HER BLOOD TURNED COLD when Nathan handed her the scalpel. It was familiar in her hands, but when she locked eyes with Zion, it fell, clattering on the cold floor. He always had been beautiful, in the same way his art was, like seeing him once was enough to etch his face in your memory forever. Even now, the bruises coloring his face resembled paint splatters, the emotions in his eyes seeming to be shadowed in with charcoal. She slapped herself in the face then, the sting on her cheek enough for her to remember that this all was real. Why was she trying to protect herself by acting like he was simply a painting instead of a living human being in front of her? When she raised her hand to slap herself again, Nathan held her back, his hand firm on her wrist.

"Don't do that," he said, voice serious behind his usual playful tone," you'll hurt yourself."

"I don't want to do this, Nathan," she begged, eyes pleading as she looked towards him," please don't make me do this."

"I'm not making you do anything, my love," he said warmly, placing the scalpel back in her hands," but don't let this fall a second time. It's unsterile now."

The last time she had cut into flesh had been years ago, during her internships, when the bodies had grown cold and their breath had become air. Autopsies were something she had grown familiar with, but she couldn't do it like this, not when his arteries would still be pulsating around her fingers, not when he was watching her every move. This would be torture. How could she call herself a doctor after that?

"I don't know what's happening," Zion sobbed," why are you doing this? All I've ever done is love you, Helene -"

Nathan slammed his head against the table, cleaning his hands afterwards with disinfectant as he looked at Zion in distaste.

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak," he said, the scent of rubbing alcohol sharp in the room," especially not to take her name in your mouth."

"Who are you?" Zion said, tears streaming down his face. In the fluorescent light, they glittered like jewels. "Please don't."

"It doesn't matter who I am," Nathan smiled," it only matters what I can do." He took another scalpel from the table, placing it on Zion's cheek. "What do you think is going to happen? Perhaps if you'll guess right, I'll let you go. Or -" A drop of blood welled up underneath the scalpel, clear like watercolor. With a smile he let Zion go, dropping the scalpel back on the table. "Perhaps not. It all depends on Helene here. She's the only one I listen to, you know."

"She won't do this," Zion said, shaking his head fervently," right, Helene? You wouldn't do something as sick as this."

"I -" she began, but the words seemed to fail her.

"Before a decision is made," Nathan said," I think it would only be fair if Helene heard everything, don't you think? So I'll give us both five minutes to speak to plead our cases. It'll be fun, I promise."

"To plead for what case?" Zion asked, already terrified before he heard the answer.

"Your life," Nathan smiled.

Of course he'd make a game out of this, even though the end result would be inevitable either way. Still, like always, he was acting like the power was in her hands, like she was the one who was going to decide everything in the end. Perhaps it could be, if she played this right. Perhaps it never would be.

"I'll start," Nathan said excitedly, clapping in his hands," he deserves to die, Helene." He caressed her cheek so gently that it almost seemed like he wasn't talking about murder. "Let's be honest, you've been thinking that yourself too, haven't you? Every moment he came to bother you, time and time again, putting you on a pedestal you don't want to be on as he acts like you're a beautiful object, instead of a human. You must've hated him."

"Is dislike enough of a reason to kill?" Helene said.

"I don't know," he said warmly," you tell me at the end of this."

He chuckled, turning back towards Zion. "This isn't the first time you've done this, Nasir. What was the name of the last one again? She was pretty, wasn't she? Before you killed her, that is."

Zion had paled considerably, his voice loud when he spoke up.

"I didn't kill her!" he exclaimed," she did that herself."

"You can't deny that you pushed her to that point," Nathan said, slowly circling around him like a predator his prey," I mean, without you, she would have lived. How many exhibitions did it take before she took the knife to her throat? Not enough, probably. You still could've made so much money from her."

"It was never about money," Zion protested.

"Fame," Nathan smiled," that was what it was about. Or infamy? I guess it doesn't matter to you. All the great artists carry a reputation which brings them shame and grandeur. You had everything you needed ever since birth: talent, money, power. Of course it was boring to you. Anything that could excite you was fine, especially if it could bring you ahead in the art world. Is that when you started developing these obsessions?"

"How do you know so much about me?" Zion stammered," who has been telling you these things?" Only then did he realize she still was listening, his gaze snapping towards her. "They are lies, Helene, they are. You're the only one I've cared about."

"His latest project," Nathan mused," that's what you were. If you leave him be, how many other girls will he traumatize? If he's capable of breaking into your home when you've only been weeks apart, imagine what he has done already to other girls who were trying to escape him."

"Still," Helene said, voice growing quieter," this isn't something to murder him about. He deserves to go to jail, not for me to cut his heart out of his body."

"You already know that won't happen," Nathan said," he's rich enough for none of it to matter to the police, so all of these crimes, the stalking, the pictures, he'll pay for none of them. The rich have always been like this, Helene. You and I grew up in a different world from him. Isn't it sickening how easily people like this get away with things?"

Even though she knew she shouldn't be swayed, it was difficult not to grasp the scalpel tighter at Nathan's words. She always had known Zion was scum, but the extent to which was becoming more and more clear to her. Still, who was she to decide at what point he had become unforgivable? At the same time she couldn't help but think that any other life which would be taken through his obsessions would be on her. What was she supposed to do? Was there a solution for her to help everyone?

"You're a good person, Helene," Nathan said," it's no wonder you're still thinking about how to save everyone, even those who aren't worth saving. I wanted to say more, but my five minutes are up unfortunately." He glanced at Zion, tugging him up by his hair. "Your time to defend yourself starts now. Be careful, any wrong words and I'll cut your tongue out myself."

"I didn't know!" Zion shouted," I didn't know you had a boyfriend like this, Helene. You should've told me, I would've backed off."

"Why do I need a boyfriend for you to back off?" Helene asked," were my own wishes not enough?"

"You're digging your own grave," Nathan said," I don't mind, but are you sure about using your time like this?"

She wasn't surprised at Zion's stupidity. He always had had everything handed to him easily, so of course he didn't know how to get himself out of difficult situations. All he knew was how to take another's pain and make it beautiful. In a way that was a talent too, she supposed, especially with how unblemished his heart was of ache. The only way for his art to have any meaning at all was to take the stories of others. Had he ever been more than a ghost hiding in mirrors?

"Helene," Zion said, despair coloring his voice," you have to think this through. If you do this, who will you be?"

"I have yet to hear an argument about why you're worth saving," Nathan said," tick tock, your time's almost up."

"I didn't mean for them to kill themselves!" Zion said, voice growing louder with his stress," I don't know why they did so anyway. I made them beautiful, I made them famous. Without me they only would've been empty shells of humans, girls who are only pleasing to look at with no courage. Why are you acting like that's a terrible thing to do? Taking pain and making a story about that is something that's been done for ages. All I'm doing is using my talent like I should."

"Tell me this, Zion," she said," why did you approach me, that night at the cafe?"

He swallowed, eyes still reminding her of empty museums, even with his life laid bare before her.

"Because you're my muse," he said," because you looked hauntingly lonely."

Because people would praise him when he painted her emotions all over the walls.

She didn't know what she had wanted to hear or if there even would have been a right reaction at all. Nathan gently stood behind her, hand closing around hers as he guided her towards Zion's heart.

"Above the fourth rib?" he asked, though they both knew he already was aware of the answer.

"Between the fourth and the fifth," she said, her scalpel resting at his skin.

"You're doing the whole world a favor," Nathan whispered in her ear," he's unredeemable. If it makes you more at ease, just pretend this is a dream. We'll do the autopsy together, Helene. He's a dead man already."

She thought about the feeling she had had when she had entered his exhibition about her for the first time, the absolute feeling of dread, of wanting to escape and never be found again. He looked at her pleadingly, lips parting to form one word.

"Please," he said.

She cut into his heart.