The Helen he'd married had never been skittish, she never outwardly showed such disdain, such loathe, except when she met Paris. Everything changed after that. It was as if she'd rather die than be with him, and nothing he said could change her mind. She looked at him with disgust, she hated the sound of his voice. She looked like she'd been under a spell. That was the same look he saw now. That only meant----
"Don't run from me Helen..." he wasn't trying to demand it of her, but he wanted her to see there was nothing to be afraid of. In her lucid state she'd only see it as controlling, bending, that he'd hurt her.