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Helena is 11 years old, clutching a fork, when she stares at her plate and realizes that, unlike almost every waking moment of her life, she's got a choice sitting in front of her.
Dinner is a desolate thing, sitting in dead silence with her father, waiting for the opportunity to go back to Natalie, who isn't allowed at the table. She doesn't have to play this game. She can draw a line right at the edge of the halfway point of her meal. She sets aside her fork, feels a surge of power practically to her fingertips, and steals a look up at her father only to see that he's not looking at her at all.
Praise Kier. Her heartbeat pulses in her throat. She made a decision, and she's safe.
Natalie doesn't pretend she hasn't noticed that she eats less and less with each passing year, but doesn't say anything until Helena's frustrations with her father and her life grow to the point that she starts to drink at the age of 16. "Helena," she says, her gaze bright and careful on how her daily subject is currently pouring herself another half-tumbler of whiskey. "Did you want something to eat?"
"No," Helena says simply, and downs some whiskey, settling in on the couch in her room.
Natalie stands, unbothered at performing the professionalism even at their ages. "It can be hard on you when you don't," she says.
Helena levels a look at her, and Natalie barely wavers. She's more frightened of Helena's father than Helena. "If you have an issue with what I'm doing, then take it to him," she says.
Natalie folds her hands in front of her, visibly steadying herself. "Until I have a reason to believe you're a danger to yourself or anyone else, I don't see why I should," she says.
"You don't think I'm a danger?" Helena isn't sure why that bothers her. Her rebellions are pointless. No one cares. "What will it take for you to worry? Am I supposed to believe you care?"
Natalie's gaze goes askance, her expression troubled for just a split second. "You're drunk," she says. "You're not thinking clearly."
"Think clearly for me," Helena says, a little caustic, not caring if she hurts her at a time like this. "What should I do? Eat three courses? Be the good future CEO? Live in a box? I don't want to live in a box."
Natalie visibly measures her response. "Do you believe there's a life outside of that box?" she asks.
Helena lowers her glass of whiskey, trying to parse that, then she sits back and stares at Natalie. "What do you suggest?" she asks.
"What does your father want from you?" Natalie asks in return, planted firmly a few feet away from her, just unintimidated enough to have a conversation like this with her. "Does he want you to be perfect? Or does he want you to be strong?"
That stops Helena, who drops her gaze away again. "What is strength?" she asks. "Stability that comes from the nine? Power coming from the strict balance of your humors?"
Natalie considers that. "Are you balanced?" she asks plainly.
Of course she isn't. Everything is out of whack in her. She struggles to adhere to the nine, her humors rise and fall with no reason, as it's always been. She might be the worst Eagan heir to have ever been born. It strengthens her resolve to think about her own failures; maybe the only thing she can do is to stand her ground and be who she is, the way all of the Eagans before her have. "Tell me," she says. "Be honest with me. Tell me what you think we have to do."
'We'. The intimacy doesn't escape Natalie, who just barely reacts. "Be safe," she says slowly, "but be yourself. You can do both. I believe that."
"You believe in me?" Helena asks, tone Sahara dry.
"I do." Natalie's smile hovers on the corner of her mouth. "I always have."
Helena feels part of herself soften, and sets the glass aside, nodding to Natalie that she can take a seat nearby her. The two of them sit there in silence as Helena struggles not to drink the last of the whiskey; inevitably, she picks it up, finishes it, and sets the glass aside with less shame than defiance. When Natalie reaches out her hand, Helena hesitates but hands over the nearby bottle, which Natalie sets aside to take away later.
There's one very important question that she's never had the courage to ask; thank whiskey. "If it wasn't for your family," Helena asks, "would you stay here with me?"
Natalie looks at her, her expression purposefully blank. "It's been 10 years," she says. "I don't want to be anywhere else but here."
Helena slowly accepts that, sits back against the couch, allowing her perfect posture to slacken a little. "I have to," she says after a pause, not even sure Natalie will be able to keep track of where her mind is going. "I can't – " Her voice stops in her throat at the idea of even admitting her issues with the food they place in front of her, and she breathes out. "I can't do it, and they're not making me, so I'm not going to."
"All right." Natalie watches her; she absolutely understands what Helena means, and they both know it. "I'll help you. I'll help you be safe. Don't run away from me. That's all I need to know."
Helena feels a jab of guilt and emotion that feels totally foreign, and it makes her uncomfortable just as it comforts her. "I won't," she says, though she knows Natalie is working her over, that this is Natalie's job, to control her. It's different when it's Natalie saying it. That's the point. "Don't get in my way."
Natalie smiles that perfect smile of hers, and Helena tries to read it and fails for the hundredth, thousandth time. "Of course," she says, polished like an adult even before they've earned their diplomas.
Helena doesn't like how well she was just handled, but that might just be life. She'll find some way to break out of that box. She just has to convince Natalie to loosen her grip. It can't be impossible to do.
When someone dies from the implant and it hits the news, one of Helena's classmates tries to argue with her. She just looks at him, half a smile turning up her mouth, and doesn't say, Worse things can happen.
Parts of you can die and you just have to keep on walking. She makes no apologies for Lumon, for her father, for herself. She knows they're all doing the right thing.
Helena figures it out in college – she can more comfortably get drunk if she eats then gets rid of it the second she doesn't need it. She starts out sticking a finger down her throat, which works but is messy, then she gets bottles of ipecac that she hides and takes tiny doses of usually once a day to get it all out of her system. The truth is that she doesn't know why she's doing it. She just knows this is something that's hers. It's not for Father, it's not for Lumon or Kier. The moment she gets sick is proof enough that she's not entirely a puppet, or a doll to be placed on the shelf until it's time to display it.
She takes her ipecac, then the door to her apartment opens behind her. She can't do anything about what's about to happen, so she surrenders to the idea of someone knowing, and vomits hard into the toilet, red wine staining the lot of it. As she looks up, exhausted, she sees Natalie there, smart as a whip, having no trouble deducing what's going on here. Her gaze is steady with a storm of a few emotions she doesn't dare share. "I don't have to tell you that this has to stop," she says, as Helena stares up at her in disbelief. "This is extremely unhealthy. You'll ruin your throat, your teeth. Please think."
It always comes down to what's on the outside with them. Helena stands up, flushes the toilet, and washes her mouth out with mouthwash, all without the slightest response. When she's spat out the mouthwash, she turns back to a patient Natalie. "What will you tell him?" she asks.
Natalie never likes this question. "When it comes to your health, I'm obligated to share information – "
"I don't care." Helena welcomes the anger, the abuse. It's attention from him. She can't seem to get it any other way; he only wants her when she's showing verve, but not enough to threaten his total power over her. "Do it. And arrange a flight back home for this weekend. He may call me himself anyway, but I should go."
Natalie is caught off-guard. "I'll do that," she says. "And you'll…"
"Yes." Helena can go back to how it once was – eating tiny portions, the comfort of hunger, the voice that says, Just sleep and the feeling will go away, just close your eyes and you'll be free. "I can handle it."
"I'll arrange that flight for you." Natalie wants to say something, it's obvious, but she can't get past her orders. "Rest."
"Yes." Natalie doesn't get how much of a rush it is to get it all out. Helena will take a run, her head spinning. It sounds wonderful, a way to close a chapter.
Natalie's gaze glazes over in front of her, then she walks away, something about her posture frozen and unreal.
Helena changes into athletic clothes and runs a mile, exhausted and happy at the end, her head light and almost ready to fall over.
No matter what happens next, she has her body. It's hers. They don't get to decide what goes into it or how she takes care of it. She's dropping the ipecac because they'll find some way to cut off her supply if she doesn't. She throws away three bottles, her anger too numb to really feel.
It's hard not to feel. It's hard to let herself feel. She has all of the money, power, and influence in the world, but she's still not allowed to get angry.
Remembering the day she met Natalie is like a dream.
Natalie was sweet, pretty in every way from her posture to her outfit to her hair, and six years old, just as Helena was. The two of them just looked at each other as though to figure out whether or not they could ever be friends, ever, and Father spoke the words that Helena will never forget.
She's to be your companion. To guide you down the treacherous path a creature like you will have to take to become a real heir to everything Kier has given us. Helena simply blinked away the hard words with a smile. Natalie, take her away and do as you've been told.
Yes, Mr. Eagan. Natalie was perfect. Helena was not.
Helena only felt it sink in at that moment that Natalie was there to watch and teach her. She remained frozen for a very long second before she turned on her father. I don't need a babysitter with me all the time, she said. I listen to you every night, why are you doing this?
You listen, but you don't believe, Father said, his tone acidic, then nodded to Natalie, who took Helena by the arm to try to guide her out of the room. Helena shook her off, ready to push back at him again, but her father was already leaving the room. She looked back at Natalie, fire burning inside her, and she hoped she could burst the girl into flames with a single look.
Natalie didn't burn. She watched Helena carefully, and once the spark of fear inside her faded, said nothing as she touched Helena's shoulder to guide her back to her room.
It ended up with Natalie sitting on a chair and Helena on her bed, and Helena tried to breathe for a few moments before Natalie began to speak about vision.
Helena knew at that moment that she just wasn't good enough.
Helena's head pounds as Natalie tries to pull her out of bed. "I don't want to," she says, her breathing starting to go hard.
"You have to be at the gala in one hour," Natalie says, steady as she ever is, though it sounds like her patience is being tested. "I want to get you ready well in advance."
"I told you, I don't want to go." Helena cried for a full hour last night after her father seized her by the shoulders and told her that she would be nothing at all unless she changed completely. She doesn't want to see him. She doesn't want to try anymore. She wants to lie in this bed and die.
"That's not an option." Natalie stops trying to pull her and looks at her frankly. "You have a dress. You can put makeup on and do your hair. You can show up, smile, and keep to yourself."
Helena scoffs loudly and curls up into her bed. "Are you actually talking to me this way?"
Natalie is unmoved. "You drank for four hours last night," she says. "That was your decision. Now you have to deal with the consequences. Life goes on."
A whiplash of frustration hits Helena. "Why do you think you can speak to me this way?"
"Because I work for your father," Natalie says, calm with a razor's edge to it. "And he wants you at this gala, so I intend to get you there."
"I could ruin you." Helena's just in a mood now, and she knows it. "I could tell him all kinds of things."
Natalie sends her a purposely blank look. "You should start getting ready before it's too late," she says. "You don't want to arrive late. Do you?"
Helena shoves the covers off of herself and stalks off towards her vanity, brushing out her hair with a sinking feeling that tonight is going to matter a lot more than she hoped it would, not because of the people she'll see, but only because of this moment.
She's alone. She's got someone by her side so much of the time, but she's alone. All she has is Father, and his cruel, short words, his brief, icy touch.
She does her hair and she doesn't cry again.
A protester throws red paint onto Helena as she walks out of the Lumon building, and she stands in shock as security suddenly swarms the space and handcuffs the man who's dropped the bucket.
"You're disgusting," the protester shouts at her. "You and your family are a blight on humanity!"
Helena stares at him, and speaks before he walks away. "You're small-minded," she says. "You'll all realize how incredibly wrong you are someday soon."
The protester spits on the ground as he's dragged away.
Helena goes back into the building and makes the calls she needs to make, cleans herself up, and feels nothing.
Helena eats a single egg over the course of a Friday and drinks five cocktails over the course of Friday night.
She's at a party of another rich heiress, slumped against a divan, willing herself to not vomit on the carpeting. She needs to get her head straight before she calls the car, and it's getting tempting to just get the vomiting over with so she can go home. She can handle vomiting, after college.
"Hey." All of the sudden a man's arm is around her, and he's shockingly close. "Eagan, right? Are you okay?"
Helena has to summon all of her willpower to answer. "Please don't."
"I'm just asking a simple question." The man's wearing a barely-there amount of cologne, but it's enough to turn Helena's stomach. "Let me help you out. What do you need?"
"I need to go home." Helena doesn't want to go home, she wants to stay here, but she took it too far and now nowhere is safe. She snatches at her purse and rifles through her bag for her cell phone. "Thank you." She's as crisp with the man as she can get.
"Mm." The man leans in and kisses her neck, and it sets off all kinds of troubling signals in her body. "I think you just need to sleep it off."
"Get off of me." Helena pushes away from him, grabs her purse, and stumbles away, sneaking into a bathroom to make the only call she can. "Natalie." She knows Natalie knows what's going on before she even says a word. "I'm, I'm taking a car."
"Let me call it for you." Of course Natalie knows where she is. "Are you safe?"
"I don't know." Helena never feels safe, which feels wrong for an Eagan. "Call it. I'll go outside and wait."
"If you need to be sick," Natalie says knowingly, "it's okay to let go."
Helena's stomach lurches at the reminder. "No," she says, wants that much self-control. "I'll be outside. Tell them I'll be outside."
"All right, Helena." Natalie has the same mix of reassurance and total recognition that Father will know about this as she always does. "I'll see you at home."
Helena can't stop herself, as she leans against the wall. "Do you have to tell him?"
Natalie responds after a tense moment. "I think it would be for the best for you to face this."
"Don't. Just don't." Helena resents her in a rush. "Is it worth it? Doing all this, ruining me, for your family?"
"All of this is worth it for both my families," Natalie says calmly. "Be careful." She hangs up, and Helena looks at her phone for no good reason before she tucks it into her purse and tries to make her way to the door without anyone harassing her again. Somehow she sneaks through without incident, and she waits, clutching her arms, for the car to come.
Father always only arrives at the exact moment he needs to in order to make the impact he's trying to make. Helena waits, willing her nerves to stop reverbating inside of her, and she takes refuge in the emptiness in her stomach, the vaguest ache.
He's there when she's finally stopped desperately hoping he'll arrive, and they exchange a look before he speaks. "You've changed," he says. "You used to…" He trails off as she stares at him. He comes back with something sharp. "What are you for?"
Helena is taken aback by the question. "I live to serve Kier."
Father walks up to her and leans into her face. "Not the bottle?"
Her face burns. "I can do both."
"You don't have the luxury of being broken." Father keeps his voice even, a knife's edge to it. "You have work to do. Glorious work. You'll do more than achieve. Do you understand?" He seizes her chin as she tries not to look at him. "I will make something of you. 'Mine own have wondrous gifts to bring the world, just as I did.'" Kier quotes. This is not when Helena wants to be hearing this. He shoves her face away. "It's over," he tells her. "If I hear about this one more time – " He turns away, leaving her to wonder about the end of that sentence. "Never again, you deplorable, pampered thing." He walks away from her, and she sits very still in the silence for what must be minutes before she even thinks about breathing normally again.
She stands, walks with her mind unsteady but head held high, and opens the door to Natalie's room. Natalie looks up at her, Helena shuts the door behind herself, and the two of them square off before Helena says it. "You'll never tell him again."
Natalie is unmoved. "I did it for you."
Helena scoffs. "You followed orders."
"It's time to grow up." Natalie looks at her, that blank look still hiding something. "Eventually you won't need me anymore."
"No." Helena knows that. Father will want to watch her forever. "You'll get other responsibilities. But you'll be with me."
"Is that a problem?" Natalie asks simply.
Helena can't tear her gaze away from Natalie's apparent nonchalance. "Why would you want to stay with me? To torture me? Why do you do this?"
Natalie barely hesitates, but she does. "Because I think you'll be happier as an heir to Kier than what you've been."
"Why does that matter to you?" The ice of Helena's anger is breaking, along with her facade. "We support your family, you're grateful, but this is nonsense. You shouldn't pretend to care."
Natalie doesn't like hearing that at all. "I think you're close enough, if you fix this, that you'll get some freedoms. That they won't have me watch you as closely. I do."
Helena feels something awful happening inside of her, something cracking, something giving way. She feels herself soften fractionally in front of Natalie, and hates herself for it. "We'll see," she says, and turns away to leave.
"I don't lie to you," Natalie says to her back. It makes Helena falter for much less than a second, and she leaves Natalie's room to return to her own and think.
Helena doesn't drink in public anymore.
Natalie is assigned to more work at Lumon, and Helena sees her less and less. This means they trust her more. This should be a good thing.
This doesn't mean they don't know each other. It means that Natalie's smile is more fixed on her face every time she sees her. It means Natalie doesn't need to care anymore, even though Helena deludes herself that she might want to.
Her gaze lingers on Natalie as she passes, and recognition flickers behind her eyes before it's replaced by a telling amount of nothing.
11,680 days, Helena's been breathing.
1,095 days since she's gotten drunk.
728 days since she's cried.
She goes to meet with her father.
"There are too many doubts," Father says, examining her face for some principle she couldn't guess. "We must prove our own confidence in the chip."
"What are you thinking?" Helena asks, now ready to be the child at her father's feet, listening closely.
"One of us needs to undergo the procedure." Father watches her as the realization sinks in. "This is an honor. You will know the freedom of severance personally. To be Kier's child twice over."
"Of course." The breath is tight in Helena's chest, though. "And be with them? The innies?"
"That's the point," Father says, on the edge of tired aggravation with her questions. "We're going to prove that they're happy."
Helena sits, cold, and the hunger pains jab inside of her.
"Of course, Father." She doesn't smile. She doesn't not smile. She wishes she could crash herself against the world, drunkenly wander, destroy her life. But she never will again.
She walks past Natalie once the briefing is over, and they barely share a look.
Maybe she really is grown. Maybe the child that screams inside of her doesn't matter. All that matters is what they can see.
She walks with her head held high, and keeps it together while she screams inside.
Praise Kier.