Her eyes flickered. Blinked. Came open. White. Everywhere. The walls. The ceiling. The floor. And a hand, long fingers brushing through her hair, while a voice whispered in her ear. She stirred. Tried to sit up. Couldn't. A whimper slipped from her lips as she tugged at the cloth restraints wrapped around her wrists and ankles. The hand left her hair to settle on her forehead, warm and heavy. "Sssh, child. Just rest now."
She licked her lips. Swallowed. "Tomas?" Her voice cracked on his name. "Let me up. Please. I don't like it." Helena tugged at the restraints.
"Sssh, asah child. I can't, I'm sorry. They won't let me yet." He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "They saw your back and they don't understand. Lie still now."
Whimpering, Helena lay back down, fumbling for Tomas' hand. "How did I get here?" She stared up at the ceiling, smiling as Tomas rubbed her hand.
"I brought you. You've been here about a week." His fingers tightened around hers. "For a while, the doctors thought they might lose you." He patted her hand. "Shows what they know, eh?"
Helena licked her lips once more, frowning. Everything was a blur. She'd killed Amelia. Argued with Sarah. Then Sarah had-Sarah had- "Where is Sarah?"
"The imposter is gone. You're safe now." He smiled down at her, brushing the damp hair away from her forehead.
"No!" Helena tried again to sit up, yanking at the restraints until the bed rattled.
Tomas pushed her back down. Grasping her chin, he jerked her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Yes. She is. She tried to kill you, Helena. She left you to die, and yet you still ask for her." He shook his head, disgust etched onto his face. "How can you possibly be so stupid? So ungrateful?"
She whimpered, flinching from the anger in his eyes. Helena braced for a slap, but none came. "She is my sestra," she whispered, tears shining in her eyes. "I love-"
"No!" Tomas held up a hand, cutting off her words. He bent down till his face was just inches from hers. "No. She's nothing but a copy. A fake. She can't love you because she isn't real. She doesn't want you. She never has. When will you get that through your head?"
Helena looked down, chewing at her lip, hunching her shoulders. Her sister didn't want her. Would never want her. No one would. Except maybe-she lifted her head again. "I'm sorry, Tomas."
But he was on his feet, black robes rustling as he made for the door. "You want your precious sister? She can have you. Let's see how long it takes before the doctors start asking questions about you. You think they'll believe you're the original? They'll lock you up before you know it."
"No, Tomas!" Helena tugged on the restraints. He couldn't leave her here. He couldn't. He promised. The slamming door was her only answer. Crying, then shrieking, she fought the cloth at her wrists. The door flew open, letting in a stream of men in green and white. Four of them held her down, and still she thrashed, wrenching her arms this way and that, till something sharp stuck in her neck. She sagged back, sighing, as, first her arms and legs, then her whole body, went numb.
She slept, off and on, always waking bound to the bed. They let her up to use the toilet, and for meals, where she ate what she was given with a plastic spoon, or her hands. They couldn't trust her with real silverware. Not after she'd nearly killed the nurse by stabbing her in the wrist with the fork. It was her own fault. She'd tried to take Helena's plate away before she was done, and no one but Tomas could do that. Her stomach clinched and she hunched her shoulders, swallowing a whimper. When would Tomas come back? Would he come back? Maybe he'd grown tired of her at last, and had simply left her here to rot. She didn't bother answering the nurse when the older woman asked about the tears on her face. She wouldn't understand. No one would. Certainly not Sarah, who probably thought she was dead anyway. Her sister. Her twin. She hadn't tried to find her. Hadn't even stayed around long enough to see whether she were dead or not. She had left her there and went-somewhere.
That was stupid. Always, always, always check. That was the first rule. Tomas had taught it to her with the sting of his belt across her back. Because she'd been stupid. Hadn't checked. And the man-a bad, bad man, who sold drugs on the street corners-had lived. She only had stabbed him once. In the stomach. Not the chest, where Tomas had shown her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. So she deserved the beating she got for not checking. And the other, the one she got after she'd finally, haltingly, told him where she'd stabbed the man, she deserved it, too, because she hadn't listened. And that was bad. She always had to listen. Always. Always. Always. And they had to move again, she and Tomas, because the bad man could tell the police what she looked like. It was her fault. Like always.
When the nurses came this time, she didn't fight them. The thick blanket that wrapped around her brain would be nice tonight. It kept all the thoughts away. Kept her stomach from wrapping around itself. Like it wanted a hug. A wan smile tugged at her lips as the needle slipped into her arm. A hug would be nice. Tomas would hold her, or stroke her hair, sometimes. Usually when he was trying to make her stop crying after she'd gotten in trouble. But sometimes because she was sad, or scared, or hungry, and he wanted to make her feel better. Sometimes, he washed her feet, too. That was extra nice. Helena stifled a yawn, barely whimpering as the nurse slipped the restraints back on. Even the memory made her sleepy. Maybe Tomas would come tomorrow. Maybe...
Weeks went by. Helena barely spoke to anyone. She didn't answer their questions, except to tell them her name. Helena. She didn't know how old she was anyway. Not really. Tomas hadn't bothered about birthdays, and most of the sisters were too busy to do much besides wish her a happy birthday, maybe slip her a piece of candy after breakfast. Most of the time, none of them remembered, not even Helena, and she stopped worrying about it. The feast days were more important anyway. Finally, they stopped asking.
The scars on her back began to heal. One of the nurses put some sort of smelly cream that burned all over her back, after she caught Helena clawing at the skin with a knife she'd stolen off of someone's tray. It was wrong to steal. She knew that. But she had to atone somehow, for everything she'd done. So, she'd taken it. The first cuts she'd made, so deep the doctors had sewn them up, were in punishment for taking something that wasn't hers. The rest-the little nicks and scrapes that stung but didn't bleed, not really, because even the silver knife was dull-those were for everything else. For listening to Sarah. For not killing her. For not taking Kira. For hurting Tomas. That one, slicing so deep into her shoulder, the doctors were worried she'd really hurt herself, also had to be sewn up. No wonder he left her here. She'd let her sister-no, her copy, Amelia had probably lied about them being twins-lock him in a cage. The connection she'd felt had been a trick, too. Otherwise, Sarah would have come for her.
They'd taken the knife. Put her hands into handcuffs that hooked around a belt they'd put around her waist. She couldn't move her hands unless they let her. But they weren't mad. They told her so, when she'd finally asked. If she could explain, maybe they'd stop punishing her. Tomas did that sometimes. If she confessed what she'd done, sometimes she wouldn't get in trouble, or he'd let her punish herself, which was better anyway, because she would've just done it after he'd finished, anyway. Like he taught her. To atone. To show she was sorry. But they weren't angry, and the words stuck in her throat when she tried to tell them.
She could have escaped. Easily. All it would take was her hands around the nurse's neck, at night, when they put her to bed. She wasn't tied up anymore. The door to her room was locked from the outside, and they thought that was enough. The nurse wouldn't even have to die. She could just sleep, while Helena swapped their clothes and walked out. But she didn't. Because where would she go? To the streets, where Tomas always threatened to put her? No. She wouldn't last long there. Someone would find her and she'd end up back here. So she waited. Maybe, Tomas would forgive her. Maybe he'd come back. Maybe, maybe, maybe...