Helen had been so wrapped up in her beloved Paris that everything and everyone else in the world was nothing more than a blur. The two of them had been almost inseparable. They shared intimate kisses and cuddles in very public places, not caring that the whole world could see.
It was sickening.
Helen hadn't even registered the presence of another immortal. She just skipped on home with Paris without a care in the world. It wasn't until they had gotten home and the knock came that she even acknowledged anyone else.
When she saw Achilles standing at their door she felt panic begin to bubble up inside. What if he was there to take her away? "Paris," she said cautiously. And then again with a tone of worry and demanding. "He looks angry. Stop." But nothing seemed to get through. Paris continued to taunt Achilles, too arrogant not to realize his mistake. When the two began to struggle Helen jumped back and hid just around the corner (something she would have never done in her right state- she would have joined in and helped Achilles if she wasn't under the curse). Her screams didn't seem to register to either men. She pleaded with Achilles to stop, but he didn't.
And then when the light went out in Paris' eyes Helen collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. She was holding her head in her hands, feeling very groggy and strange. "What... happened?" Her entire body trembled uncontrollably, as though it was withdrawing from the curse.
She looked up to see Achilles atop a dead Paris. "Oh my gods," she said with what almost sounded like excitement. "Achilles! You broke it! Killing him broke the curse!"
Okay, yes. Definitely excitement.
In a matter of seconds, Helen felt such intense anger well up inside. She had spent two years trapped in a prison she herself could not escape. Anger overwhelmed her and she couldn't stop herself from pouncing on Paris' lifeless body. She slammed her fists into his face, letting out all the anger and hatred she had held for him for so long. It was the only time she could touch him without loving him. Blood spattered the more and more she hit his stupid face. Angry tears trailed down her cheeks and anything Achilles might have said or done was completely drowned out by the sound of fist meeting face and the beat of her heart in her eardrums.
This continued for several minutes until Helen could not longer feel her hands. Her own blood mingled with Paris'. She stared down at her hands, bloody and painful. She shook with rage. Years of torture and contempt blinded her rationality. She just sat there, staring at her hands as those bitter tears fell.
And then worry showed on her face as she turned to Achilles, trembling from both the withdrawal and the adrenaline. She grabbed Achilles' arm and spoke in a low voice, chocking back tears, "Help me get rid of the body." Clearly, Helen didn't give a damn that Paris was now dead.