ZION WAS LYING FLAT on his back on the floor when they passed him, staring at her like she was a witch instead of human. Helene tried to apologize to the server before they left, halfway through asking how she could compensate them for the teacup when Dante just pulled her out of the cafe before she could finish her sentence. He didn't let her stop once on their short walk to the nearest ER, Helene not bothering to protest after a while. She had wanted to bandage his hand, but he wouldn't let her, so there was not much for her to do.

They only had to take four steps into the ER for her to be recognized, the doctor smiling at once. Oliver, she remembered his name was. He'd co-authored one of her papers, but at this point, with all the research she had completed over the years and the articles she had published, she had worked together with any well-known doctor in the city. His gaze snapped towards her hands then, only just realizing as his eyes widened. They were in a hospital room within moments, a nurse following along as she hurriedly placed all her material to bandage the wound down in a sterile field.

"Treat her first," Dante said.

"No need," Helene said, waving her hand," I only have light cuts, not deep enough to have hit any prominent arteries or nerves. You held onto the glass much tighter than I did."

"I'll survive," Dante began.

"You could've severed a tendon," she interrupted him," they're quite superficial on the hand, not to mention the veins you cut."

Dante refused to give his hand to the nurse, most of the bleeding having stopped already during their walk towards the hospital, but still enough for Helene to be worried. Why was this man so stubborn?

"Fine," she said," I'll let my wound be treated, but only if you treat yours. Now give her your hand."

Reluctantly Dante agreed, though he kept his gaze on her to check if she was keeping her word as well. While Oliver asked her questions about how it had happened she let him sterilize her wounds, before taking the bandage from him so she could put it on herself.

"He's going to need stitches," she said to Oliver," you should check through which layers of the skin he cut."

"I will," he reassured her, the nurse briefly taking the pressure off Dante's wound to show Oliver the scar. "How did one teacup accidentally breaking hurt you both like this though?"

A faint frown pulled at Dante's eyebrows, the man clearly unpleased with her lie. Still, what should she have said? That she broke it on her own and tried to stab herself with it? She wasn't about to get admitted to the psychiatric ward today, not when she was supposed to be on the other side of the table again tomorrow.

"I'm afraid we're both a bit clumsy," she smiled.

"She's right," Oliver said," we are going to have to stitch this up. Hopefully it won't scar when it's healing."

"I don't mind if it does," Dante shrugged.

And he was the one calling her crazy? She supposed though that it didn't matter to her either if it scarred. It probably would, even if it wasn't deep enough to have severed much. Her skin always had been prone to marks, that she had discovered early.

Dante was taken along to be stitched up, Helene answering the last questions as they checked her vital parameters and other injuries. Afterwards she waited for Dante, who emerged with his usual frown and a set of instructions about how to keep his wound clean, none of which he would listen to. She had expected him to give her a sermon as soon as they were out of the hospital, but it was only when they had walked back towards the cafe that he spoke.

"You're strange," Dante said," one moment you're the least confrontational person I know and the next you snap completely."

Helene's eyes had wandered over the trail of blood splatters beneath their feet from Dante's wound, dark on the stones.

"I suppose," she said.

His face softened somewhat as he turned towards her. "I'm not scolding you. From what I heard he sounded like a douchebag, I just don't understand why you had to hurt yourself to get him to leave? Wouldn't a punch have sufficed? Why was your only option cutting yourself with glass?"

To be honest, she hadn't really thought about how fast she had escalated. At that moment, when he refused to leave her alone, only two things had been clear in her mind, the teacup in front of her and the smug smile on his face as he tried to read her. She didn't care how, she simply wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Still, the only thing she had felt after was bad, because by trying to prove him wrong all she had done was prove him right.

She was too obsessed with the way the world perceived her and it would be the end of her one day.

"It made my message clear, didn't it?" she said.

He frowned, shaking his head.

"Remind me to never mess with you again."

"You're my bodyguard," she said," I wouldn't hurt you."

"Are you joking with me?" he said, a flash of surprise in his eyes," I didn't think you were capable of it, doctor Amsel."

"I didn't think we'd be standing here like this either," Helene chuckled, raising her bandaged hands.

Dante's expression changed as he stared at her wounds, shaking his head.

"Who was he?" he said," I mean, I know you don't have to tell me, but that didn't sound like you were dating."

"We aren't," Helene said," we used to though."

"Is he bothering you?" Dante frowned," if he is, tell me. It almost felt like he was obsessed with you."

"You shouldn't worry about it, Dante," she said, walking in the cafe.

"Why not?" he said," am I not your bodyguard?"

"You are," she said," but only in the prison. Outside of those walls, there's nothing you can do for me."

He didn't speak and she knew she was right. What use would speaking of her problems to him be, when it would only make him see her as weak and crazy? Besides, it seemed like Dante had enough problems on his own, so she didn't need to add to them. Without waiting for his reply she glanced at the booth, which was clean now, and went to the server to pay her for the trouble. The girl seemed more worried for her than anything else, which was such a foreign kindness to her that she almost felt an ache in her heart.

Afterwards they walked towards her car, Helene ready to drive Dante to his home. He didn't need to go back to the prison today, not with his emotions still being all over the place. Her own weren't much better either, so she couldn't judge him for it. When they were in the car he kept staring out of the window without seeing anything, grief clouding the air between them as he sunk away in his thoughts.

She reached his house within twenty minutes, the mansion large in front of her. None of the riches she had acquired would ever enough to make her feel at home among wealth, that was something she had realized quite some time ago. Even now, in an expensive car and clothes, all she felt like was an imposter.

"Thank you for driving me," Dante said as he moved to step out.

She glanced at his hand, shaking her head. "After all I've put you through today, there's no need to apologize for anything."

Right as she turned her gaze back to her steering wheel, Dante closed the door again, surprising her. What was he doing? She had expected him to just nod and walk away from the conversation when it had turned sour, like the both of them had kept doing until now. Instead he took the keys out of her car, turning it off.

"Why is everything always so awkward between us?" he asked, almost exasperated.

"I don't really know what you want me to say," she replied softly," I think it's my fault, I apologize -"

"Stop apologizing," he interrupted her," this is my fault as well. Anyway, I'm done with it."

"That's totally understandable, Dante," she said," I could have you assigned to someone else, let me know who you prefer."

He grabbed her by the back of the neck then, forcing her to look at him, the frustration in his eyes so loud she could almost hear it.

"That's not what I mean, Helene," he said," I'm fine guarding you, stop making conclusions before I've even finished my sentence."

For once, she was lost for words, parting her lips after a moment to speak. "Finish your sentence then."

"I want us to be friends," he said," I didn't think I would get attached to anything in that goddamn prison my mother sent me to as my punishment, but you're — It doesn't matter. We're going to be spending time together anyway, so we might as well be. Friends, that is."

"This is an intense way to ask for us to be friends," she said.

"It's the only way you'll listen," he said," you're clever, Helene, no one can deny that, but sometimes I feel like you're already finishing conversations in your own head before you allow others to do so, like everything can only go the way you predict it to be."

"It often does," she said softly.

"I believe you," he said," but listen to me, please. Now that we're friends, I want you to know I can help, Helene, if you ever want me to. You don't need to carry all the burdens you're given on your own."

"Do I remind you of your sister that much?" she said, words quiet but loud at the same time.

She hadn't meant to say the words, but his offer of help made her feel so vulnerable that she couldn't help it. He didn't lash out, like she had expected him to, instead shaking his head, a sadness in his eyes which seemed like it was going to haunt him forever.

"I don't," he said," I thought I was the person closest to Eloise in this whole world, you know, and still, she never told me of her problems, not once, not until she was lying seven feet deep. I don't want you to think that I'm asking you to be friends because you remind me of my sister, because you don't. Eloise was loud and impulsive, you are the complete opposite of her."

"Then what is it?" Helene asked," why do you care about me, Dante?"

He let her go, hands clenching into fists so tightly she could see the blood seeping through his bandage.

"I'm a bad person," he whispered," that is something I realized when I wasn't even able to help my own sister. All my life I was the golden boy and it had made me so arrogant that I didn't even notice the world anymore. I promised myself, that day at her grave, that I wouldn't let anything happen to the people around me anymore."

"What do you think is going to happen to me, Dante?" she said.

Gently his fingers grazed past her palms, as if he could touch her wounds through her bandages.

"I don't know," he said," but I don't want to find out."