Fun Fact!
I am actually a model and a photographer and I specialize in self-shot photography.
The vast majority of these photos actually exist and I am the subject of every single one of them. I either modeled the photos or took and modeled them myself.
I have changed a few of them slightly to better fit this story and my OC.

WARNINGS:
Descriptions of photos depicting or portraying self-harm and suicide.

Chapter 28

"Things got pretty serious pretty quickly." Sam said as he looked around at the other people meandering down the large hallway.

"It also seems like we aren't the only ones affected by this. Look at that guy over there with the woman in the red dress. He looks like he's about to keel over."

Bucky saw what Sam was talking about. The man did indeed look green around the gills and quite sweaty for how cool it was in the room.

"Well, you can't say she didn't give us plenty of warning. And how exactly do you prepare someone to see stuff like this? As you said, she put her heart and soul into all of this and it shows. Just not in the ways we were expecting. I now know things about her I will never be able to forget."

Sam gave him a knowing look.

"I am NOT talking about what the woman looks like naked. At this point that is the least of what I'm seeing. Though I will not lie, she looks good without clothes on. It's terrible to say, I know. But it's the truth. Now, do you want to finish the show and go show her we aren't running away screaming?"

"After you, lover boy."

Sam extended his hand gesturing for Bucky to go in front of him.

They were met with another single shot. This one was equal parts erotic and unnerving.

Ella was sitting on a white tile floor in a pool of blood. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her arm was extended out between her legs, covering herself. She was looking up at the camera with a wildly sexy look in her eye.

What changed the feel of the photo from sexy to disturbing was the fact that her arm was facing up and had a large gash running down the center of it. Her other hand was hovering over the wound and two of her fingers were pulling at the edges of it.

In a very, very explicit manner.

Sam leaned in to get a better look and Bucky punched him in the arm.

Sam threw up his hands in defense.

"Ouch! What was that for? I'm just looking at that special effect makeup! She did a fucking good job. I can't even see a single flaw to indicate that that is not a real wound."

Bucky just squinted his eyes at Sam and decided to move on. He had no idea what the meaning was behind that particular photo. He may never ask. He would be too embarrassed too if he was honest with himself.

They were nearing the end of the exhibit now. Only a few more sets of images to go. Bucky felt apprehensive knowing he would be seeing Ella again soon. Not that his opinions of her had changed, but that now he knew how her mind worked a bit better and he also knew some of the terrible things she had lived through.

In front of them now was another series of four images. These were black and white and of a car that had been crushed to the point of being almost unrecognizable as a car. Each photo got closer and closer to the trunk. Or at least what was left of it.

In the last three photos, a body was easily seen in the trunk of the car. It was covered in scrapes and broken glass. The last shot was of the face, partially obscured by hair. It was Ella. Her eyes were dead and lifeless. Staring blankly ahead, unseeing.

Bucky did not like to think of a world without Ella in it. He did not like the imagery of her dead. He could feel the monster stirring. Growling. He moved on before he became upset like he had with the rape photos.

The next set of photos was not any better. It was, yet again, another set of four photos. Each one a photo of the same thing. A fist raised in the air.

This fist had a large and ugly laceration across the wrist. In the first photo it was fresh, still bleeding profusely. The next was of the same laceration, but maybe two to four weeks after it was made. The beginning stages of healing.

The next two photos were of the following stages of healing as the laceration became smaller, maybe a month later, then just a jagged pink scar. Most likely a year after it happened.

Bucky knew wounds. Unlike the erotic shot earlier, this was real. The flesh and fatty tissues beneath the first layer of the epidermis were something no special effect makeup artist could recreate easily. Another thing that crossed his mind was that the photos were arranged on the wall backward. In the opposite order of the healing timeline.

The series started with the fully healed photo. Bucky wondered why.

He moved on to the last set of prints. The photos of the wrist were a precursor to the ones he was looking at now. Only these were so much worse.

In front of him were what looked like high-contrast crime scene photos. Each one depicted Ella committing a different form of suicide. Each one was so realistic Bucky was sent reeling. He knew they were staged, but they just looked so real.

Gunshot to the head in the bathtub. Complete with brain matter spattered on the tiled wall of the shower. The gun on the floor in the foreground of the frame.

Slit wrists down the inside of the arm on a bed. A pool of blood large enough to be dripping down either side of the single mattress. Eyes wide and staring. Sightless.

Drug overdose on the floor of a bathroom. Foam and vomit coming out of her nose and mouth. Lips blue from lack of oxygen. Eyes red from broken capillaries and hemorrhages.

Hanging limp in a closet. Bathrobe tie tied around a clothes hanger rod.

Bucky hurried into the last room of the gallery. The one that mirrored the one with the black canvases with all of the warnings. He wished he had had more warning. He was not prepared for what he saw. What had all happened to her.

Nor could he get the images of her being tortured in a mental asylum, or dead via several causes out of his head. They were burned in there and would probably give him nightmares. Worse than the ones he usually had.

Before, Bucky could never imagine worse nightmares than the ones he had nightly that relived the things he had done as the Winter Soldier. The photos he had seen tonight changed everything. Ella dead, being raped, being beaten, and being abused, was far worse.

Bucky never wanted to see Ella hurt or dead ever again. And he was going to do his best to keep either of those things from ever happening to her. Ever.

He breathed deeply and centered himself. Calmed himself. Committed himself.

He had fully resolved himself on his own personal mission when Sam came around the corner into the room.

"That was fucking heavy. I need a minute before we go back out there. That woman is good at what she does. I'll tell you what."

Sam said as he leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes as Bucky had earlier.

After a few minutes of both men decompressing and unpacking everything that they had just seen, they made their way back to the entrance of the gallery.

They soon found Ella talking with the same man as before with a drink in her hand.

When she saw them both, she visibly paled at the sight of them. She turned to the man and excused herself, much to his dismay.

Bucky wasn't sure whether to run to her, grab her, and pull her close or to express how shocked he was. Instead, he averted his eyes to the floor. Visions of all the things he had just seen dancing around inside his head, taunting him.

Then Bucky's thoughts turned to emotions. What he felt when he was faced with the subjects of Ella being hurt. Her crying, screaming, being tortured. Of her dead.

Ella stood in front of them and Sam congratulated her on her show and how well it was presented. How thoroughly impressed he was by her skills as a model and a photographer.

"I also did all of the makeup and post-production. I kept the photoshop to a minimum, but there are some things you just cannot do in real life. I'm glad you two made it out in one piece. One woman had to be carried out about 10 minutes ago. And a guy passed out before you guys got here."

Sam chuckled.

"I cannot imagine why. The subject matter is so light. For real though, you did an amazing job. Thank you for being so vulnerable and creative with everything you have gone through. You have my respect. It takes a lot of guts to put on a show like this. And pull it off."

"Are you sure it's not because I'm a Green Beret?"

"Maybe a little of that. And the fact that you can rap to Slim Shady and keep up."

Bucky heard Ella laugh and thank Sam before her shoes came into his view.

"You know the only thing that has changed since you went in there is your perception of me. And nothing else."

Bucked realized that she was speaking to him now.

"But now I have an idea of what you've been through."

Bucky felt a hand under his chin, causing him to look up. He looked up and found bright green eyes.

" But now you have also seen parts of what have made me, me. And you're still here. You're still in front of me and not running down the street screaming. You've seen another facet of me, love."

Ella said in German, probably to keep Sam from understanding.

"Part of what helped me heal was the processes of creating these images. They helped suck the poison from the aging wounds. They keep the wounds from festering. Well, not nearly as much as they once did."

Bucky looked at her. She was a vision of radiance and beauty compared to what he had just seen of her in all of those photographs. He didn't think that she had ever looked more beautiful to him than she did at that moment.

"I'm not going anywhere, for any reason. I swear on my life I will keep you safe, my tortured angel."

Bucky responded in French. A bit cliché, even for him. But he liked how it sounded.

Ella reached her hand up and cupped his cheek, smiling a small, soft smile. Her eyes were equally as soft. Sam just looked utterly clueless and confused watching the pair of them.

"So, I guess this means we are still on for dancing tomorrow night?"

Bucky took her hand from his cheek, kissed it, and nodded.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Well, now that that is settled how would you boys like a tour of the gallery? I could use a break from Max."

Sam took this opportunity to break back into the conversation.

"What's up with that guy anyway? He was bugging you when we got here. Do you need help getting him out of here?"

Ella laughed heartedly.

"No! No, Max is a very old friend of mine. He just has a proposition for me that I won't take until he makes it worth it for me. He's just very adamant and persistent is all. Fashion designers tend to be because they work on a tight schedule. And I have my security here already. There's no need to worry about that."

"What kind of proposition?"

Bucky asked, extremely curious as to what was so important.

"He wants me to be the lead in his Fall/Winter fashion show next year."

"Then why is he so pressed? Isn't that like a year from now?" Sam asked, confused again.

"In the fashion industry time works a little bit differently. He is putting the finishing touches on Fall/Winter this year and is already creating Spring/Summer of next year. He's planning Fall/Winter of next year now. That and he knows once I say yes it will be a joint effort and it will be as much of a work of performance art as it is a fashion show for his line."

"Why don't you just say yes? That seems like an awesome opportunity." Bucky asked.

"Because I've already retired from the catwalk. Max and I go way back. He started his career with me on his runways. And I'm really busy with work right now. I barely have time for the other stuff I have going on."

She gestured around as Sam and Bucky looked at each other.

Bucky thought to himself that he should never be surprised when it came to Ella. But he always was.

"Anyway! Tour or no tour? I know it must have been hard the first time around. I also know that many people never get the chance to ask the artist questions. Or have the artist explain the real and true meaning or messages."

Ella paused. Bucky was the first to speak up. He knew Sam was waiting on him because of how affected by this exhibit he had been.

"Yeah, that would be cool. I have a few questions I was going to ask you anyway. And I believe Sam has some questions for you as well."

"You can ask me why the curtains are blue."

Sam started laughing and now Bucky was the one who was lost and confused.

Sam finished chuckling and turned to Bucky to explain while Ella stood there and smirked.

"It's a literature class reference. In every major public school English class, most major works of writing are studied. A lot are said to be full of symbolism."

Ella continued for Sam.

"Basically, they taught us to make wild assumptions about other people's work without evidence, or the person's input, since the beginning. I am not a fan of assumptions. I personally think the curtains are blue because they were just fucking blue."

Sam laughed heartedly and Ella turned on her heel, so to speak, and headed in the direction of the room with the black canvases of warning. Then she turned to both of them but spoke mainly to Bucky.

"Are you sure you want to go through this again? I'm desensitized at this point, you two are not. You can still back out now and I won't say a word about it. It is a lot to deal with. I know."

Bucky thought about it for a split second before he committed himself to his decision as they walked into the room preceding the gallery.

"Lead the way."