Study 3: Save Me from the Ghosts and Shadows

Warning: unhealthy BDSM relationship

"I don't remember my mother. All I have is her name." He used to have a picture of her as well, but that was long gone. He half expected Helena to fill in the blanks in his story, but she was just listening intensely, elbow propped up on the back of his couch, head resting to the side.

"That must be frustrating to have such an integral part of you just lost." Helena took a sip of her drink. Am I a good therapist?

"Hmph, you might want to turn yourself off for a moment," Sephiroth chuckled, fingertips dancing on hers, slipping to her wrist. The gentleness was foreign but welcomed by them both. There was something making him so wistful; was it taking of a past long lost to the Lifestream? He had never really forgiven Glenn but pushed it somewhere in his ribcage.

"Sorry, you're right," Helena watched as his eyes softened, telling of a tender piece of sinew pulled from his flesh capsule. Images of his exposed chest, tubes protruding, Mako dumping into his veins, sent shivers down Helena's spine – out of the pleasure of scientific conquest or some sick obsession, she knew not. It was most likely of the same ilk, Helena thought to herself. She would find out what made him tick—that much she was certain.

Helena looked to the baby grand piano, remembering their first night together. She made a grave mistake. Hojo called her into his office. She asked herself if Sephiroth caved under the heavy glare of the scientist. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She knew that to be true. Helena knew she had fallen into a web that was constructed by the younger man. It was a shock when she found out that her license had expired, and Hojo strongly recommended against renewing. She was a scientist now. She was finding out what made Sephiroth tick like the good little SOLDIER he is.

Sephiroth followed Helena's gaze, noticing she was no longer paying attention to their conversation. She was elsewhere; Sephiroth noticed that it happened often. But not when she was under him. She was very much present, and he reveled in it. "Hojo taught me how to play," he revealed. He told her about his suspicions – whispers that told of his parentage. "Jenova is my mother's name," he continued, knowing that was where the conversation was heading. "I used to have a picture of her," used to. "You may know her."

Helena shrugged, a hollow dread filled the pit of her stomach. Sephiroth noticed she was drifting again. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward, snapping her attention. Helena snarled, her lips curled into a grimace, like a sleepwalker being woken. Her sister was a sleepwalker. Helena found pleasure in waking her up.

Sephiroth, with his free dominant hand, took hold of her face, fingertips digging into her cheeks. There was something sensational in making her succumb to his will. Genesis rarely did. In fact, he was mostly the webspinner in the relationship. He felt weak in front of Genesis. He felt vulnerable, and it haunted him. But he was gone now, and now he had a little puppet to play with. It brought him this feeling he wasn't sure where to place. Was it the same feeling he had when he played with the genetically-modified mice, watching them squirm as he directed them around the maze constructed by Hojo? Was this contentment? Joy, perhaps? It tensed his chest and made him feel whole.

Helena pulled from his grasp, but he followed. "Say you're mine," he whispered in her ear, his lips gently brushing against her skin.

"Make me yours," she breathed. Sephiroth easily took the instruction, bitter that she was playing him. But he wanted it. Craved it. He wanted to snap her apart—he saw what made her tick. He was bearing witness to a broken puppet.

He unhooked his belt. "Bend down," Sephiroth commanded, and Helena obliged.

With a snap of his wrist, he struck her backside, the soft round flesh made bare by Sephiroth's hand, reddening with the force of his belt. Helena whimpered, her fist in her mouth. He had been more and more forceful with her to her delight. She welcomed his will to make her kneel to him. But there was some fight that tore her away from him, which frustrated her to no end. He hit her again, crossing the beltline he had made. She cried out, instigating him for more.

"The neighbours will hear," Sephiroth teased, pulling her body close to him. She cared very little. The idea of someone knowing she was his was enticing. The Silver Elite would have an absolute field day. A person like her, with a man like him. It makes no sense. Why would he want you?

He sat on the couch, his left arm resting on the side, his back resting, his erection filling the front of his pants. With a movement of his finger, he instructed Helena to grovel at his feet. She obeyed, pulling up her underwear slightly and adjusting her skirt. She kneeled before him, a god to so many, she thought his beauty surpassed the limitations of a normal man. How could she have thought the men she tried to surround herself with (unsuccessfully) were of any importance now that she had Sephiroth above her. She crawled to his knees, begging to be rewarded.

He reached for her curls, twirling a finger around one in particular, observing the unnaturally red dye – like blood, he mused. He continued twirling it until it wound against his knuckle and pulled. A yelp emanated from Helena – he stopped. She cooed against his leg, reaching for his hand, wordlessly initiating a tug of a handful of hair. Sephiroth, gently, at the base of her neck, pulled so their eyes met. Helena swallowed; the emptiness in her stomach suddenly filled. His eyes were on her and only her.

Sephiroth needed release and wanted the therapist to offer that to him. He began unbuttoning his pants. He was wearing his SOLDIER uniform at the request of Helena, who blushed profusely, eliciting a moan from Sephiroth. Helena reached for his pants, looking for approval from her puppeteer. She opened her mouth, her tongue accepting. "Please," she mouthed. He obliged.

Her tongue moved up his shaft, swirling around the engorged tip. Sephiroth grabbed her head, his own thrown back breathlessly, encouraging for more. She wanted to please, she didn't want to fall out of favor. Something struggled within her – she was losing. Helena's fingers interlaced the thick shaft, bobbing her head down the head, her hand following suit. She wanted to please even though she barely knew how. Sephiroth found that endearing and allowed her to explore. Helena was always curious. What little she told of herself, Sephiroth knew she had a passion for searching for answers – to her detriment. She continued wrapping her lips over the tip, tongue flicking. She was indeed a very curious person, Sephiroth thought.

"Do you like it, Sephiroth?" Helena paused, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. His name played so nicely on her desires.

Sephiroth leaned forward, hands tracing her outline, pausing on the hem of her shirt. "I do. But I want more. I need more." He lifted her shirt over her head, exposing the fragile skin beneath. Instinctively, she drew her arms across her stomach, propping her prominent chest upward inadvertently. He needed her skin on his. He needed her friction – two masses colliding.

She was wearing the lace bra he bought for her. He knew it was risky to buy lingerie, certainly the Silver Elite or Hojo would catch wind. But that was half the fun. He was surprised it was on her body. He asked her for her measurements, which caused ire in his therapist. She hated to be dissected, but he assured her she needed to for his own needs. Sephiroth traced the outline of her bust. So welcoming.

"Having fun?" Helena's laughter was intoxicating. It reminded him of... Well, that was a long time ago.

"I want to feel you."

Helena placed Sephiroth's sensitive member between her breasts; only his tip was exposed. "Like this?"

Sephiroth bit the inside of his cheek, saving face. Who's controlling who? He reached for her chin, "You best not stop until I say you can." Helena nodded, whispering something under her breath, which Sephiroth allowed. He was vying for control, and that fascinated him. Sephiroth often felt like he was struggling for control. He found comfort in losing himself. His therapist often took that power from him in sessions. Funny how things turned out.

Helena stroked the shaft once, his moan bellowing out his chest, the straps against his chest constraining him. She was so fearful of the man who wore the uniform. It was intoxicating. She remembered the article discussing the origins of his uniform vividly. He extensively weighed every material, every stitch. There was something so intensely fear-inducing about thinking of a force like his, wearing exactly what he envisioned for himself. What Helena never understood was that his uniform ripped once under the force of someone's blade, and every stitch was an abomination to him.

"Come," he beckoned with his finger, tapping his lap. He wanted to feel more of her—her very core. What makes you tick, dear therapist? What makes you crawl at my feet?

His voice triggered her spine to tighten and her shoulders to draw back. Helena followed direction. "I don't want to hurt you," she said as she tried to straddle his hips. She was heavy. Plenty of people had told her. She wanted her weight on him, giving herself completely. But Helena was fearful. He's like everyone else.

Sephiroth scoffed and drew her onto him, feeling her wet entrance accept him. He guided her down, taking him entirely. She rested her hips on his for a moment before impulsively rocking herself back and forth. Helena would never tell him that he was her first. That would reveal too much of her and break the therapeutic relationship.

"You best not stop," Sephiroth commanded, his hands gripping her soft hips, begging for release. His hands drifted to her bottom, feeling the welts that developed, and he gently coaxed Helena to mewl as he massaged the risen skin. He knew she wouldn't stop. She needed this as much as him, and that brought him to the edge, swallowing back pain for the potentiality of a moment of bliss. She felt so good, but he wouldn't give in; she was his.

Helena unhooked her bra and brought her chest to his—cool leather and hardened clasps. The friction between their bodies led her insides to constrict against his presence. Too tall to suck, Sephiroth reached up to a taunt nipple, imagining the feeling against his mouth. Genesis allowed for certain touches, but his chest was entirely off-limits. Helena being so exposed caused Sephiroth to swallow back again.

"I need to," Helena started to say, hips desperately shifting. She did indeed need to.

"Only when I say." He held her down, holding onto her wrists.

"Please," she pleaded, clenching the belts on his chest, his hands allowing the movement.

"How much do you need to?" He teased, his voice so melodic that it drove Helena absolutely mad. "I may allow you."

"I need it! I need you!" Helena cried; neighbours be damned.

Sephiroth obliged. He only ever finished inside her. It worried him—a nagging thought only and quickly dashed by desire. The thought of Hojo knowing offered some sort of satisfaction, often chased by disgust. Helena knew what it was like to be an experiment, but not like how it was for Sephiroth. Experimentation, or the risk thereof, was a price he was willing to pay on behalf of Helena—she would understand.

Helena dismounted, picking up her clothing as she went. Her back and the intricate design of a tattoo caught Sephiroth's attention. "How old were you when you had that done?"

Helena laughed. "I had this for as long as I can remember. A gift, from my mother." Her mother designed the tattoo, her mother once told her, and bestowed on her a gift as old as the Cetra. It was an honor, her mother ensured, even to this day.

"I think I'm beginning to understand my therapist," Sephiroth smirked, tilting Helena's chin towards him. "I can see you, dear Ms. Menninger."

Helena woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. Blocked Caller. A terrible omen.

"Hello?" Helena snapped, her Saturday morning starting off the wrong foot. She pushed her hair from her face, the time on the clock focusing. It was only nine.

"Sweetie! Did I wake you?" A familiar voice – sing-song, fake.

"Hey, mom. Yeah, it was a rough night yesterday. I had to complete a series of dissections." That was, of course, before she spent the night at Sephiroth's flat. And quietly she left at three in the morning, leaving him to hibernate in his room – no one stayed overnight.

"Oh, your fave!" A laugh. "I was hoping we could meet up for brunch tomorrow. I'll be in town with Kathelyn. Just us girls."

Helena cringed visibly knowing no one was around to see her. "I've… got a lot of work this weekend," she lied.

"Oh," crestfallen, guilt-trip. "Well, we can do it another time."

"Sorry mom. Just got a lot going on." Helena looked through the bottles building up on her nightstand. When she got home, she poured herself a drink.

"Have you been drinking again?" Her mother heard the clanking of the bottles – so perceptive.

"Mom, please, don't."

"All I'm saying is that when you drink, you isolate. Your sister told me you were under a lot of stress."

"Of course she would know. The woman breathes down my neck! The only time I see her is when I'm not doing enough, not being productive enough! You know what? I'm not having this conversation with you. If Kathelyn wants to patch things up, she can call."

"She made a mistake by leaving after high school. Leaving you alone after dad left. I know I made a mistake. I'm not looking for forgiveness," liar, "but we are trying, Helena. We're just asking for you to try too."

Fuck you. "Right, mom. I'm busy this weekend."

"I love you, Helena."

"Okay."

Helena tapped her pen on the side of her chair, rotating her body from side to side but intentionally keeping her eye contact. His pupils were dilated as he continued to explain, "Genesis knows exactly what to say to – well, I nearly slit his throat open." He paused for a moment, studying her reaction. She knew better than to offer a sympathetic "uh-huh" to the First Class.

"We can be angry at someone's behaviour. It's a feeling of validation. We need to then ask ourselves if it's helpful to have it dictate our behaviours," Helena tapped at her seat again, scanning the pull on his spine.

Sephiroth nodded. "I rarely would let it happen," he justified, in turn trying to ease Helena's conscious. Helena was left unbothered.

"Unless you would like it," the sound of his voice permeated her thin, permeable barrier. He approached her, with intentional and smooth movements. "I think you would like it too much." Would she like it? Does she like it? A place of hers never observed by others. Vulnerability was not in her vocabulary. But when it came to Sephiroth, she felt utterly helpless to his design.

"You like violence. In fact, you are the most violent of therapists. You want me to commit violence, but only on you." She wanted to be the only thing he saw. He took her by the neck and stood her on her toes, her world slowly becoming black. If he was the last thing she saw, she would feel honored, knowing that she was melding with something greater.

Helena woke with a start, looking at her phone. It was nine-fifteen. Two missed calls. One from a blocked number, and the other was her mother. Her mother did not bother to leave a voicemail or message, but her blocked number messaged her.

From: s01 _ shinra

To: hmenninger _ shinra

Subject:

I will be stationed in Nibelheim for a mission. I would like to see you before I leave, but it's rather short notice.

From: hmenninger _ shinra

To: s01 _ shinra

Subject:

[I would love to see you before you leave, please. I need you.]

Be safe! We'll talk soon.

~Helena

N/A: Things about to head down a dark path. Helena and Sephiroth a vying for control - JENOVA is behind it, I'm certain.

Helena writing "I would love to see you..." was supposed to be stuck out - like she deleted it.

Song of the day: Sleep Apnea, Chevelle