HER HEAD WAS IN the clouds when she opened her eyes. He had carried her to bed, she noticed, her hands resting on his chest as it slowly moved up and down. When she moved her feet, she could feel the ache of the glass cuts shooting through her, but she didn't pay it any mind. Right before she could step out of the bed though, he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her back as he spoke, voice thick with sleep.

"Don't go."

"I'm not going to go anywhere," she promised him, the words leaving her lips easily.

He pushed himself up in the bed, hair messy in his eyes as he glanced at her.

"Are you speaking the truth or just saying what you think I want to hear?" he said, though his voice was still amused.

There was no confusion in her mind this time when she spoke, because nothing mattered except him. She had realized that a while ago, at the same time that she had admitted to the Stockholm syndrome which had dug it's fangs in her heart. Besides, if this was all a game she might as well start playing. He was right, after all. Even if this ended with her hands wrapped around his throat it would be fine. She had nothing to lose anyway.

"I love you," she said.

He stared at her surprisedly for a moment, before a wide smile graced his face. Ever so gently he cupped her face in his hands, watching her adoringly.

"We both know that isn't an answer to my question," he said.

"We both know you won't believe me, my love," she smiled back," no matter what I say."

"My love," he repeated, the syllables rolling off his tongue warmly," I like that."

He didn't linger on her lack of an answer, instead jumping out of bed. "It's time to get back out, you and I."

The venom seeping in her heart valves dissolved into monarch butterflies, but she kept her smile.

"For another date?" she said," what's the occasion?"

"Unfortunately not a date, this time," he said," it's time for me to work."

"You're taking me with you?" she blinked.

"Of course," he said, looking almost puzzled at the fact that she had thought he wouldn't," I couldn't leave you alone here." He leaned forward to take her hand in his, raising it to his lips as he kept eye contact. "Besides, there's no one else I know who is as clever as you, my lovely Helene. You're going to do well."

"Am I?" she said," what if I've gotten rusty?"

"How can you when you analyze my every move all the time?" he said," we keep each other sharp, Helene. I keep waiting for you to run and you keep waiting for me to kill."

"I haven't ran yet," she said.

"And I haven't killed yet," he smiled.

In her dreams she kept walking through empty museums, filled with warped paintings of bleeding crimson and hospital white. She always woke up in cold sweat, but still, she couldn't help but be glad that she was sleeping at all. Her insomnia seemed to haunt her less these days, instead having been replaced by men whose faces she had forgotten. No matter what, she would remember them again. She had to.

"I'm looking forward to coming along," she said.

"I have filled your closet with clothes to your liking," he said," you can pick what you want to wear, my pretty psychiatrist. If you're dissatisfied I'll buy new things for you, so let me know. I want you to be happy."

"Do you know what it feels like to be happy?" she asked, more curious than accusing.

"Of course I do," he smiled," it's what it feels like to be with you."

He walked away then, off to change himself, Helene watching him until he was out of sight before she finally allowed herself to move. Her closet, he had said, so that meant in her room. Could she even call it a room? Had it ever been anything else than a prison? At the same time she couldn't help but be thankful to him. She had to have faced her own thoughts sooner or later anyway, right? Wasn't it only good then that he had given her a push to do so? After all, how long had she tried to avoid the inevitable?

"Do you think you automatically assume blame because you're so used to others accusing you of being in the wrong?" her mother asked, upside down from the ceiling.

"Isn't it only natural for me to do so?" she replied," for years everyone's pointed their finger at me whenever something happened. I'm not allowed any flaws nor any patience. You taught me that yourself."

"That's because I'm so terribly, terribly angry," her mother sighed," it's a cruel thing, this anger. It consumes me from the inside, just like you once sucked all the energy out of me, when I was pregnant. Of course I'll blame you for everything that has happened to me."

"Right," Helene said softly," that's why it's easier this way."

"Easier to blame yourself before others can?" her mother mused.

"Easier to turn myself into a monster before others can," she replied.

She took a step in the room, the air disappearing out of her lungs when she saw the bars in front of the window. What if she walked towards the closet and he locked her up again? What if this time he would never let her leave? She felt hot and cold at the same time, felt feverish, felt sick to her stomach — and then, she felt nothing at all.

"See," her mother laughed, clapping her hands together," that's how easy it is to turn your emotions off. He has taught you well."

She didn't reply to the ghost in her room, instead opening the closet. It was full with an assortiment of beautiful dresses, all a different shade of red. One of them caught her eye, a strapless piece with sleeves made of roses, the body black beneath red lace. Her hands absentmindedly grazed the fabric beneath the sleeves, only to find that there was none. They were real roses, she noticed, a drop of blood welling up on her finger from the thorns around it.

"You're going to bleed while wearing this one," her mother said.

"As is anyone who's going to touch me," she said, pulling it off the rack," if he truly loves me, shouldn't he bleed as well?"

"That's what I thought as well with your father," her mother sighed," but in the end, sick men don't want sick women. They simply want to be proclaimed god and be adored. Are you able to do that?"

"Nathan isn't my father," she spat.

"No," her mother smiled," your father has never killed someone."

"Who are you talking to?"

Her mother was laughing when Nathan walked in the room, his gaze flicking to the dress in her hands. As soon as he saw it, his eyes lit up, clearly happy with her choice. He didn't seem alarmed that she had been talking to herself, but she supposed he had seen her do worse things these days. Still, she liked that part of him the most, the one where he showed no judgement, no matter what she did. He'd always accept her and in a way, she'd always accept him.

"My mother," she said," she can't seem to leave."

"Where is she now?" he asked.

Helene looked at the woman leaning against the closet door, her wispy blond hair and her bloodshot eyes, Nathan following her gaze. He swiftly took a knife out of his pocket, slamming it in her mother's heart, before letting it go. It was dug so deep in the wood that it didn't fall, but when Helene looked at it, her mother was gone.

"Ah, if only you were really here," Helene mused, reaching out towards the hilt to push it in deeper," then it finally would've been quiet in my head forever."

"I can do so, Helene," Nathan said, closing his hand around hers," if you want me to."

"It's fine," she said," really. Let's go to your work first, I'll change."

He nodded and she put on the dress, the thorns pricking in her arms as she pulled it up. On her way down, he offered her his arm and she took it, hearing the fabric of his blouse tearing underneath her touch. Still, he didn't seem to mind. Instead he looked enthusiastic, holding her closer as they headed to the car.

"Let's go, my lovely Helene," he said, opening the car door for her," I have something fun prepared for you."

"Hopefully for you as well," she said as she took a seat," I wouldn't want to be the only one to have a good time."

"Don't you worry about that," he winked.

He drove way too fast, the wind pulling her hair back and blowing the thoughts out of her head. Her gaze followed the streets, the houses, memorized the directions, even if she didn't know whether she would use them yet. Knowledge always was useful. If he didn't mind showing her all this though, she couldn't help but think he'd set up another game to ensure she could never leave. That wasn't something she had to think about now though, not when she only felt alive with him.

They stopped in front of a large building which was fifteen floors high at least, the windows tinted and the walls black. The neighbourhood lacked any color, except the occasional graffiti, the street lanterns broken and the people skittish, as if they were ready to be shot at any moment. With the way everything looked here, they probably were.

"Here we are," he said, handing the keys to his car to the man in front of the door.

"What's this?" she said as she followed him inside," your office?"

"No," he chuckled," I don't have an office for murder. This is just a place where I deal out punishments."

"Who are we going to punish?" she asked.

"You'll see soon enough," he smiled.

It was quiet in the building as they took the elevator up, no furniture inside and shadows dancing everywhere. Only when they reached the fifteenth floor did she catch sight of other people, all of them watching Nathan's every move as he walked in, clearly scared. He didn't pay them any mind, instead heading in a straight line to the chairs in the middle of the room, where three man were strapped to, each to their own chair. They were shaking, unable to hide their fear as Nathan took his gun from his belt, offering it to Helene.

"Someone ratted me out," he said," apparently it's easy to turn one of mine in a dog of the police when the moment presents itself. The information I gave the three of them was useless, of course, but it was information still. Now, they have to give their life for it."

"One of them?" she asked.

"Yes," he smirked," one of them. Now it's up to you to find out which one."