All that is dark | ✓

3| dissection

HELENE NEVER HAD BEEN one for a simple love. She had romanticized the all-consuming ones for so long that when the prince took the princess along without even considering her life and feelings, all she could think about was how nice it was to be loved. She hid it well during the years, any hint of how empty she felt. Who was she supposed to talk to about it anyway? After all, she was the one who was always listening, always agreeing. It made her realize how heavy words could become if they stayed lodged in your throat. In a way it was ironic how that realization made her even better at helping, like even her pain was only acceptable when it was useful.

It had been a quiet winter night when she had met Zion for the first time. On her way home she had stopped by a cafe to get coffee, fatigue already pulling her eyes closed at the thought of staying up again for the seventh night in a row. Insomnia was her only friend most days and a loyal one at that, to the point where she had decided to simply embrace it. If she wasn't going to sleep anyway, she might as well be wide awake and productive, she supposed. There was still so much paperwork and chores she had to do after all, never mind the stacks of unread books which she hadn't gotten around to yet.

She sat down with her two cups of coffee at her usual table by the window, the fluorescent yellow lights shining down weakly from the lamps above, a stark contrast to the pitch black night outside, which seemed to even drown out the street lanterns. Her neighbourhood had always been quiet, but that had been exactly why she had chosen it. Even if her thoughts kept her awake, the only way she could stay sane was by listening to them. With a sigh she leaned forward on the table, pressing her fingers against her shut eyelids as she felt her headache worsen. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept more than five hours.

"Is everything okay?"

She immediately lowered her hands, the light bright in her eyes for a moment as she opened them again. In front of her a man had sat down on the crimson couch of the booth, a sudden shame coursing through her at the thought of someone having seen her with her guard down. At the same time that thought brought her even more shame: this man didn't even know her and yet she was still worried about being perceived as weak. Pathetic.

"I'm fine," she said politely," thank you for asking."

"I had to," he said," it's the first time I've ever seen you so troubled, I got worried."

She blinked, staring at him for a moment. Did she know him? His lips were curled up in a smile, eyes the same warm color of brown as his skin. Somehow he reminded her of empty museums, of Renaissance paintings left unfinished, of faded pictures forgotten in an empty house. It was a strange kind of feeling, one she couldn't quite place. Still, he was looking at her like he was seeing her, truly seeing her. If she hadn't known better, she would have almost thought he had, but in the end people only saw the parts you wanted them to see. She was a million different people in a million different minds, to the point where she sometimes forgot who she was in her own.

"I'm a regular here too," he said, answering her unspoken question," you immediately caught my eye when I saw you."

"Why?" she said.

He brushed his dark curls out of his face with a hand. "I don't know, something about you is just so mesmerizing to me."

"Because I'm beautiful?" she said, the word not meaning anything to her.

She knew beauty was an asset, but it had never been one she wanted, not when the only thing she saw in the mirror was her mother. The woman had spent years chasing an ideal she'd never achieve and all it had given her were superficial men who had left their handprints stinging red on her cheeks. So Helene had poured her all into studying, into things she felt like she had control over. Even then, all of her accomplishments were never truly hers. She was a prodigy, they said, so it was no wonder she had accomplished so much. Absentmindedly she grazed over the callouses on her ring finger from writing, her pen pressing harder and harder into her skin as the sun sank away.