EVEN WITH HIS HANDS wrapped around her throat she loved him. Or at least, the idea of him loving her. Perhaps Zion had been right. She was art, in the way that tragedies were, a painting with a contorted smile and screaming eyes bleeding colors to the point that looking at her was enough to taste iron already. There was nothing beautiful about her, about the twisted person she was beneath the personality she had so carefully crafted. Sometimes she wondered if she should just run away and leave everything behind again, but no matter how fast she went, her legs always gave way right as her nightmares caught up to her.

It was no wonder that Zion was here, even when she had moved, even when her information was classified. Her memories were rippling across her mind like waves, Helene breathing as she let it come over her. There was no need to panic, there never had been, really. After all, this wasn't her first time handling her emotions nor people who thought they owned her. In the end, that was what this was about, wasn't it? Putting her like a trophy on his walls again for everyone to see, so he could feel creative again as he dissected her to the point of rigor mortis.

"Why are you here?" she said.

"I asked you a question," he said, annoyance flashing over his beautiful face for only a second," tell me, have you missed me?"

"It's pleasing to see you've missed me," she said, leaning back against the couch, Zion's hands loosely on her throat," enough to come find me."

"What makes you think I ever lost you?" he smiled," come on now, don't tell me you think I'm that stupid? You are the sun to my Icarus, my muse."

"You do know how that story ends, don't you?" she said, looking up at him.

"Don't you worry," he murmured, his hand running through her hair as he lifted the locks to his lips," my wings of wax aren't going to melt, not when I have you. I'm glad to see you again, finally." He let her hair slip through his fingers again, a smile curling up on his lips. "Your beauty soothes my eyes."

"Zion," she said softly," again, why are you here? You know why I left."

He suddenly let her go, his fingerprints still burning on her skin as he walked around the couch. She watched him silently, cursing herself for how her gaze still followed the slope of his neck, the curve of his muscles, the veins on his hands. Without any words he let himself fall on his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his and pressing them against his heart, almost as if in prayer. The rhythmic thudding of his heart was synchrone with hers, the vibrations of the valves closing somehow feeling so intimate.

"I don't," he said," please tell me, Helene, why did you leave? I closed my whole gallery when I heard you had left within seconds, I scoured the whole city. If not for the GPS on your phone I would never have guessed you'd actually move away, to be a psychiatrist in a prison, nonetheless. I was worried sick, you know, I still am."

"You put me on display," she said, the words rushing out as she shook her head fervently," I never told you I wanted to be part of your art, Zion. You know I don't like pictures of myself, never mind to see them plastered all over the walls."

"That's because you have yet to see yourself the way I do," Zion protested," that was my whole intention with my exhibition, to show you how intrinsically lovely you are, how every single piece of you is art."

The words sounded nice, but somehow she still couldn't forgive him. One of the first things she had told him when they had gotten together was how she hated the pressure on her to be who everyone else expected her to be, the way everyone perceived her. Yet he had done exactly that, put her on a pedestal with a crown of thorns and pushed his own perspective on her. In the end she had been right, it was best to remain alone. Love didn't seem to be made for hearts like hers.

"Why should I have to see myself the way you do?" she said," why don't you try seeing me the way I do, Zion?"

"That's -" he began, slightly uncomfortable," I mean -"

"Because it isn't beautiful?" she finished his sentence," because no one would want to see something like my perspective, where everything is blurred and hazy with self-deprecation? I don't want to be beautiful, Zion, I don't want to be anything at all."

"That's why you're so lovely, Helene," Zion said, cupping her face in his hands," I can make you be everything I want."

"That's true," she smiled, leaning in to his touch," perhaps I shall be your doll again, it was easier that way."

Zion's face lit up to the point that she almost was ready to fully agree to it. Perhaps she should, she had been happy with him after all, even if it had been a makeshift dream. Why was she bothering to argue this much with him, when no one had ever listened to her anyway? He was right, his perspective of her was more charming to look at. After all, it was for a reason she had chosen that personality to climb up in the world, smiling and pleasing everyone at whatever cost. She had wanted to be loved for so long, perhaps she had overreacted. Perhaps it was fine to simply live like this.

Do you know when you've wanted something for so long, desired it so terribly much, only to feel empty afterwards?

She blinked, Nathan's words echoing in her mind so loudly that she got jerked out of the dream she had allowed herself to sink in. Her whole walk home from the exhibition she had felt empty, but even long before that she had carried nothing in her heart. Why was she even looking at the words of a serial killer for advice? Oh God, she still owed him a secret.

Absentmindedly she got to her feet, walking to her kitchen and filling a cup with the ice coffee in her fridge. Zion watched her curiously, as if he was waiting for her to run back into his hands any moment now. She stopped by the couch, placing the glass on the table and glancing at him. If this had taught her anything, it was that she shouldn't desire anything, even more than she already did. Love was not made for her.

Without any hesitation she let her phone fall in the coffee, watching the screen light up amidst the cinnamon brown. Zion stared at it in disbelief, glancing back at her. He didn't move to take her phone out, because it would dirty his hands. All he wanted too was to be beautiful, so she couldn't blame him. His parents had been famous models, his house was filled with roses and his heart with doves, they never had matched to begin with.

But oh, she had really wanted them to.

"Can you leave, Zion?" she said," I'm tired for today."

"Your phone -" he began, before deciding against questioning her. He must have realized the answer wouldn't be one he wanted to hear. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"You can," she said," but I won't be home."

He immediately grasped her wrist, grip tight as he frowned at her. "Why not? Don't tell me you have someone else in your life already, Helene?"

"It doesn't matter if I do," she said," you're never really looking at me anyway."

"I am, Helene," he said, softening his grip," I am."

"Zion," she repeated," I'm tired, if you're not planning on leaving the house, I will."

His brief flare of anger disappeared at once, a smile on his face as he let her go. "No, of course not, Helene. It would be discourteous of me to let a lady walk alone on the streets this late at night. I'll leave, so stay inside."

He hummed as he walked towards the door, pausing by the door for a moment. When he looked over his shoulder, his smile felt more dangerous than anything else.

"Remember, you are mine, Helene," he said," so I'm glad there's no one else. I wouldn't know what I'd do if someone put their fingers on my art."

"I can get you arrested for threatening me, Zion," she said.

"Calm down, Helene," he said, pretending to be shocked," that wasn't a threat. Besides, you know my parents would bail me out for anything. They too know anything is fair in love and war."

"We are in neither," she said.

"You're wrong," he said, gaze flicking towards the glass with her now broken phone," it seems we're in both."

With that he left, the door clicking shut behind him. Helene didn't bother to put the lock on it, knowing that if he truly wanted to, he'd be able to enter anyway. This mansion had too many windows and her head too many thoughts. Tonight she wasn't going to be able to sleep either, that was something she already knew even before she let her weary body rest on her bed.

When she closed her eyes, she sunk deeper and deeper into her memories, even into the ones she had tried to forget. She was about seven years old, hiding beneath her bed as loud steps slowly neared. Thud, thud, thud, like a heartbeat she didn't want to recognize. And then, a hand, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her out so roughly the silver locks fell to the floor like blood.

"There you are," that man grinned, taking his cigaret out of his mouth and holding it up in the air for a brief moment," were you really thinking of sleeping peacefully, Helene?"

She didn't answer, because he wouldn't listen, and then, as she closed her eyes, she could feel the scar on her arm burning again as he put his cigaret out on her skin.

"Now, my little doll," he said, dragging her along over the floor," I think it's time to play."