All that is dark | ✓

3| solitude

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.