PERHAPS SHE SHOULD LET herself starve. Her gaze was fixed on the wall in front of her as she rocked back and forth, biting her nails until they bled. It would be the simplest way to get out. That is, if he came to rescue her. She could never be sure of the whims of a serial killer after all. Why was she so paradoxical? On the one hand she wanted to bite straight through her tongue, on the other she couldn't bear the pain of hunger for too long. Her convictions were always wavering, even in the matters of her own life. Perhaps it was that uncertainty which had landed her here, the one which had never made her able to pick sides.

Why was it that she was blaming herself even in a situation where she was so clearly the victim? Or was she? Her mother had been right in a sense when she had told her that she only called misfortune upon herself. She was terrible even when experiencing terror. With a shake of her head she tried to get the thought out, focusing instead on the ceiling as she breathed out. Should she count the roses again? She had to do something, before she completely lost her mind.

They were beautiful though. In a strange way they had become the only thing giving her comfort in this prison of a room. Such a vivid red, she thought as she rested her forehead against the bars in front of her window, how beautiful. A red so intense it stood out even in the surrounding colors with how rich it was. Would it clash with her bruises as well if she wore these roses around her neck?

"This is your own fault, Helene," her mother whispered behind her," you can't blame the way you've been spiraling on me anymore. You're the one who has been running from her own problems for so long that they've all come back to haunt you now."

"Shut up," she whispered, the cool metal soothing against her forehead.

"What did you think would happen?" her mother laughed, sliding her cold hands around her neck," did you really think you'd be able to outrun me forever? You've never given me a place in your heart, have you? You've just continued keeping yourself so busy that you wouldn't even be able to think about me and yet you still can't help thinking of me and your father, right? After all, why else are you a psychiatrist? Who are you seeing when you heal person after person?"

"Shut up," she said, voice growing louder.

"Why have you never visited me, Helene?" her mother said, voice accusing," you've let me rot. Me, your own mother. Don't you feel guilty? You're the one who broke me. If you had tried harder, become the perfect daughter, I wouldn't have completely lost my mind like that. That's all you can do, isn't it? Break people."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she shouted, her hands flying to her ears as she fell to the floor," go away! You're not real!"

Her mother smiled as she let herself sink down on her knees beside her. When she cupped her face in between her icy hands, she was gentle almost.

"Then why are crying?" she said," what else could this be but an admission of guilt?"

She blinked, lifting her hands to her cheeks in a daze. Was she crying? What was she mourning: everything she had become or everything she didn't? There always had been a part of her that knew she'd break under her own expectations someday, but perhaps that moment had come sooner than she'd predicted. A sharp ache shot through her fingers and she looked down, only then realizing she had bitten through her whole nail.

Footsteps suddenly neared and she jumped up, running towards the door to slam her hands against it.

"Nathan!" she yelled," Nathan, is that you? Please, open up. Don't leave me here alone."

It was then she realized that they were coming from behind her, a hand tangling in her hair as she was pulled down. She lost her balance, falling to the floor hard enough to disorientate her. When she looked up at the person above her, she hated how much his eyes looked like hers.

"Leave me alone," she said," haven't you done enough? Why are you back?"

"Because you want me to be," her father smiled, in that cruel way he always had," why else would I be here?"

"I don't," she said, holding his gaze as he crouched down beside her," you've abandoned me once before, please do it again. I don't want you anywhere, not even in my mind."

"Then what do you want?" he grinned," you're always so polite, even to those with your blood on their knuckles. Be honest, you still want my approval, don't you?"

She was back behind her desk then, writing and writing until her head was among the clouds. If she was better, perhaps he'd look her way then. Perhaps he wouldn't hit her. He was simply disappointed, her mother told her, that's why you should try harder. Hadn't she tried hard enough?

"No," she said, voice softer than she wanted it to be.

"Tell me, Helene," he said," what do you wish for me? Perhaps you have the courage to say it this time."

"I'm afraid I don't have any courage at all," she whispered," that's one thing I got from you."

"What about my anger?" he asked, grabbing her wrist as he turned to look at her bleeding nails," or are you still hiding that?"

"I'm not angry," she said," I have made my peace -"

"No, you haven't," he interrupted her," or else I wouldn't be here. You're too scared to show any emotion at all, because you know it would break open the flood of fury you've been trying so hard to hold back."

"You've never wanted me to be happy," she said, the words hurting even though she had long been aware of that fact.

"Of course I didn't," he smiled," I still don't. It's less fun to hit a smiling girl. I've always liked it when they cry. That's why your mother was ever so lovely to me, before she turned absolutely insane."

"You did that to her," she said, but the words became jumbled in her head," or I - did I do that? She told me, didn't she? Was that a memory or my imagination?"

Her hands shot to her hair, pulling so hard that she could feel the locks coming loose. "I don't know. Why can't I remember? Why, why, why -"

"Because you're insane as well, Helene," her father laughed, so hard that she couldn't fathom him being anything but real," haven't you realized that already?"

She was growing less sure about whether he was a hallucination or truly here, because her eyes were betraying her as much as her mind was. Besides, couldn't she feel his hands in her hair? Had her nightmares finally caught up to her?

"Dead," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"What's that?" her father said.

She looked him in the eye, but all she saw reflected was herself fifteen years ago, face bruised and heart broken.

"Dead," she said," I want you dead."

"There it is," he said," my anger. I was wondering how long you'd be able to keep it hidden."

It clawed itself out of her heart then, all the fury she had been holding in, tearing apart all her arteries as it tried to make it's way towards her tongue. Despite knowing her resent would only destroy herself she let it roam free, hand reaching out to grab her father, to slap him, to hurt him, but only grabbing air. He was gone when she blinked. She jumped up, fists slamming back against the door again.

Three weeks. She had been here three weeks now without any human contact. Her grip on reality was becoming looser, but no matter which words she spoke, he didn't come.

"Nathan, please," she said," I'll do anything you want, I'll be whichever person you want me to be. If you leave me here for too long, all I'll be is dead."

Perhaps that's exactly what he wanted. Why else would he leave her in here for this long? There wasn't anything in the room which was sharp enough to slit her own throat, but he probably wanted her to be creative. He had told her he liked red, after all.

She could hear footsteps behind her again, but before she could discover who it was, she walked back over to the window. No matter how sick she had gotten of the sight of the roses, counting them was the only thing which kept her sane. Her hands reached out to the metal bars, but she fell forward on a podium, looking up at the audience in front of her. The man interviewing her helped her up, a smile on his face as he looked back at the crowd.

"Who knew our national prodigy would be so clumsy?" he chuckled," I didn't think you had any flaws."

"Yes," her mother said, nails digging in Helene's shoulders," she is. It's adorable, really."

"Okay, one last thing before you leave," the man said," what's your dream for the future, Helene? What do you want to be?"

The answer her mother had told her slipped off her tongue easily, her smile as artificial as the world she lived in.

"To be as kind-hearted as my mother," she said," and as fierce as my father."

Her hands closed around the metal bars then, the taste of blood sharp on her tongue.

How ironic, she thought vaguely. After all, she had become as weak as her mother and as angry as her father. The apple never had fallen far from the tree. Both the roots and the fruit had been doomed to be rotten.

Suddenly her vision started going black, hands letting go of the bars as she fell. It was as the blood was pouring out of her mouth that she realized she had bitten straight through her tongue. Despite knowing that she was bleeding to death though, all she could do was smile.

Finally, she had made a decision. It didn't matter if the outcome was death.

She was at peace.