corrupted into rigor mortis?" she asked.

"Even afterwards," he said, almost wryly.

"You didn't do it," she said, not a question, simply a statement.

He glanced at her, hesitating for only a second before he shook his head.

"I didn't," he repeated quietly.

"Did you care about her?" she asked.

"I don't know," he mused, lifting his gaze towards the sky absentmindedly," perhaps. When that man killed her, I wrapped my hands around his throat the same day. I don't know if that means something. I don't know if it matters."

"I don't know either," she said quietly.

He locked eyes with her, his heartbeat still steady underneath her palms as he spoke.

"Do you fantasize about killing your parents?" he said.

"Sometimes," she admitted," when my nightmares have caught up to me."

"How would you do it?" he said.

All the scenarios she had thought of popped up in her head, but one had remained constant, his breath quickening as she leaned in.

"Poison," she said.

"Watching them squirm into organ failure?" Nathan replied, voice hoarse," I suppose that can be satisfying as well."

"Really, Helene?" her mother whispered in her ear, hands clawing around her throat," you'd kill your poor mother like that? Such an ungrateful brat you are."

"We always were too good to you," her father sighed.

When she closed her eyes, she could still feel her heart being ripped out, day and day again, in a house where she had been nothing but a corpse ever since the day she was born.

"I don't want it to be satisfying," she said," I want it to be agonizing, I want them to die screaming."

"I knew you had it in you," Nathan smiled proudly," I'll let them die screaming, Helene. I'll do anything to make you happy."

In her dreams, she swallowed the poison after killing her parents, but she didn't tell him that. Even though he didn't mind her killing him, he seemed to care when she talked about hurting herself. He was strange, so very strange. It was no wonder she was starting to fall in love with him. Perhaps she already had.

She glanced back at the doormat, but all she saw were rose petals, arranged so beautifully that they resembled a painting, one she had long forgotten.

"What do you want me to do?" he whispered," tell me, Helene, and I'll do it, at once. All you have to do is ask."

"I -" she began, all her thoughts beginning to tangle itself in her vocal cords.

Her words were starting to form, some semblance of a wish finally appearing to her, but just as quickly as it did, everything disappeared. It was probably the fact that she hadn't eaten for a day or the blood loss tainting the floor, or most probably, total exhaustion after everything she had put in her body, but when she looked up at him, her vision went black.

The last thing she heard before she fainted, was his voice.