When Helena screams the world seems to shatter. The single pitch of undulating vocal chords pinch the central nerves at the base of the brain stem, causing a sudden rush of clustered pain throughout tense lymph nodes. Your body would throb within the disperse rhythm of her winding cry, lulling you into a dazed agony where you exist in numbed regrets. The consistent pound of her deafening tone rocks your weakening form, reverberating in your skull, thrashing like Pallas to escape. When Helena screams I want to die.
If I cut off your arms and cut off you legs would you still love me anyway?
If you’re bound and gagged, draped and displayed would you still love me anyway?
Why don’t you love me anyway?
Why don’t you love me anyway?
I stand in the skeleton of her room. Ornaments removed, it resembles a scene of homicide. Stripped bare of integrity and individuality the few particles of furniture she does have is transfixed to the floor. Only a mirror established to the wall decorates her otherwise naked interior. No loose objects with the ability to shatter or break into sharp splinters are to be found. Anything that could be regarded as a weapon has been removed for her safety.
She sits alone. Raising an inoffensive child’s brush to her glorious hair. With vague long strokes she brushes the spiralling mass of dark hair. Institutionalised. My beloved Helena, locked from the world’s snarling prejudices.
“Do you love me?” She questions, her voice neutral and speculative.
“Helena?” I question, raising my pained eyes to reach her reflection in the vanity mirror.
“Do you love me?” She repeats, her throat arching with the stabbing question, as if to revel in the obvious reaction that it brings from me. My heart bleeds, as if nettles were forced against the open organ, causing me to wince from her vindictive stare.
“You’re my world.” I reply truthfully, my brows furled together with unnerved anticipation at her cold glare. She smiles, again, sadistic and staged, trailing the backside of the brush against the slope of her neckline as she considers my statement.
The bed is cold yet she sleeps by my side. Her breathing disturbs air, disrupting the stale atmosphere into a circulating cycle. The outer contours of my body gravitate towards her own, the bed dipping with my weight at the apex of our tangled forms. I can feel no assured heat from her sprawled body, only the clammy blasts of recycled air against the crest of my neck.
My beloved. Her breathing stirs stale air. I watch with a distant awe at her perfection. The pillow never moulds after the intricate slope of her cheek. Her lashes cling to one another desperately, thin immaculate eyelids blanket her still eyes. In her sleep she resembles Snow White, locked within her crystal sarcophagus, virgin to the world. In her sleep I watch her. My Helena. My love.
Nothing mirrors in the dark obsidian of her pupils. Like a fantastic black hole any source of provocation to her vision seems to become absorbed in the hollow darkness of her eyes. Crimson threads of veins gently pulsate within her glaring corneas, but brings no comfort from the inhuman expanse of the unreflective pools. I stand before her, our stagnant bodies parallel, as twilight sneers it’s last rays across the mirror. Your eyes. Your eyes, Helena. I can’t see myself in your eyes, I say.
Pressure is so severe that blackness becomes illuminated with a spark of silver showers. Pain flares because of her finger-tips, the force of the weight applied to my eye sockets could inevitable leave me blind.
“Eat me.” She hisses between gyrations of her hips. I can envision her frail withered body rising beneath my stricken form, grinding her naked talc scented flesh against my own in lewd suggestion
The aroma of her secreting sex causes an excess of saliva to be produced, coating her stimulated labia with the viscous fluid. I purge her internal passageway with the hilt of my tongue, collecting the lubrication she produces. Skimming across her blood-gorged clitoris brings a renewal of panted exhalations. The throbbing appendage is viciously ground into my teeth as she relieves the pressure from my eyelids. A streak of heavenly white appears as I open my eyes. My vision is reduced to such great ratios that her body before me resembles a Georgia O’Keefe lithograph. The swell of her vagina blistering red, the inner core of concord purple becoming a exotic orchid amongst bleeding poppies.
“Make me cum.” She groans, bed sheets strangle our bodies together, causing my breath to shorten as I am forced back against her moist throbbing orifice. The urge is given as the slick heat of her inner thighs compress my ears, capturing me in the space of her damp pubic region. Nearly choking from the lack of breath I consent to performing as verbal goads become lost to my deafened ears.
My nose nestles amongst the brittle hairs of her pubic hair as my tongue slathers over the savoury protrusion of her clit. I can feel her erratic heart beat from within her black caverns, where my tongue becomes numb from strenuous activity.
I climax as the flesh of her satin inner thighs grind against my ears, I climax as my tongue laps at her mounting juices. I climax within her death-like grasp, succeeding her own non-existent orgasm.
“Helena!” I scream. An immediate response rushes through my body, the rousing adrenaline causing my muscles to tighten as respiration begins to rapidly accelerate. Paralysed between fear and revulsion my watering eyes follow the separating lines the shard of glass causes. Composed she continues to elongate the fatal penetration, gorging her inner arm open from wrist to inner elbow in one efficient unfaulty line.
The remains of the mirror arch beneath the soles of my shoes, crackling in final death as shards are transformed into granules and power. Blood floods the trembling puncture wounds until filling to capacity, spilling over in indecisive ribbons to the floor. At each interval of heartbeat fresh blood is pumped from between the lips of the pernicious wound.
I hear a rush of sound behind my ears, roaring with ferocious deafening decibels. My vision blackens for a second, long enough to cause a lapse into amnesia. I see her before me, turning in a half waltz as my blood slick digits slip over her throbbing laceration. I only see her body, pinched in thwarted motion. Her blood crawls over my forearm, causing my clothing to cling to my skin as my pores fill with her essence.
I see her in slow motion. Each movement a new frame in a singular cell. I watch her angle backward in my grip, her hair spilling lividly into the air. I watch her rebalance her centre of gravity, countering the fall into a lunge. I see her emaciated hand rise upwards to my throat. I see her eyes, and within them, I see myself.
“Oh god, Helena.” I beg, my voice folding into the thick humidity of the bathroom. The ivory tiles bathed in crimson, threads of fine blood stains diffuse into water creating pomegranate puddles sinking into grout. The air is impossible to breathe. Between the stench of overpowering copper and stinging steam my lungs attempt to expand in respiration. It takes a stupendous effort of contraction to cause my diaphragm to function, searing damp air fills my alveoli as my body reacts with a violent fit of coughing.
The surface of the nectarine-coloured water is still. The only stir of motion is attributed to the oily droplets of blood that cumulated at the edges of her fingertips. Swelling until forming a perfect bead of scarlet the scattered blood causes an usurp of pin pricked movement, casting a fine yet callous ripple of momentum.
I fight against the sudden rise of panicked nausea, my limbs dragging against the condensation of the ivory tiles. My digits circle about her pulsating wrists, blood slipping between the minute crevices of fingers as I apply pressure to the gashes that horizontally line her inner wrists. I can feel her tiring heart, feel the pummelling drag as the once-staccato rhythm begins to beat haphazardly. With each secondary pulse of life I can feel the saturation of blood grow thicker between our flesh.
“Oh Helena.” I sob, my shoulders sagging with the burden of death, attempting to rouse her lethargic form. Her dull lifeless eyes turn on me, mouth agape, but forming a cruel smile about the corners of her lip, knowing, seeing, waiting for my countering action.
Blood trembles across the lower decline of my lips. My mouth opens, but silence revels. Mouth agape, I resemble a suffocating fish, lips clasping together helplessly. I feel warmth flood my collarbones and race down the contours of my torso, sinking into the material of my clothing and holding the damp heat.
I can only produce a strangled bleating noise. A hoarse, heavy gurgle causes blood to suction upwards and trickle out of the sides of my trembling lips. I mouth her name, my bloodied hand immediately reaching for the site of the penetrative assault. I succeed in forcing her to remove the jagged shard of glass from my throat, causing the muscles that it was once embedded in, becoming decorated with silver flakes of paint.
Sharp sterile lights blind my eyes. I can feel my pupils shrink, becoming only a fraction of their size beneath the electrical glare. Transfixed, I am unable to turn away from the streak of artificial light until I hear the voice of the doctor, then white overtakes white, and the comforting hue of the hospital’s colour scheme relaxes my weary eyes.
I am able to catch fragments of the conversation between the doctor and her parents. Lucky, the doctor says, that she had been found at the appropriate time. Luck, he says, that she had tore open her wrists along the horizontal creases, and not her radial or ulnar arteries. I watch her sedated eyes roll back within her skull, the drone of her heart monitor fading from my attention as my fingers trace over her bandaged restraints.
Helena it says, on the cold inhuman parchment of paper that is transfixed to her bed. Her name tag is worn on the grid of the bed’s foot frame, chastised only when her feet move, causing the blanket to brush against the overlapping plastic that laminates the tag.
I sit with her all night long, long after the enforced visiting hours. Through the Muslin cloth that detaches her cubicle from the next abandoned bed I can see dawn filter through loose fibers. The faint rosy glow mocks the her icy pallor as she sleeps with her saline infusion.
I wait for an eternity of patience, and watch the content level of her IV bag sink. The faint murmur of her heart monitor causes a electronic lullaby, and it is at the first touch of warmth of sun on my back do I fall into a dreamless sleep.
Heat. I am only able to comprehend heat. She has successfully ruptured both my carotids and split open my larynx. My own heartbeat numbs my ears, the roar of the sea rocking my sputtering figure. I feverishly grapple at my own throat, digits slick with lubrication penetrate and caress the muscles beneath the torn flesh. I try again. And again. My control over my own body is gradually becoming non-existent and I am unable to pinch the two separate flaps of skin together.
Cold alien air travels up my spread larynx. I rapidly attempt to force air down, to cause my diaphragm to contract. My lungs rebuke me. My blood is my enemy. I begin to die, suffocating from the lack of oxygen, drowning from the ample fluid of my blood. Helena, you are my enemy.
The blunted shard of glass is in my hand.
My arrival is five minutes too late. Down the length of the dimly lit corridor I can hear the muted voices of her doctors speaking to the Nurses. Behind their soft murmurs a monotonous drone of several heart monitor creates discordant music.
The colour scheme of her room is not unlike the bathroom, an otherworldly white. Too dull to be neon, and too ivory to be considered blasé. The mixture between cheap flowers and gauze produces an antiseptic odour, one that ensure sanitary within the premises. Ammonia stings my eyes, the unpolished floors seeming to exude the heavily basic cleaning solution used.
“You’re embarrassed of me.” She announces, plaintive and dry. The mere suggestion causes my thoughts to asunder. I can feel my heart reach the elevation of my ankles, having descended after her nonchalant remark. Speechless, I can only stare at her with gaping horror at her suggestion.
“Of course no-“
“Liar.” She cuts me off abruptly. Her mouth remains even and deceptively calm. Her features unclouded from the acerbic taunt. I can only helplessly watch her mouth form a harsh sneer, her dark ringed eyes braced in shallow hatred. “You’re never around when anyone else is. Why is that?”
I open my mouth to speak. I can feel my lips curling inwards with the expect production of speech. Unpolluted air tickles my palate, drying out the expanse of my mouth.
Helena forgives me, I think. An answer never comes to mind.
When I scream the world seemed to shatter. The single pitch of undulating vocal chords pinched the central nerves at the base of the brain stem, causing a sudden rush of clustered pain throughout tense lymph nodes. My body throbbed within the dispersed rhythm of my winding cry, lulling me into a dazed agony where I existed in numbed regrets. The consistent pound of my deafening tone rocked my weakening form, reverberating in my skull, thrashing like Pallas to escape. When I screamed I wanted to die.