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 barbaric and archaic mental health treatments, animal parts, self-harm.
PTSD Episode.

Chapter 33

In front of them were four photos. Each depicting a different torturous treatment for psychiatric disorders from the turn of the century.

The first photo had Ella strapped to a metal table with leather restraints. Then came a photo of an almost pitch-black room. The only source of light was shining down on her in a straightjacket.

A white tiled bathtub full of ice water, Ella floating in it. Her face was deathly pale and her lips blue. The fourth photo was a macro shot of her bright green eye, an ice pick floating just above the eyeball, about to be driven into the socket. A lobotomy.

The photo that disturbed Bucky the most was not the last of the series. It was the second to last. The one that showed Ella receiving electroshock therapy.

The muscles and tendons in her neck pulled tight. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The rubber mouth guard wedged between her teeth. The electrodes on either side of her head were at her temples.

It was all too familiar to him. He could almost feel the hum of electricity in his own body. He looked away. He looked at anything but that photo. He looked at her and gripped her hand tighter, grounding himself.

"I can take a wild guess at what these are trying to say." Sam told Ella.

"Guess away, Sam." Ella squeezed Bucky's hand back.

"The brutal treatments of psychiatric patients." Sam stated as he looked upon the portraits again.

"The brutal treatments that I would have been subjected to had I been born 50 years or more before I was. Coming from a middle-class merchant family, suffering the conditions that I do, I would have been admitted into a sanitorium at a very young age. Subjected to horrors that I cannot even wrap my head around. I would have been forgotten by my family, a disgrace. Left to rot in these conditions. The scariest part is that some of these practices were still in use up into the 1950s."

Ella's face reflected how disturbed she was by the thought.

"What treatments are these, exactly? Sam inquired.

"Ineffectively restraining a patient who is volatile and letting them go mad instead of treating them. Isolation. Water therapy. Electroshock therapy. And my personal favorite, lobotomy. These will always be a reminder of what could and would have been."

Ella's voice was monotone. It was obvious that these photos bothered her still. Even after taking them and being exposed to them all this time.

"In the ice bath are you really in ice water? Is that makeup? Or is that real? At this point, I don't know what parts of your work are real or not."

"Now that is one hell of a compliment. That is part of what I aim for. It's real ice water. I shot in short bursts. The physical visuals of hypothermia are all makeup. I may be hardcore when it comes to my work, but I will not risk my or anyone else's safety for it."

Bucky's eyes traveled over the photos. He was listening to Sam and Ella's conversation. Vaguely.

His attention was drawn to the photo of electroshock therapy. He remembered how the hard rubber guard tasted and felt in his mouth. The smell of burning hair. The feel of electricity buzzing through his body, his brain on fire. Frying. The whole of his body seizing. His muscles tensing involuntarily.

Bucky heard shouting in Russian.

Someone was yelling at him. Reprimanding him for something he had done. A mistake he had made. He felt hands on his arms, forcing him into a machine. He heard the mechanical whirring of the apparatus as it came down around his head.

The pain was unbearable. But he couldn't move. Even if he wanted to. He would be severely punished for it if he did. He wanted to scream, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. Anything he did to show his agony would be faced with more torture. More torment and anguish. He bit down harder on the rubber guard in his mouth. The only reprieve he had.

He saw a scientist come over to him. The man was wearing a white lab coat and saying something to another man in a white coat that he couldn't hear. The scientists hovered over him, taking notes on a clipboard. Something about the one was familiar. He had seen him before. At least he thought he saw him before. The familiar man asked him something he could not hear.

Bucky heard more yelling. This time it was in English. It was his name. Someone was yelling his name. A woman. Where was she? Who was she?

He had to find her. He had to get out of here and find her. His life depended on it.

"Bucky! Bucky can you hear me? Bucky!" Came the woman's voice. The one he had to find. She sounded frantic.

"What's happening?" Came another voice. A man this time. He sounded shaken and concerned.

"I think he's having some kind of flashback episode. If he is having a flashback, whatever he is flashing back to he can hear, feel, smell, and taste all of it. I have to bring him out of it or he may spiral out of control. Bucky! Bucky! Can you hear me!?" Said the female.

He had to get to her. He had to get to her now. He struggled to move through his sluggish mind.

"What happens if you can't?" Said the man in a worried tone.

"Cognitive reset." The woman deadpanned.

"Bucky! Bucky! James Buchanan Barnes, I need you to listen to me. Come back to me."

He was listening. He had to get to her. But where was she?

"Bucky you need to feel your hand. Can you feel your hand on my chest?"

He could feel the warmth under his hand. The pounding of a heart racing under his fingertips. He wanted to reach out to the sound of her voice so badly. Bucky moved his fingers and felt the softness of skin under them.

"Good. Bucky. Listen to me. I need you to calm your breathing. Focus on your breathing and your hand. I need you to open your eyes."

He was on his knees. When had he fallen to his knees? His eyes were closed. So, he opened them. And there she was. On her knees in front of him. His tortured angel.

Bucky had no idea who she was for a moment. Only that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He would go through all of that hell again, willingly, if it meant it all led to her.

Then he felt his right hand. She was holding his hand to her chest. He could feel her every breath. He could feel the erratic beating of her heart. She raised her other hand to his forehead and pushed back his hair from his damp forehead. Resting it on his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone.

"Bucky. Can you hear me? Concentrate on my voice and my breath. Feel it. Breathe with me for a minute and look at me. Keep your attention on me and your breath."

Bucky did. With every deep breath she took, so did he. He became aware of the racing of his own heart. The fact that he was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Slowly everything started to come back to him. That Ella was kneeling in front of him, her eyes alight with fear and worry, Sam was standing nearby. They were in Ella's gallery.

He recalled his memories. He could not recall what had happened exactly and he started to panic. Ella noticed immediately.

"Bucky, you need to stay calm. You just had a flashback. You are fine and you are safe. I promise. I am not going anywhere and neither is Sam. Just keep breathing with me."

They sat there for a few more minutes until Bucky had regained himself again. He was highly aware of his hand on her chest. How rapidly her heart was beating. He vaguely remembered what had happened, before, during, and after. He knew enough to know this had happened before.

The same thing that had happened to him on their last mission when he had seen the machine that had been used on him so many times. Only this one happened in front of Sam, and Ella. In the middle of her gallery.

Bucky felt shame and humiliation. Most of all he was self-conscious.

"I am so sorry, Ella. I…"

Ella cut him off quickly with a wave of her hand.

"Don't you dare apologize for something that you have no control over, Sergeant Barnes. I will not tolerate it. I swear to God, I will give you a cognitive reset anyway. Even if you no longer need it."

Ella sighed heavily and closed her green eyes. She was already so close; she leaned forward slightly and leaned her forehead against his. Gripping his hand ever tighter to her chest.

After a moment, both of their heart rates had returned to normal. Ella moved to sit up against the wall under the photographs. She pulled Bucky with her.

"You might as well sit down too, Sam. This is going to take a minute before I let him get up."

Sam sat on Bucky's other side. He flashed a concerned look in Bucky's direction as he did so.

"What exactly is a cognitive reset anyway, Ella?" Sam asked.

Bucky was also curious. Whatever she did had worked, but what was Plan B?

"A good crack to the head. Or a disruption of blood flow to the brain. Knock him out. Crude and archaic, but it works." Ella sighed.

Bucky was worn out. He felt like he had run a marathon and a half. Yet he still found the energy to laugh.

Both Sam and Ella joined him.

As all three of them sat there on the floor of the gallery in silence, Bucky pulled their hands away from Ella's chest and put hers to his.

She had brought him out of the darkness. A darkness that he had often gotten lost in. He did not remember much, but he remembered wanting, no, needing to find her when she was calling out to him. Even before he realized who was calling his name.

He remembered feeling like his life depended on finding her, following her voice. Most of all Bucky remembered thinking that he would endure another lifetime of what he had been through if it meant that the road ended here, with her.

"That is the end of the tour, boys. As a psychologist, I have to put my foot down and send both of you home for the night for this one's own good."

Bucky lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, then looked over at her.

"No, I want to see the rest with you. Then we will go. I'm good enough for that."

Ella narrowed her eyes at him as if she didn't believe him.

"I promise. I will say something if I need to leave. Or if I feel that coming on again. It has never happened quite like that before. I've only ever had dreams." Bucky admitted.

Ella looked over at Sam.

"Your call Sam. No matter who drove here, you're driving back. Do you want to see the rest or leave now?"

Sam thought about it for a second. He considered Bucky and looked him up and down.

"I think we are good to see the rest. I have seen him way worse off."

Ella didn't look happy. It was like she had been expecting Sam to back her up.

"Fine!" Ella said, exasperated.

"Next time it will be a cognitive reset. You seem like you need one."

Both Sam and Bucky laughed. When they had had their laugh, Bucky went to stand up, Ella held fast and stopped him.

"Slowly."

"Yes, ma'am."

He got up slowly. Once he was up, he made sure he was good and that his equilibrium was right. Then he helped Ella to her feet.

"I'm going to make this quick so if you have any questions, don't hesitate."

"Yes ma'am."

"Bucky, for the love of God do not call me 'ma'am' again."

"Yes, sir."

Ella threw him a sideways look. He could see the laughter flashing across her face that she refused to let show.

All three of them slowly started to make their way down the gallery hall.

"You are insufferable."

"Now you know what I have to deal with. I work and live with the guy." Sam interjected.

The humor in Ella's features finally burst forth in another bark of laughter.

"I feel so sorry for you, Sam."

"You should be. Now, this has to be my favorite of all the photos here."

Sam said as they reached the next photo. It was the pin-up of Ella with a backdrop of prescription pill bottles.

"I'd have to say it is also one of my favorites, too." Bucky piped up.

Ella scoffed.

"Men. Of course, you two would pick the hot pin-up. Since you like it so much, what does it mean?"

Bucky looked at it for another minute before he answered her question.

"Physical beauty is only so deep. The mind is what matters most. It represents fact that mental health is invisible. You never know who is suffering and who is not. Someone may look perfect on the outside, while they are dying on the inside. The amount of maintenance it takes for an unhealthy mind is just as much as maintenance as an unhealthy body. And just as serious."

Ella looked at him. There was a certain skeptical and disbelieving look in her eyes. She didn't say a word, she just studied him closely. Even Sam looked around her and was giving him a strange look.

"What? Was it something I said? Did I get it wrong?" Bucky asked, slightly worried.

"I have to eat my words. Or thoughts in this case. I honestly thought you'd get it wrong and that this was all about how pretty I look. But no. You amazed the hell out of me and hit every nail on the head. Just, wow. I have never had anyone get this one right. Not that right anyway."

"Are those your pill bottles?" Sam questioned, breaking the weird tension in the air.

"Yeah. I was heavily medicated for almost four years. I saved every single bottle for this one photo. There are 183 of them in total. Now the only medication I take is the artificial hormone for my thyroid."

"Damn, girl. That's a lot of medications. That's a lot of pills."

"That's why I got off of them all. I didn't like how they made me feel. I wasn't myself. I wasn't happy. I was just… drugged. I do still suffer from my conditions; they still impact my life. I just handle them differently. Without pharmaceuticals. My way."

Bucky watched Ella speak to Sam. He was so worn out from what had happened, but being here with her, holding her hand, gave him a sense of calm. Looking at her made him feel a happiness that he could not place. He was so preoccupied with her that he barely noticed when they had started walking again.

They slowly walked past the photo of Ella with the wolf's maw sticking out of the back of her head.

"That is just how my mind can be my own worst enemy. It's not very nice when it's acting up. That voice is ruthless."

Bucky knew that all too well. His voice was quiet right now. Soothed by Ella's continued touch and presence.

When they reached the next series, Bucky stopped Ella.

These were the photos that looked like they were taken in the middle of Times Square. Where she was pulling a heart out of her chest and offering it to the camera.

"Did you really take these in Times Square or was this digitally manipulated?"

"I really took them in Times Square. In New York City it is completely legal to shoot nude in public as long as it is for a purpose. And that is a real heart. It's the heart from that pig I butchered. This was also when some guy tried to steal my camera and tripod. Turns out chucking a heart at someone is a good theft deterrent."

"That's impressive. What's the meaning?"

"This one is literal. It's 'Here. You take it. I don't want it.'"

Bucky held his tongue. He wasn't sure how well his remarks would have been received. He would be glad to take her heart off her chest for her. If she didn't want it, he did. The thought of it was scaring him less and less.

Slowly they made their way down the hall. The next series came into view. It was the single photo of Ella on the floor in a pool of blood. Her arm slit down the middle. With an extremely suggestive pose.

"This is just how much sex is valued over someone's well-being. People don't care if you're literally bleeding to death. As long as you're being sexy about it."

Ella's look of revulsion gave Bucky and Sam the impression that she had been personally affected by this. And it was true. Sex sells. And as long as someone is sexy, they will be deemed as having it all. Even if it means they are killing themselves in the process for it.

They slowly kept walking.

The black and white photos of the smashed-up car were next. Bucky knew they were close to the end. The photo sets he hated the most were next. They gave him a deeper feeling of dread than the one that caused him to go catatonic.

"I got into a really bad car accident years ago back in Phoenix. It was a five-car pileup on one of the major freeways. I was at a dead stop and then I was rear-ended by a guy in an SUV going 65mph. The kid didn't even brake."

Both Sam's and Bucky's mouths popped open. They both took a step closer to look at the damaged car. It was so mangled that both of them were surprised anyone had gotten out of that unscathed.

"Did you get hurt?" Sam inquired. "Obviously you survived, but Jesus Christ, by the looks of that car I cannot believe you didn't."

"I was and am fine. I walked away. Minus some occasional lower back pain, no long-term injuries. I was lucky. After I got all of my tests and scans done, I came home and took these."

She turned to look at the photos herself.

"Me being me, I saw this tangled mess of twisted steel in my backyard and thought to myself 'I'm gonna shoot in that.' I turned what could have been a disastrous event into art. Just like I always do."

Ella sighed and ran her free hand through her hair.

"It's getting late guys. Let's go through these last two sets. I need to send you home."

She directed the last part of her statement at Bucky who pretended not to hear her. He was tired, but he didn't want to leave just yet.

"Oh, these." Ella said under her breath.

They were standing in front of the photos of the fist with the slashed wrist. The real one. The series of photos of it healing.

"Why are they hung backward?" Bucky asked without thinking.

"Because this is an incomplete set."

"How can it be incomplete?" Sam looked confused.

"Because. You need me to finish it."

Bucky and Sam looked at each other. Neither knew what Ella meant. Until she let go of Bucky's hand. They stood and watched as she walked up the photos. Bucky noticed her take a deep breath before she turned around.

When she did, she backed up against the wall to the left of the photographs. Then she raised her left hand and made a fist.

The photos were life-sized. The size ratio was the same. Meaning that Ella's fist was the same size as those in the photos. The white and faded scar on her wrist was the same as the ones in the photographs.

Sam gasped and Bucky's stomach bottomed out.

He had been right. This was no special effects makeup job. That was real. And the proof of it had been staring him in the face this whole time and he had never even noticed. His eyes went over the photos from beginning to end again.

As both men looked upon the finished series, Ella hung her head. Fist still held high.

Bucky moved forward and grabbed her arm. He looked at the two-inch-long scar on the skin there and rubbed his thumb over it. It had to have been several years old by now, at least. When he looked up at her face she was looking away.

When she spoke again, she couldn't meet his eye.

"A single moment of weakness equals a lifetime of regret. I ruined almost two decades of recovery and hard work. To this day this is still the hardest photo set to look at. It hurts and makes me sick. This is my own gruesome and twisted lesson."

Bucky had no words. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. He wrapped his arms around her like he had wanted to do many times before. To protect her, to battle with the negative emotions that were threatening her happiness, to just being there with her and for her.

It took Ella a second to relax. When she did, she clung to him. She buried her face into the crook of his neck. Then the words came to him. Bucky turned his head and whispered into her ear.

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault that the demons sometimes win. They may win a battle, but you will win the war. You just have to keep fighting and show them what hell is really like. I know you can show them a version of hell even a demon would be horrified of."

Ella chuckled into his neck, but she did not let go.

Bucky didn't want her to. She smelled like pine trees and campfires. There was also a new scent this time that was not present during their date. She smelled like cool night air and leather seats, peach pie, and aldehydes. It was such unique scent, but he couldn't get enough of it.

Sam cleared his throat somewhere behind them.

Ella looked up and over Bucky's shoulder. Leveling Sam with a look Bucky couldn't see.

"Oh, the things I could say to him. But I'll be good." She said quietly enough so Sam wouldn't hear.

Ella pulled away. Grabbing Bucky's hand again and turning him around. They began walking towards the last set of the show.

"Are you getting lonely over there, Sam? Or is it just awkward to see your friend comforting someone else? Or do you want in on the action, too? I have plenty of hugs to go around. I cannot say the same thing for Bucky though."

Ella stretched out her arms towards him.

"I think I have one or two good hugs left in me tonight. How about it, Sam?"

Sam looked at them both, shocked. A deep red creeping up his neck and into his face. He had not been expecting to be called out like that. He stood there as Bucky and Ella left him behind and made it to the final series of the show laughing as they went.

The hyper-realistic crime scene photographs were last.