Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It was us, Madeline.”
Helen said it in the same tone a dying person uses to whisper a last confession.

Ernest was dead because of them.

They were both dead because of each other.

Nothing would ever be the same.

And Madeline knew that. She knew it very deeply in her core. There was a voice inside her that shouted at her about how this all had happened because of her. Because of her jealousy, her childish necessity of always needing to be the attention center. 

“We can’t do this here. We need to go.”
“Go where? There’s nothing. No one.”

Madeline held her breath, her eyes glued to Helen’s. The cold autumn wind caressed her naked arms and it sent a chill down her spine. She knew exactly what Helen meant by that. They were both alone, completely alone.

But she did what she always did best.

Act.
“What do you mean?”
She asked it quietly. Very, very quietly, as if trying to make sure that Helen wouldn’t hear her. If she didn’t hear her question, she couldn't answer it, and so Madeline would keep living in that pretty little world that she had created in her own head to avoid the miserable reality that her life had become years ago.

“We are alone, Madeline. No one remembers you and…”
“That is not true.”
“Could you stop fucking lying to yourself for once?” Helen’s voice cracked. “God, it’s like you can never stop acting, Madeline. You can’t stop pretending that you know the truth, can you?”

Madeline stared at her and said nothing. There was nothing more to say.

She got to see how Helen’s eyes turned glassy, how her lips started to tremble.

She didn’t know that dead people could still cry.

Helen sat at the edge of the balcony, her back to the world, and buried her head into her hands.

“What if I jumped too?” She asked, her voice muffled by her own hands.

Madeline didn’t know if she wanted her to respond to that question.

“It won’t be pretty” she finally replied, trying to make it sound like a joke.

“At least I’ll be with Ernest.”
Madeline sat down right next to her, their thighs touching. 

“Do you… do you still love him?”
She felt afraid when she asked that question, even though she didn’t even know why. Ernest was dead. Dead and gone. And Madeline never loved him anyway. But, even so, she was terrified of Helen stealing him away. However, that was the very same thing that Madeline had done to Helen.

“I don’t know.” she finally replied. “I used to think that he was the one. I thought that we were going to get married and then I would finally be happy.”

“I thought that you were happy already, Hel.”
“When?”

“At the restaurant, during the book party.”
Helen let out a soft laugh.

“I was just trying to make you jealous. The same old thing that you’ve been doing to me since we met.”

She finally lifted her head and looked at Madeline. They stared at each other, hearing the music and the sounds of heels clinging against the dance floor of the party downstairs. A party that neither of them was invited to. Helen turned, gazing at the moon, which was almost setting.

“Hel, I…”
“What a foul I was, Mad. How dumb of me to think that I was going to be loved someday.”

Madeline knew that she alone was the reason why the last ten years of Helen’s life had been a living hell. The reason why Helen tried to end her own life. The reason why she was imprisoned in a mental institution for four long years. She would have probably spent her whole life there if she didn’t have escaped.

Was it okay to think that she may love her after all of that?

Whenever Madeline thought about Helen, she would get nervous, thinking of the best way of making an impression on her. Wearing revealing outfits, trying to be funny, inviting her to dinner at her place so she could see the gigantic (and lonely) house that she had. When Helen told her that she was getting married, she didn’t feel happy at all. She started to think of any way that she could prevent that marriage from happening.

Even if it meant to ruin Helen’s happiness. 

If Madeline couldn't be with her, no one could. It was incredibly selfish, and she had learned that by now.

“I would gladly spend eternity with you, Hel.”
What else could she do to make it up to her? She had ruined her life after all. And now she literally had all the time in the world to fix it.

Helen looked at her, her eyes wide open.

“What?”
“I mean, what other choices do we have? We are bound together whether we want it or not. You just said it, Hel. There’s no one else. We only have each other.”

Madeline reached for Helen’s hands without thinking, almost out of habit, her thumb brushing against her skin before she realized what she was doing.

“I don’t know about you, but I would probably go insane if I had to be alive forever all by myself. And, I guess I should be grateful that, out of everyone, I’m stuck with you.”

And she forced a brittle laugh as she said those last words.

Helen narrowed her eyes.

After everything Madeline had done, after years trapped in a mad house because of her, after losing the love of her life, after being the buff of all jokes, she dared to talk about being with her like it was some kind of gift.

Helen tilted her head, lips curling into a cold smile.

“God, you really want me to paint your ass until the end of times, don’t you, Mad?”

Madeline blinked, taken back. This wasn’t the answer she was expecting after all, but what else could she count on anyways? Forgiveness? Pretending that everything was fine? She forced a chuckle, pretending she found it funny.

Helen didn’t buy the act. But she let it slide. Like she always did.

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her dress.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

The door hinges groaned as Madeline sat in the passenger seat just as Helen slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door harder than necessary.

The truck smelled faintly of old leather and gasoline, a sharp contrast to Madeline’s perfume, which dulled Helen's senses, bringing back memories that she would rather forget.

Helen jammed the key into the ignition. The engine coughed awake, filling the silence with its low rumble. She drove forward into the dimly lit street almost in a trance, trying to think of all the different things that she could have done to avoid that situation.

Madeline started to take off the little pins in her hair, letting them over her lap. Helen gazed straight ahead, trying to ignore Madeline’s soft humming until it became unbearable.

“Would you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Mad. You are driving me insane.”
“You are already driving and insane, darling; don’t blame it on me.”

Helen scoffed, trying to not stop the car right there in the middle of the street to behead Madeline (again) and throw her head far away like a baseball ball.

“Well, I hate to break it to you but that’s your fault, Madeline.”
“My fault? How in God’s name is this my fault, Hel? You killed me.”

“Don’t get me started.”

The ride stretched on through quiet streets, the headlights carving tunnels of pale light out of the dark. Helen kept her hands at ten and two, every muscle taut with irritation. She told herself it was because Madeline wouldn’t shut up with her little humming, but if she was honest, it was weird how familiar it was to have Madeline sitting right next to her.

They used to go everywhere in her old car when they were in college. Helen drove Madeline to auditions, concerts, everything. Madeline always played her music so loud that Helen was afraid the police would call them on it. Still, she enjoyed listening to her best friend belting out the soundtrack of the musical she'd become obsessed with that month, playing the CD on repeat until it scratched.

Helen stopped dead in her tracks at a traffic light that turned red too abruptly, as if trying to bring her back to the present. When she flicked her eyes sideways she saw Madeline with her head against the car window, deeply asleep.

She was asleep.

Asleep.

In Helen’s car of all places.

Helen gripped the wheel tighter.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Madeline didn’t even stir. Her lips parted slightly, the soft rise and fall of her chest… Helen forced her gaze back to the road, wondering how she looked so beautiful even while she was asleep. She tried to summon up every reason why she hated her. Every insult, every humiliation, every fight. But it was like it didn’t matter anymore.

Madeline was right, they were stuck together. They were forced to like each other whether they liked it or not.

When they rolled up in front of the mansion, Helen parked neatly against the curb, pulled the handbrake, and turned off the engine. The silence was immediate, oppressive.

Madeline didn’t move.

Helen drummed her fingers on the wheel.

“Mad, we are here,” she said flatly.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a low growl.

“Madeline. Get out of my truck, I really want to go home.”

Still nothing.

Helen sat back, lips pressed tight, and then a slow, wicked idea bloomed. She smirked.

Her palm slammed down on the claxon, holding it there with brutal finality. The horn shrieked through the night, echoing in the distance and even rattling the windows of the mansion.

Madeline jerked upright with a gasp, eyes wide. All the hairpins she had on her lap fell to the floor, clinking as they hit her heels.

“Welcome home, princess,” Helen said as she laughed.

Madeline stared at her, deeply offended.

“You could have thrown me down the stairs again. It would’ve been much nicer than this, you old hag.”

She shoved her hair back from her face, and gathered the fallen pins from her lap.

“You’re such a bitch, Hel. I hope you know that.”

Helen shrugged, leaning back in her seat with studied indifference.

“I wasn’t the one who was drooling all over myself.”

Madeline gasped again, even more dramatically than before.
“I do not drool.”
“Oh, please. You looked like a fucking waterfall.”

Madeline closed, her hand stilling on the door handle, as if she was waiting for another teasing, another joke, another excuse to stay with Helen for just one more second. For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Madeline finally scoffed and slipped out into the night, slamming the door behind her.

Helen watched as she walked to the entrance of the mansion and started to look for her keys (she kept them in her bra for some reason).

Helen exhaled, staring at the empty passenger seat, her hands still tingling from the claxon. Madeline had left a few pins on the floor. She probably didn’t notice them or she picked the rest as quickly as possible to get out of the trunk.

She replayed that scene on the balcony again. Now that she thought about it more calmly, she had behaved like a bitch.

Madeline had never apologized in the thirty years she'd known her, and somehow Helen had the impression she was trying to say it on the balcony.

No, that was impossible.

Madeline had always been a brat with no concern for anyone else who cared about her. She always had to be the center of attention. In her mind, nothing existed but her, her, and…
Helen heard a light tapping on the window. She turned and saw Madeline standing behind the glass, waving awkwardly at her. She looked her up and down and pressed the button to lower the window.

"Did you leave something here or...?" she asked.

"Do you want to stay over?"

She asked it too quickly, almost as if she were nervous. That vague idea seemed ridiculous to both of them. That Madeline Ashton could tremble like a little girl asking her best (and only) friend if she wanted to stay over.

“It’s been a rough night, Hel. And you are probably as tired as I am.”

Madeline was staring at her, her dress and hair still perfect, intact. Helen was finally realising how beautiful she looked after taking the potion. It was just like when they were twenty again.

“Alright.” She said after noticing how much time she had spent looking at her.

She took the keys out and got off her truck, passing the tail of her dress over her arm. It was such a beautiful dress and she adored it, but it was really uncomfortable to walk with it.

They entered the mansion and took their heels off as soon as they walked through the door, leaving them on the ground without any care.

Madeline began nervously playing with her hair, avoiding looking at Helen.

“So… would you like some breakfast?”

“I don’t know, Mad. I don’t think I would have a good time eating anything when I have a hole in my stomach filled with fucking play-doh.”

“Okay, but like, you don’t have to be a bitch about it, you know? I’m just trying to be nice.”

Helen walked to the sofa, pushing Madeline out of her way with more force than she would have liked, and sat down with her legs spread open and her back buried between cushions. She turned to the little table in which Ernest had left his glass after throwing out his drink. There was still a little bit of scotch in it. 

She turned around and took the blister pack of her sleeping pills and discovered that not a single one was left.

"Mad, were you planning on giving Ernest fifteen sleeping pills?" she asked, unimpressed.

Madeline was still leaning on the door, playing with her keys. She raised her head to look at Helen.

"How many did you want me to give him?"

"One? If he'd drunk this, he would have died."

"Oh, please. You’re so dramatic.”

Helen smiled sadly, picking up the glass. The powder from the pills was still visible at the bottom.

"Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Without another word, she lifted the glass and drank, setting it down on the table with a thud.

What was the worst that could happen? She was already dead, and Madeline had left her without any pills. The next day she'd go back to her house and get more.

This was only one night.

She got on her feet.

“I’m going to bed”, she announced as she walked towards the stairs.

“Were do you think you are going?”

Madeline asked that question with that high-pitched-dramatic-theatrical voice that drove Helen (even more) insane. The same voice she would hear mocking her during her stay at the mental hospital.

“To bed, Mad. I’ve literally just told you.”

“No, darling. Couch.”
Helen blinked, waiting for the moment in which Madeline would laugh, telling her that it was a joke.

It wasn’t.

“What?”
“If you live under my roof, you follow my rules. And my rules are that I’m not sharing my bed with you.”

“And I’m not sleeping on the couch like some dog!”

“Oh, no sweetie. Dogs sleep on the floor. Pretty bitches who murdered me sleep on my couch, so you should be grateful.”
Helen scoffed.

“If you say so, mommy.”
Madeline's keys slipped through her fingers. They fell to the floor with a faint jingle. She knelt quickly so Helen wouldn’t see the way her cheeks had turned completely red. 

Helen did see.

And she loved it.

She let out a laugh that sounded too genuine to be a mockery.

"Oh, please. Don't tell me Madeline Ashton gets nervous when she's called mo—"

"Would you stop that?"

She picked up her keys, placing them on a small shelf by the door.

"Look, Helen. It's just one night, okay? Nothing's going to happen to you for sleeping on the couch. Ernest did it all the time, and he's fine... Well, he is not. But he didn't die from sleeping on a couch."

Helen sighed.

"Okay, but will you at least leave me a place to change?"

"Change?"

"You want me to sleep in your ball gown?"

Madeline grunted and told Helen to follow her. The two climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

Helen had been there before. The most recent time had been several hours earlier when Madeline lent her the dress after Ernest had fixed them both. Before that, Helen had been to the mansion a few more times. Before dying, long before she'd met Ernest, before the hospital, before the potion.

When everything was normal.

Madeline opened the door and gestured for Helen to come in.

"Take whatever nightgown you want, I don't care. You can also take a shower to stop smelling like a disgusting rotting curse. The bathroom is down the hall on the right."

Helen looked around, pretending that she didn’t have that bedroom memorized by heart already and turned to look back at her.

“Okay. Thanks, Mad.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” she replied.

Helen closed the door behind her with a soft click. The sound echoed in Madeline’s head longer than it should have. She sighed and turned toward the stairs.

She’d get a drink, maybe dig through Stefan’s ridiculous stash of imported cheeses, and try to forget that Helen was in her house, in her room and using her clothes.

But as soon as she got to the kitchen, she realized.

Helen was in her bedroom.

And what else was in her room?

Her bed.

The same bed Helen was forbidden to sleep in.

Shit.

The thought alone needled at her until her whole body tensed. Helen fucking Sharp in her silk sheets. On her pillows. Stretching out in her bed, with the morning sun caressing her freckled skin, highlighting the beauty of those green eyes, with her red hair tangled over her bare back and...

She turned sharply on her heels.

Why the fuck was she thinking about Helen naked in her bed and why did she liked that idea?

Madeline’s dress brushed against her legs as marched back to the bedroom, trying to convince herself that those images weren’t nice.

She didn’t bother knocking. Why would she? This was her house, for fuck’s sake.

She threw the door open with a dramatic swing.

Helen was already in bed (just as Madeline had imagined). She'd been thoughtful enough to leave the dress Madeline had lent her on a hanger. She'd also left all the small clips she'd used in her updo on the nightstand, leaving her red hair (now even wavier than usual due to her styling) resting on the pillow. She was covered with a blanket, but from where she was, Madeline could see that she was wearing only her underwear, as she could make out a black lace strap around her shoulder.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Helen lifted her head, her eyes half-closed, half asleep.

“What…?”
“I believe I told you to sleep on the couch.”
“Well, too bad. I’m already sleeping.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, I used to be sleeping until some dumb blonde started to shout at me.”

Before Madeline could say anything else, Helen buried her head back in the pillow, cuddling under the blankets.

“Besides, I already took what was left of my pills. It would be such a waste, don’t you think, honey?”

“And where am I supposed to sleep then, Hel?”
“Couch, darling.” She replied without even opening her eyes.

Madeline grunted and then stormed out to the bathroom, slamming the door.

She thought about showering, but didn’t. What if her painting came off? She no longer had Ernest to help her.

She took off her dress, leaving it on the floor without any care. Stefan could pick it up later. And where was Stefan? It was already eight o’clock in the morning and he used to be at the mansion at seven thirty. That was weird, but a lot of weird things had happened to Madeline during that night, so she didn’t think about Stefan, Ernest or any other man while she took her lipstick off.

There was only one thought in her mind.

A woman.

A woman who was sleeping in her bed.

She walked out of the bathroom wearing only her underwear and opened her wardrobe to pick a nightgown (without realizing how Helen turned slightly to watch her). She put on one of her favourites, a light one that you could almost see through.

She went to the door, but stopped.

What the fuck was she doing? She was Madeline Ashton! She was a two time Academy Award nominee, a Broadway star, a sex symbol and now also an immortal dead being. Was she really going to sleep on the couch of her own home while Helen slept in her bed?

No fucking way.

She ran and jumped on the bed, startling Helen.

“Jesus, Mad!”

“Move, I’m going in.”
“Are you seriously going to sleep with me?” She asked, and there was something about that question that made Madeline feel butterflies in her stomach.

“Of course, I am. It’s my bed after all.”

Helen sighed, moving slightly to the left, letting Madeline lie next to her.

“You better not spoon me while you're sleeping”, Helen muttered as she started to drift off again.
“Oh, fuck off! That only happened once in college.”
“Yeah, but it happened.”
Madeline curled up on the mattress, closing her eyes. She gave a sharp tug at the blanket, completely uncovering Helen.

“I hate you, Mad.”
“Yeah, whatever. Good night to you too, Hel.”

Both of them sighed.

This was going to be a very long eternity.

Chapter Text

Helen woke up many, many hours later. She snuggled deeper into the mattress without opening her eyes, wondering why it was so big and comfortable. The one at her hotel was pretty good too, but this one was much better. She noticed a familiar smell on one of the pillows. A smell she hadn't shared in her bed for ten years.

Ernest.

She opened her eyes suddenly, searching for him. She thought for a moment that she had returned to her old life. That there was no magic potion, no gruesome murders, no institution to be imprisoned in. Only a man who finally loved her and a promise of a life together.

But that couldn't have been further from the truth.

Helen ran her hands over her eyes as if to clear the fog that hung in her mind, trying to recall the events of the previous night.

She looked up and saw the dress Madeline had lent her still on the hanger.

Madeline, however, was no longer there with her.

She gazed at her window and watched the sun setting in the west. The sky looked like one of the old watercolors that filled Ernest’s study, so full of colors and gradients. How many sunsets was she going to see for the rest of her life? Too many to count. She couldn't even tell if that was a good or a bad thing.  

She got up very slowly, put on one of the nightgowns Madeline had in her closet (it would be quite rude of her to walk around her mansion in her underwear) and went to the bathroom.

She didn't even bother to pick up the dress that was on the floor. She turned on the faucet and began splashing warm water on her face. Since her hair was still loose, some strands got wet, sticking to her flushed face. With her eyes closed, she ran her hand along the marble until she reached the soap, pouring more than she should have into her hand.

The moment she did this, Madeline's scent overwhelmed her. She groaned inwardly, splashing water on her face faster at the thought that she would now smell like a cheap Hollywood blonde all day. She dried herself with the towel hanging on the rack, realizing too late that it was slightly damp and that it also smelled like Madeline.

She opened her eyes and looked around, finally more awake.

Steam fogged the mirror, curling along the edges like smoke. Water droplets glistened on the tiles and the edge of the bathtub. The floor was slick in places, as if someone had hurriedly padded across it barefoot, leaving a trail of footprints. The shower curtain was still clinging to the side and a faint swirl of some expensive shampoo lingered in the air.

Madeline had showered in that very same bathroom and dried herself with that very same towel.

The very same towel Helen was rubbing her face with.

Madeline had dried her naked body with that damn towel.

Helen threw it as far as she could, as if it had electrocuted her. The towel hit the wall and fell to the floor, making a pathetic, wet sound.

This was her life now, her eternal torture.

Sharing a bathroom with Madeline Ashton.

A dream for some, a nightmare for Helen Sharp.

She had already lived that experience back in college and it wasn’t a nice one.

Madeline would always leave her bras just hanging around, her sweaty T-shirts after rehearsals were scattered on the floor, a pair of thongs hanging from the doorknob... She wasn't exactly the tidiest roommate in the world.

Helen hurried out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. Her bare feet left wet footprints on the floor, marking her presence in that enormous mansion.

She walked slowly down the stairs, holding her nightgown so she wouldn't trip, but stopped. She leaned against the banister and saw Madeline sitting on the couch with what appeared to be a book between her legs.

Madeline never read. Not even when they were in college. Helen often wondered how and why she had even gotten a degree.

Madeline didn't notice that she was being watched. She sipped her glass of wine as she turned the next page. It was then that Helen realized she wasn't reading a book, but a photo album. A photo album that Helen thought she would never see again.

She continued down the stairs, slowly, as if she wanted to avoid Madeline feeling her presence.

Their heels were still lying in the doorway, another reminder that what they had experienced the night before had been real and not a strange dream.

Helen noticed the photo Madeline was looking at: the opening night of Little Shop of Horrors, Madeline's first leading role on Broadway. Helen had accompanied her (as she always did). She had been the first to cheer when Madeline entered the stage, the first to shout praises at the end of Suddenly Seymour, the first to throw her a bouquet of flowers at the end of the performance.

She was the first at everything, but the last one Madeline greeted after her performances.

Helen remembered it all too well.

After several admirers left the dressing room, Helen was finally allowed inside. Madeline was there, surrounded by bouquets much more elegant than the one she had given to her and cards with messages so sweet they were almost cloying. Madeline got up from her seat and hugged Helen, kissing her on the cheek, leaving a huge red lipstick mark.

She stank of sweat and that damn perfume that seemed to be her natural scent, as if she'd been born with it. She thanked Helen for coming, but it seemed forced, like she'd rehearsed that monologue a hundred times before.

She asked her about her love life, if there were any men who had caught her eye lately, but Helen denied it. Madeline had replied something like, "glad to hear that," a comment Helen never understood.

Then Stefan entered the room, bringing even more flowers and cheerfully greeting Helen, the only thing that seemed genuine all evening. Madeline said goodbye to her, thanking her for coming and telling her they had to meet sometime to catch up.

That night, Helen found herself alone in her apartment, finishing her third can of beer and crying pathetically as she finished typing her review of the musical to publish in the newspaper where she worked. She pressed the keys on the keyboard so hard that the noise was even more annoying than a typewriter.

She kicked her desk, letting tears roll down her cheeks, blurring the mark of Madeline's lips that she hadn't removed. That Judas kiss that reminded her that, no matter what she did, she would never be enough for Madeline.

"How long have you been there?"

Madeline's voice brought her back to the present.

All my life, Helen wanted to reply. I've been with you all my life, but you seem to be unable to notice.

"Not long," she replied.

Madeline looked at her and turned again, turning another page in the scrapbook.

"I thought you'd never wake up," she whispered.

Helen laughed softly.

"Well, that's what happens when you take fifteen sleeping pills."

Madeline said nothing. Helen walked over to the couch and sat down next to her.

"2002?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Yes, Little Shop of Horrors."

Helen nodded, trying to decipher Madeline's expression, as she stood admiring a photo of herself in a tight pink dress she had worn to the premiere. They both ignored the fact that, in the far corner of the photo, Helen could be seen awkwardly staring at Madeline.

Helen’s gaze stayed fixed on the photograph long after Madeline had turned the page. She could hardly see herself. Half-blurred in the far corner, out of place in a crowd that wasn’t hers, but she remembered the exact moment the picture was taken. She remembered how her throat had gone dry when Madeline appeared in that tight pink dress, the way every spotlight in the world seemed dull in comparison.

Madeline’s fingers brushed the glossy paper, lingering on her younger self as if she could touch that night again.

“I looked so beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to Helen.

You still do, Helen thought.

Madeline stared at the pictures for a few more seconds before closing the scrapbook with a quiet finality. She placed it in Helen’s lap as though entrusting her with something fragile. Helen’s fingers curled around it instinctively, as if it was her most cherished treasure.

Madeline rose to her feet, smoothing down the hem of her nightgown, though it didn’t need smoothing. The movement was more ritual than necessity. Something to do with her hands, something to shake off the past that haunted her.

She forced brightness into her voice when she turned to Helen and asked:

"Do you feel like eating something?"

They didn't need to eat anymore, and it was almost a waste of time. But since they had all the time in the world now, they had to entertain themselves somehow.

She didn’t even wait for a response. She headed to the kitchen with an overly dramatic elegance.

"I'll get you something now."

Helen said nothing. She stayed on the sofa, holding back laughter at the thought of Madeline cooking anything other than instant noodles.

When they lived together during their college years, Helen was always the one who cooked (except for the occasional night when they were studying for an important exam, in which case they would order takeout), so she was eager to see what Madeline could do.

And Madeline herself was eager to see what she could do.

It couldn't be that complicated, right? Everyone could cook.

She opened the refrigerator and took out three eggs and a couple of cheese slices. She had to open at least four different drawers to find the pan, and when she finally did, it took her fifteen minutes to get the stove on.

She took out a bowl and a fork and picked up one of the eggs.

“Crack and scramble. Easy peasy”, she told herself.

She tapped the egg lightly on the side of the bowl, as if afraid it might break (even she knew that that thought was ridiculous). She tapped it again with the same force, achieving the same result.
On the third tap, however, she hitted the egg too much harder than she intended too, making it practically explode. The shell splintered in her hand, yolk dripping between her fingers in slow, sticky rivulets, sliding down to her wrist.

Madeline froze, staring at it in disbelief and fighting the urge to vomit over the bowl.

“You son of a bitch.”

A laugh broke from the living room. The kind of laugh Helen didn’t even bother to hide. In two strides she was at the doorway, leaning against the frame. Her eyes flicked to the yolk dripping onto the counter.

“This is the first time you cook, isn’t it?”

Madeline scowled, holding her hand awkwardly over the sink.

“Go back to the living room before I shoot you again, Hel.”

Ironically, Helen stepped closer, reaching for a towel. She plucked the shell shards gently from Madeline’s hand, wiping away the slime with slow, deliberate movements.

“What had that poor egg ever done to you anyway, Mad? It didn’t give you the lead role in The Breakfast Club or what?”

"That's easily the worst joke you've ever said in your fucking life, and you deserve to die again for it."

Madeline’s lips curved despite herself, a quiet laugh caught in her throat. Her eyes met Helen’s, playful but softened by the absurdity of the moment.

Helen raised a brow, fingers brushing against the inside of her palm as she cleaned her hand. The touch lingered too long, the air between them thick with something neither wanted to name. They both gazed at each other's eyes, finally seeing that light that they thought was already extinct. Helen’s smirk faltered just slightly before she tossed the towel aside and leaned back.

“Here, let me do it.”
“No! You’re my guest. That would be very rude of me to…”
“Last night you literally told me to sleep on the couch.”
“That doesn’t count. I hadn't had my beauty sleep and I was stressed because I was dead.”

Helen scoffed, but didn’t bother to keep arguing with her. 

“Come here,” she said.

Madeline did so as she took another egg. Helen covered her hand with her own, guiding her to the bowl. While still holding her hand, she tapped the egg sharply, breaking it and spilling its content into the bowl.

"You have to do it gently. It's an egg, not Ernest's balls."

Madeline couldn't even laugh at the comment. She was too busy trying to understand why she was so nervous at the touch of Helen's hand on hers. She didn't even notice the sigh that escaped her lips when Helen let go.

"Do you think you can do it yourself like a big girl?"

"Of course I can!" she said, though she sounded like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

Helen shrugged, opening a cupboard and taking out two glasses, placing them on the table. When she turned around, Madeline had already poured the other egg into the bowl. She picked up her fork and began whisking the eggs.

"You could try beating them with more enthusiasm, Mad. I know you have all the time in the world right now, but..."

"You want to do it yourself?"

"Yes, but you were the one who insisted on doing it all on your own."

Helen took the fork from her hand, caressing her knuckles as she did so, and began whisking the eggs vigorously, then adding them to the pan. She mixed them with the cheese slices, scrambling them together. A few moments later, She was dividing them onto two plates with a precision that seemed rehearsed. She placed them on the table and looked at Madeline, who had been staring at her the whole time, her arms dangling.

"Do you think you can do it next time?" Helen asked as she sat down.

Madeline shrugged.

"Next time I'll ask Stefan to do it, like always."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Why?" Madeline's voice was muffled.

When Helen turned around, she saw her on all fours on the floor, her head buried inside a drawer.

"Didn't you hear? Ernest fired him."

She had to stifle a laugh when Madeline bang her head against the counter in surprise. She finally emerged from the drawer, holding a bottle of wine in one hand.

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, I guess because it would be kind of awkward if he found out we're immortal now."

"Well, it was still very rude of Ernest to fire my assistant without consulting me."

He sat down opposite Helen, opening the bottle of wine and pouring its contents into their glasses.

"I thought you already knew, Mad. I mean, I think I even heard him sing."

"Stefan? Oh, yeah. He does that sometimes."

Helen laughed and picked up the glass, bringing it to her lips.

"Aren't you even going to toast, Hel?"

Helen lowered her glass. She hadn't even finished drinking the wine, but her upper lip was wet, so she ran her tongue over it to dry it.

Madeline felt like she was dying again.

"And why do you want to toast?"

"Oh, I don't know. To the wonderful hostess who prepared this delicious meal for you."

Helen looked at her for a moment that seemed too short for both of them and brought the glass back to her mouth, this time sipping. She wiped it with her napkin and, without looking up, muttered:
“Get lost, Ashton.”
A chuckle escaped Madeline's lips and made Helen feel her heart start beating again.

“You told me that once, back in college, remember, Hel?”
Helen didn’t answer.

She did remember, of course she did, but it was easier to pretend.

She quickly picked up several pieces of egg with her fork and brought them to her mouth. She chewed them while thinking about how stupid it was of her to eat when her stomach was… like that, and swallowed. She picked up her glass and took a long sip of wine, finally noticing that Madeline was still looking at her with that melancholy smile she was beginning to enjoy.
“You were sick with the flu or something and you had an awful fever. You told me to go away because you didn’t want me to see you in that state.”

“And you ended up entering the bathroom to hold my hair while I throwed up instant noodles. You’d never listen to me anyway.”

“What can I say? I always get what I want.”
“Yeah, you proved that to me hundreds of times.”

“And that is why we should make a toast.”

Madeline lifted her glass higher, her eyes glinting with the kind of daring that had (literally) driven Helen insane for years.

“So here’s to me. For my great comeback, for the next decade of glory that awaits me and for my eternal youth and beauty.”

“You’re insufferable,” Helen said quietly just as Madeline sipped from her glass.

“Admit it, Hel. You’d be lost without me.”

Helen took another sip of wine to buy herself time, the tartness filling her mouth, the warmth creeping into her now useless veins. She glanced up and found that fucking blue eyed’s gaze still fixed on her. 

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Helen set her glass down carefully, fingertips resting on the stem longer than necessary.

“Fine,” she muttered. “A toast then.”

She raised the glass a fraction, not looking away this time.

“For the next four years of my amazing career.”

Madeline’s laugh was low and pleased, vibrating with something warmer. She leaned forward, the rim of her glass almost brushing Helen’s.

Until she realized.

“Wait, four years?”
“I took the potion six years ago, Mad. I only have four years before I disappear forever.”

"Oh."

Madeline seemed almost disappointed by this news, something neither she nor Helen herself could understand.

What would Helen do when that time was up? Would she fake her death or simply retreat to some distant place? And if she did go far away, would she tell Madeline?

Madeline shook her head slightly, as if trying to dispel those thoughts, and raised her glass again.

“Well, get ready for the best four years of your life, honey.”
“And then? What will happen when you’ve faked your own death too?”
Helen actually didn’t know if Madeline wanted to fake her death. She assumed so because that’s what a star like her would do. She’d probably made out this beautiful story about how she died in a yacht explosion or because of some weird sickness after going to Africa to donate her money to poor kids.

Madeline just signed, bringing Helen back to reality.

“Well, I think we’ll have all the time in the world to find out about that. We could hide somewhere far away from here. Any ideas?”
Helen opened her mouth to reply, but looked down for a moment, as if embarrassed. She fiddled nervously with her nightgown.

“I’ve always dreamed about going to Spain”, she finally said.
Madeline smiled at that confession, almost unable to believe it. She knew Helen had always dreamed of visiting Europe one day, and the thought of that dream being so close to fulfillment made her happy too.
“Spain?” She repeated.
“Yeah, I mean, it seems like such a lovely place and I've heard that people are really nice.”
She looked up and their eyes met again, but neither of them looked away this time. They raised their glasses, clinking them lightly and enjoying the light touch of their fingers as they did so.
“Alright, to Spain, then.”

Chapter Text

Stefan wasn’t really surprised when he got a call from Madeline hiring him again. He had only been fired for twenty-four hours, and at the end of the day, he knew that that bitch was lost without him. Plus, it was Ernest who fired him, and he wasn’t even Madeline’s boss.

He really never liked Ernest anyway (and he suspected neither did Madeline), but if he gave him the perfect excuse to finally get rid of Madeline, Stefan would take it without a doubt.

So there he was: driving back to the Ashton mansion and ringing the doorbell like an idiot. It was probably the first time he had ever done that. He used to have the keys and would be the one to open the doors when Madeline was so drunk she could barely talk.

He didn’t like her at all. She was truly an amazing actress and also really funny, but she was still a bitch—the bitchest bitch of all bitches.

His stomach churned at the thought of working for her again, opening that door and seeing her ridiculous blonde hair (now much shorter and straighter, making her look even older than she already was) and hearing her high-pitched voice. And what was the point of hiring him again anyway? They weren’t even hiring her for commercials anymore.

That’s probably why he was so surprised when Helen opened the door.

He genuinely liked Helen and was very fond of her. Perhaps because she was a much calmer, polite (and red-haired) and even more sophisticated version of Madeline. She had always greeted him warmly when she came to see her backstage, asking how he was and actually paying attention to his answer.

But there was something off about her when she opened the door to the mansion, and no, it wasn’t the fact that she was wearing one of Madeline's nightgowns (which was oddly suspicious, considering she wasn’t wearing anything else underneath and looked as if she had just woken up).

She was much prettier than Stefan remembered. And the last time he’d seen her was six years ago. She looked even younger than before, her hair longer and wavier, brushing against her shoulder. Her face was softer now, without a single wrinkle, as if she had finally found some peace of mind.

When she saw him, she finally felt completely awake, realizing what he was thinking.

They stared at each other for a while, trying to understand what they were seeing. He finally smiled and hugged her.

“Helen! It’s so good to see you again!”

Helen didn’t even know what to say. She closed her eyes and hugged him too.

He was the only person who had visited her while she was at the mental institution, while the rest of the world had completely forgotten about her pathetic existence. Even Madeline did.

They separated, and Stefan looked Helen up and down four times, as if he wanted to be sure that what he was seeing was real and not a sign that he needed to go back to the oculist.

“You look… you look stunning,” he said.

Helen blinked, confused, then finally realized what was going on. It was the first time Stefan had seen her after drinking the potion.

“Oh, thank you. I’ve been… taking care of myself lately,” she replied.

Before Stefan could respond, the sound of heels clicking on the marble stairs echoed through the mansion. Madeline appeared at the top, her face radiant with a proud smile.

Stefan froze, blinking. He hadn’t expected this.

She looked twenty years younger, maybe even thirty. Not a single wrinkle in sight. Her eyes shone, and her long blonde hair waved around her shoulders, seemingly its natural color instead of some overly expensive dye.

“Stefan!” Madeline called, her voice bright, commanding, and somehow more vibrant than ever. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you! Now hurry up—we have to find a director who gets on his knees to cast me in his new film.”

Stefan stared, not knowing whether or not to mention the fact that she seemed to have miraculously rejuvenated in the last forty-eight hours.

“Uh… sure,” he managed.

Helen, still in the doorway, looked between them.

“Oh, well, you both are going to have so much fun, am I right? God, I’m sure Stefan is dying to sit on a couch while he hears you moaning and screaming the director’s name in the other room.”

Madeline’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. But it wasn’t because of Helen’s joke—she was already used to them anyway.

“Wait, you’re not coming, Hel?” Madeline sounded disappointed, more than she would have liked, and Helen noticed.

“No, I… I woke up to several messages from my manager. They’re asking me where I am, and I have a meeting about my novel today, and—”

“Of course, darling. I understand completely,” Madeline said, her voice honeyed, with just enough of her usual dramatics to make it believable. However, she was obviously annoyed. She had put on that white shirt, unbuttoning just enough buttons to emphasize her charms, precisely to see Helen’s reaction.

But she didn’t make a single gesture toward Helen—it didn’t seem important. She didn’t mind that Helen couldn’t come on the hunt for her new leading role.

“Go on, then, Stefan. We have so much to do,” she finally said.

Stefan raised an eyebrow, still struggling not to let his surprise show.

“Did you do something to your hair?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

Madeline gave a small shrug. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her smile perfectly practiced.

Stefan gave Helen a quick, questioning look but didn’t push. Madeline started down the stairs gracefully, motioning him to follow.

“Come along, Stefan. Adventure awaits!”

Helen watched them leave, finally letting out the breath she’d been holding.

Damn. Madeline looked gorgeous. Truly gorgeous. And that outfit was undeniably sexy.

Helen went to the kitchen and made herself a drink, trying to clear her mind for a moment. She had to go to her meeting, return to her hotel to gather her things, and then head back to New York. It was a piece of cake. She’d probably see Madeline again one way or another. They still had her number, for some strange reason, neither of them had deleted it.

They wouldn’t be strangers again.

Madeline, meanwhile, was internally fuming just slightly. She had hoped Helen would change her mind when she saw her like that—but it didn’t matter. She had plans: directors to charm, roles to secure. She wasn’t going to waste time thinking about Helen.

Stefan, for his part, couldn’t take his eyes off her (even though he was driving), still trying to reconcile the image of the Madeline he remembered with the one sitting next to him.

What the fuck was going on?

Madeline Ashton
Helloooooo
I knew I still had ur number lol
How’s ur meeting going????
Helllllllllll

Helen wasn’t even surprised when messages from Madeline started pouring in by the thousands. She had a feeling this was coming—and it was the perfect excuse to “go to the bathroom” and escape that boring meeting.

She got up from her chair, smoothed down the black dress Madeline had lent her (Helen had emotionally blackmailed Madeline when she reminded her that her beautiful red dress now had a gigantic hole in it), and headed to the bathroom, locking herself in one of the stalls.

Before she could respond, Madeline sent a video. It looked like a fan had filmed it—Madeline walking down the street next to Stefan, fans swarming her for photos and autographs. She smiled that mischievous smile that always drove Helen crazy.

Damn, she looked so gorgeous in that red lipstick. Wait… was that Helen’s lipstick? Had Madeline stolen it?

Helen wasn’t mad. Oddly, the thought that Madeline had used her lipstick excited her.

Helen watched that video again. And again. And again. And again until she had it memorized. She felt like when she was planning Madeline's murder again, watching her movies on repeat, studying her every move.

Helen didn't even notice how her breathing quickened, how her hands trembled, how she was beginning to feel that all-too-familiar sensation.

Without thinking, she slipped a hand inside her panties, discovering that they were already wet. The real miracle was that her pants were still clean.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, raising her head. She imagined, despite herself, that it was Madeline who was touching her.

The video was still playing, so she could hear the screams of the fans, shouting compliments at Madeline, but Helen pretended that they were directed at her. She pictured herself back at her book party at the cafeteria, surrounded by people who admired her, who adored her like she was some sort of Greek goddess.

Madeline was also there (as she always was in these kinds of fantasies). Helen imagined her walking up to her and starting to caress her lips. She would start slowly, as if she was scared. But then that kiss would become stronger, more powerful, as if they were the turbulent waves of what was once a calm sea.

She then would start to take off her red dress as Helen would keep kissing Madeline’s neck, coloring it with her lipstick trace. Madeline Ashton could be America’s sex symbol, Ernest’s wife and the gays’s advocate.

But she belonged to Helen.

And the kisses that marked her body were proof of that.

Helen's breathing became even more labored, her chest rising and falling with each shiver that ran down her spine. Her legs were shaking, and she even thought she might fall, but she didn't care. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, as if that would summon Madeline right there in that crappy bathroom.

God, what would it be like to sleep with her? What would it be like to fuck her? Had Madeline even slept with another woman?

"I could be the first," Helen whispered, unaware that she was talking out loud.

She kept going, even faster, even more desperate, like her whole “life” depended on that fantasy.

She pictured Madeline laying on top of her, kissing her breasts, then going down (without stopping caressing her body with her lips). She would keep kissing her abdomen, her waist, her pussy, until Helen couldn’t take it anymore.

People would start gasping, taking pictures, Ernest’s drink would drop to the floor, crushing in many pieces. Some of the liquor would spill and Madeline (who was too busy finishing her own drinking) wouldn’t even notice, and she would keep going until Helen’s eyes rolled all the way back.

She had to bite her own hand when she finally felt the orgasm taking hold of her whole body. Her legs felt like jelly and she thought about sitting down for a moment since she was convinced that she was going to fall at any moment.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found her trembling hand still holding her phone with that video playing on the screen. She stared at it, trying to calm herself down, and noticing the new text.

It was Madeline’s, who was clearly worried about the fact that Helen had taken ten minutes to watch a video that didn't even last thirty seconds.

Madeline Ashton

R u still there Hel???

Helen sighed and left the bathroom, feeling herself blush. Could she even do that anymore? She was dead, after all.

She washed her hands three times, trying to get rid of that incriminating smell. The soap was disgusting, the kind that's sticky and smells too similar to cheap detergent, but it was enough for her at that moment. She quickly dried her hands on her dress (the dress Madeline had lent her. She had touched herself thinking about Madeline eating her whole while she was wearing a dress that Madeline had fucking lent her) and took out her phone again, quickly typing a reply.

Helen Sharp
Yes
You do look beautiful
I’m so glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself, Mad

Madeline Ashton
🫦

What the fuck did that even mean?

Madeline Ashton
Hbu??
Are u havin fun??

Helen Sharp
Sure
I have a lot of work I forgot about, but it’s great to dedicate myself to writing after all those years

Madeline Ashton
Wanna have dinner at my place to celebrate??
There’s smth I wanstd to tell u anyway 🤭🤭

wnayed

wnated

wanteddddddd

Helen Sharp
Hahaha
Maybe I could give you a few writing lessons

Madeline Ashton
kys why don’t u

Helen actually laughed aloud, ignoring the disapproving look from the woman who had just entered the bathroom.

Madeline Ashton
R u comin or not???

Helen Sharp
I’ll check my schedule

Madeline Ashton
Wth r u even checking?
Ur only plan was to kill me and then go to Paris.

Helen Sharp
Exactly
I should be going to Paris now

Madeline Ashton
u should b comin to my house
Now btw

Chapter Text

Helen stepped out of the building just as the sun was setting in the west. She jumped inside her truck, locked the door, dropped the key into her bag, and let out a long sigh, closing her eyes.

She still felt ashamed of what she'd done in the bathroom. She couldn't erase that fantasy of Madeline adoring her and kissing her from her mind. It was ridiculous.

Madeline didn't even like girls. It was true that she fought for LGBTIQ+ rights and was something of a role model for them, but that meant nothing.

Helen had already been through this in college, during her time at the institution, during all those times she had gone to see Madeline perform in her musicals. The night she went with Ernest to tell him she was engaged, Helen prayed that Madeline, seeing her ring, would go with her.

Helen trusted that this would be her way of telling Madeline, "It's now or never; tell me you love me so you'll be the one waiting for me at the altar instead of Ernest."

But that never happened.

She remembered the breathing exercises her psychologist had taught her (although she wasn't sure they would help either because, in case it wasn't clear already, Helen Sharp was dead) and started the engine.

She tried to keep her cool. Everything was going to be fine.

After all, she had all of eternity to win Madeline's heart.

She didn't even bother calling Madeline when she arrived at the mansion and discovered that not even Stefan was there.

Helen went straight to the bedroom and opened Madeline’s closet, which, as usual, looked like a boutique had exploded inside; it looked like something out of a Barbie movie.

Everything was arranged by color and level of indecency. She grabbed the red one, of course. It was similar to the one she'd worn to her book party, but with less glitter and not as "risky." Six years ago, Helen could only have dreamed of wearing something as daring as that outfit.

Just as she was staring at her reflection making sure that she wasn’t piling, she heard a car pull up outside. She peeked through the curtains. Stefan.

Helen grabbed her purse, took one last look in the mirror and hurried downstairs.

When she opened the door, Stefan greeted her with that silly happy grin of his.

“Let me guess; she sent you to fetch me?” She said as she sat in the passenger seat of the car.

“Yes, she has a surprise for you”, he responded with that look in his eyes that said be prepared for whatever the fuck Madeline has planned.

“I assume that that means that I can’t know where you are taking me, right?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. But I’m sure that you’ll like it.”

The city lights blurred as they drove through the hills. For once, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. Stefan had always been one of the few people she could stand to be around for more than ten minutes. He didn’t judge her, he seemed like he really enjoyed her company and he would bring her flowers the first Saturday of every month when he came to visit her at the institution.

“So…” he said after a while, glancing at her, “Madeline and you are… friends again?”

Helen hesitated.

“Something like that.”

“And what about Ernest? How is he doing in Europe?”

Helen blinked, trying to understand what Stefan meant.

"What?"

"Madeline told me she was traveling in Europe to see some family or something. She mentioned something about them taking some time off."

Well, it was a good enough excuse. Considering Madeline was returning to the star she once was, it was no wonder people would sooner or later start wondering where her husband was.

"Oh, yeah. He is having the time of his life," she muttered.

They remained silent for several minutes after that conversation. Helen had already given up trying to guess where he was taking her. However, she had noticed that Stefan was definitely nervous.

He was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and glanced at her from time to time. On several occasions, he opened his mouth but didn't say anything.

He finally cleared his throat softly and talked.

“So, how… how did you get out of the institution?”

Helen looked at him, confused.

It wasn't exactly the topic of conversation she'd wanted to have at that moment. It had been six years since she'd last set foot in that hellhole that was supposed to help her.

“Why do you care?”

She asked it more sharply than she would have liked, but she couldn't help but feel defensive.

“I just wanted to know.”

“Well, you were the one who stopped visiting me.”

She sighed and crossed her arms, looking back out the window to avoid seeing his sad expression.

“Did you know that you were the only person who ever visited me while I was living in that mad house? Not even my family or Ernest came,” she confessed. “I got so excited when you came, even if I could only see you for one hour a month. You made me feel close to the world they were forcing me to be a stranger to.”

She clenched her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms.

“Why did you stop?” She asked after a beat, a little bit more calmed.

He hesitated.

“Madeline asked me to.”

Helen blinked, turning to look at him again.

“What?”

“She said it was for your own good. Apparently the doctors were saying that you were getting worse. I didn’t want to, but…”

Helen let out a small, bitter laugh.

“Of course she did.”

Stefan risked a glance at her. Her jaw was tight, her eyes glinting with tears.

“She didn’t even go once,” Helen muttered. “Not one visit. I waited for her every fucking day for four years and she never came. I only saw her in my nightmares and hallucinations and on the TV. She knew that I was rotting in that place and she couldn’t care less.”

“She did go,” Stefan said quietly. “Once. When she found out about… about your suicide attempt.”

Helen froze. The air seemed to thicken around her.

“What are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t at the institution, though. It was when you were at the hospital after… you tried to do that.” Stefan went on. “She was about to go on television for an interview when she heard the news. She fainted in the middle of the show, and when she recovered, she went to the hospital. She called me hours later to ask me to come too. She spent the whole night holding your hand, Helen. I'd never seen her cry like that in my life, not even when she was acting..”

Helen swallowed hard, her chest tightening painfully.

“No, that’s impossible. I would remember if...”

“You couldn’t. You were sedated,” he said gently. “They told her that that was your third attempt since the wedding and that the best thing for you would be to stay at a mental institution so they could keep an eye on you. Madeline believed them. She paid for everything, Helen.”

Helen’s hands were trembling now. She pressed them to her knees, her nails digging into the fabric of her dress. Madeline’s dress.

“She paid for it?” she whispered. “She put me there?”

“Helen, she thought she was helping.”

Helen’s breath hitched, and for a moment it looked like she might laugh again, but no sound came out. She turned her face toward the window, blinking rapidly as tears welled up in her eyes.

“She left me there,” she said, her voice breaking. “I thought she didn’t care about me.”

The car fell into heavy silence. The only sound was the tires humming against the asphalt and Helen’s shaky breathing.

Stefan looked like he wanted to reach out, to say something, but he didn’t. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t hurt more.

When the car finally slowed down in front of a restaurant, Helen had managed to not shed a single tear.

That was precisely the opposite of what her psychologist used to tell her: that she needed to stop suppressing her emotions, but she didn't want to cry in front of Stefan.

“Here we are,” Stefan said, parking and stepping out to open her door.

Helen got out without a word, clutching her bag tightly. She murmured a weak thank you to Stefan and started to enter the restaurant, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Try to have a good time, you're not in that place anymore, Helen."

She smiled and thanked him again and headed for the entrance.

Stefan stood there for a while longer, looking at her and wondering if it had been a good idea to tell her the truth.

The waiter smiled politely as Helen followed him through the dining room and then she saw her.

Madeline was sitting at a table for two in the center of the room, her hair in perfect golden curls and a light blue dress that accentuated each of her curves. In front of her there was a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket and a bouquet of roses.

Helen blinked.

“You didn’t.”

Madeline chuckled and got up. 

She walked over to her, swaying her hips in a way that was clearly rehearsed, and hugged Helen, almost making her forget the breakdown she had had three minutes earlier in the car.

Madeline beamed, lifting her glass.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

“What are you talking about?”

She escorted Helen to the table and handed her a blue card with a picture of a tie and gold lettering that said ‘Happy Father's Day’.

“They didn’t have any cards that said ‘welcome to an eternity trapped with me,’ so that’ll do.”

Helen sighed, slipping into the seat opposite her and opening the card.

“Wow, you even had the trouble to sign it yourself. Wow, Mad. I’m… touched.”
Madeline smiled again, her cheeks pinkening slightly as she poured Helen a glass of champagne.

They had been sitting at the table for nearly an hour. Madeline was radiant in that effortless way that made Helen’s stomach (or what was left of it) twist, laughing lightly as the waiter poured another round of champagne.

Helen barely heard a word she said. The bubbles were buzzing in her head, and the warmth on her cheeks wasn’t entirely from the alcohol.

She lifted her glass again, but when she set it down, she noticed Madeline’s voice faltering mid-sentence. She blinked once, then again, her blue eyes widening.

“Helen,” she said softly, the kind of tone that made Helen instantly sit up straighter.

“What?” Helen tried to sound casual.

Madeline didn't even answer her.

She took the glass from her hands, quickly placed it on the table, grabbed her purse, and tugged at Helen's wrist, running with her to the bathroom.

Helen let her.

When they got to the bathroom, Madeline muttered a curse under her breath when she saw that it was full of people. So turned around, anxiously looking for the restaurant exit. Helen didn't even have time to scold her.

They got to an alley next to a trash can where the leftovers were rotting. Helen wrinkled her nose at the smell.

Madeline pushed Helen against the wall.

“Hold still,” she said, already rummaging through her purse.

"Mad, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Stop talking.”

Her voice was firm but trembling slightly due to the alcohol. She took out a brush and a small paint spray can, shooking it briskly.

“Your skin is showing. The paint has come off above your lip from drinking all of that champagne.”

“The champagne that you bought me.”
“I told you to stop talking.”

She leaned even closer to her. The faint hiss of the spray filled the air, cold mist settling on the brush. Madeline’s hand steadied Helen’s jaw, tilting her face upward, as she painted lightly over her lip. Helen looked her in the eyes, but Madeline didn’t even notice, she was too busy.

She quickly cleaned the brush with her fingers and she let it fall inside her purse again along with the spray can. She finally glanced back at Helen.

“Something’s missing.” She said after a beat.

While her eyes were still locked on Helen’s, she took lipstick out of her purse and gently applied it on Helen’s lips.

“That’s mine,” she muttered.

“Yes, I took it, it matched my outfit, Hel. Now shut up, I’m busy.”

When she was done, she leaned in so close that Helen could smell the faint trace of her perfume and blew gently on her lips to dry the paint. The warmth of her breath, the closeness, the way her fingers lingered just a moment too long under Helen’s chin. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

“Better,” Madeline murmured.

Helen forced herself to look away.

“You’re too good at this.”

Madeline smiled faintly, eyes lingering on her masterpiece.

“I’ve had practice. I had to repaint my face before going to a meeting. I didn’t want Stefan or anyone to notice that Madeline Ashton is now a walking corpse.”

Helen smirked. It drove her insane how funny Madeline could be sometimes.

“Well, in that case you could help me with my neck then. I’d swear that I saw a few blue spots before coming here.”

Madeline arched her brow, amused.

“Oh, so now I’m your little helpful assistant?”

Helen swallowed.

“You don’t seem to mind, do you?”

Madeline’s fingers brushed the paint at Helen’s neck, and for a moment she just stood there, blinking slowly, as if she was admiring her masterpiece.

“There you go, darling,” she muttered. “Perfect.”

Madeline was still very close to her, and Helen felt the need to kiss her again, to fulfill her eternal fantasy, her dream.

“You are perfect, Hel.”

But she knew that the way Madeline was looking at her and her words meant nothing.

She remembered what Stefan had told her in the car. Madeline may love her, but she would never see her as nothing more than her friend.

“You’re drunk, Mad,” she replied quietly.

She said it more to herself than to her.

You're drunk, Mad, like that time you told me we should practice kissing when we were in college.

You're drunk, Mad, like that time you slept with my fiancé right in front of me.

You're drunk, Mad, like you always were when you made me believe you loved me.

Madeline’s smile curved in that familiar, infuriating way.

“Maybe just a little,” she admitted, swaying back half a step. “But so are you, missy.”

Helen let out a nervous laugh, trying to hold her tears again, glancing at the door.

“Yeah, well, I guess that I’m better at pretending than you then. Maybe I should go back to acting.”

That earned a laugh from Madeline. A soft, genuine, laugh that made Helen feel alive again.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said, getting even closer to placing the collar of Helen's dress. “I just wanted you to have a nice night. You deserve one.”

Helen looked into her eyes, telling herself over and over that Madeline wasn't serious.

“You don’t have to say that. I’m perfectly fine, Mad” she muttered.

“I mean it.” Madeline’s gaze softened, her eyes bright with that drunk shine that made everything she said sound so fucking sincere that it made Helen question reality. “You’ve been through so much, Hel. I shouldn’t have let…”

“Stop.” Helen stepped forward, catching her wrist before she could finish.

The movement startled both of them.

“You are really drunk, Madeline. I’ll call Stefan and we will leave, okay?”

Madeline looked up at her, eyes wide and unfocused.

“You always do that,” she said softly.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me.”

“You are the one who has just repainted my face.”

“Well, I already told you that I wanted to make it up to you.”

Helen swallowed hard.

“Let’s just get you home, Mad. It’s getting late.”

Helen guided her out through the back before she could even reply to her commandments, hand hovering near Madeline’s lower back in case she stumbled.

Luckily, Madeline had already paid in advance (she was required to do so in most restaurants in that area, as she was known for getting so drunk she would "forget" to ask for the check), so they just had to get their things, tip the waiter and go back outside. Helen took out her phone and called Stefan, telling him to come pick them up, as they'd already finished dinner. Madeline waited for her to finish the call, sitting on the curb. She'd taken off her heels and managed to convince Helen to put them in her bag.

"I didn’t even told you what we were celebrating," she said when Helen hung up.

“We were celebrating something?”
“Of course, that’s why I wanted to have dinner with you tonight. I wanted to ask you to move in with me.”

Helen looked at her, her eyes wide.

“What?”
“Oh, please, Hel! It would be so much fun! Stefan could help you to move all your things into my mansion!”
“And why don’t you help me? It’s your house and your idea after all.”
“Because I’m a two time Academy Award nominated actress, dear. I’m not going to move boxes around like I’m some sort of pathetic little intern. Besides, I have many important things to do.”
“You got a new movie, didn’t you?”

Madeline could barely contain her excitement. She plopped down on the pavement, kicking silly, like a little girl in love.

"I did! I’m so happy, Hel! I didn't even have to audition! They just saw me walk in and gave me the part!"

Helen couldn't help but smile at her, sitting down by her side.

"Wow, that's great, Mad. But you could have at least tried to audition."

"Why bother? When they saw me walk into the studio, they recognized me and offered me the lead role."

"Yeah, but you do realize they did it because you took the potion, right?"

Madeline seemed to temper her excitement slightly, looking at Helen tenderly.

"So what? I wanted to make a great comeback and people to see me, and that’s exactly what happened. I'm satisfied."

Of course she was.

Helen seemed to be the only one who knew how sad it was that, now that Madeline looked twenty something, people began to notice her and just treat her like a normal human being again. Madeline probably was aware of how sad that was, but she pretended that she didn’t because it was easier that way. It was easier to pretend that everybody loved her because of her talent and not because of her physique.

“Well, I’m happy for you then.”
Madeline lifted her head, sitting properly again to face Helen.

“You are avoiding my question, Hel.”

Helen smirked quietly.

“So you are serious?”

“Of course I am. Oh, come on, Hel. We said that we would help each other after all, didn’t we? It would make things so much easier if we lived together! You could help me memorize my scripts and I could inspire you for your novels, like in Cabaret! What do you say?”

Helen thought about what that meant.

A flashback to her time in college came to her of both Madeline and her sharing that small room together. The bras scattered on the floor, the desk covered in scripts with annotations written on them with a pink glitter pen, the ridiculous notes stuck to the door she found after coming home from the gym that said things like: I have rehearsal 2night & then I’m goin’ to a partyyyy don’t wait up 4 me, ily Helll!!!

The discussions over ridiculous things, the battles to see who would use the bathroom first, waking up by hearing those awful vocal warmings that Madeline would do on a Sunday morning.

She thought about what it meant going through all of that till the end of times and beyond.

She looked at Madeline, who was still staring at her with her (beautiful, deep, bewitching, blue, fucking) eyes and thought of all the things that she had missed of her.

The floor covered in her clothes, the stupid songs she'd made while searching for what to wear that day, her notes. Helen had saved them all. Every one of those ridiculous notes written on colored slips of paper was stuck in an old notebook that Helen kept under her bed and reread more often than she'd like to admit.

Now God, the Universe, or whoever the fuck was up there, was giving Helen the chance to start over again, the promise of an eternity of companionship, of making up for lost time.

“Of course I will, Mad. It’ll be fun,” she finally said with a smile.

Chapter Text

Helen writhed again in bed, finally opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. She'd been trying to sleep for hours. It didn't matter her position, whether she tried the ridiculous breathing exercises they taught her in the psychiatric hospital or counted sheep (this idea had always seemed like nonsense to her, but desperate situations called for desperate measures). She let out an exaggerated sigh and closed her eyes again, resigned.

"Would you stop that, sweetie?"

Helen practically jumped up in bed when she heard Madeline's voice. She still hadn't gotten used to having to share a bed with her even though she had been living with her for at least a week.

Helen usually took her sleeping pills and fell asleep within minutes. Madeline, on the other hand, came home very late and left early in the morning to film or attend press conferences, so Helen was usually unconscious when they shared a bed.

This time, however, was different.

"I can't sleep," she confessed.

"Nor can I if you keep moving. You wriggle so much you look like you have a squirrel in your nightgown."

Helen smiled slightly.

As rude, crass, selfish, spoiled, and spoiled as Madeline could be, it was undeniable that (sometimes) she was funny.

“Go back to sleep, Mad.”
“You won’t let me. Can’t you just take your pills or something?”
“They are in New York.”
Helen heard Madeline ruffle the covers on the bed. A flash of light blinded her.

"Holy shit, Mad."

"What the hell are your sleeping pills doing in New fucking York?” Madeline asked, with that dramatic tone in her voice that eternally reminded Helen that she was a two-time Oscar-nominated actress. The blonde still had her hand holding the chain of her bedside lamp, watching Helen, who was squinting, trying to adjust her eyes to the light.

"They are at my apartment. I brought a few when I came to LA and then you throw all of them on a glass of scotch."

“And you won’t get any sleep tonight?”
“I guess.”
Madeline watched her for a few seconds and then, just when Helen’s eyes were getting used to the light, she turned the lamp off again. 

She sank back onto the pillow, pulling the blanket so tightly that Helen was completely uncovered, and sighed.

"Well, good luck, babe," she murmured.

Helen closed her eyes and massaged her temple (trying to sleep and ignore the fact that Madeline had called her babe). Perhaps death wasn't so terrible compared to spending an eternity sharing a bed with Madeline Ashton. She shifted, turning her back to the actress and curled into a fetal position, trying to get to sleep no matter what.

A groan from Madeline startled her again.

"God, I don't know what you'd do without me," she said as she turned the light back on.

Madeline got up and slipped her robe over her translucid nightgown (Helen had to fight with all her willpower to look her in the eyes when she was wearing it). She tied it tightly around her waist as if, despite being alone with her roommate, she wanted to highlight her eternally beautiful and youthful body.

"Where are you going?" Helen said, not even bothering to turn around and look at her.

"To find a solution to help you sleep. I don’t care if I have to hit you on the head with a shovel, Hel. I need my beauty sleep."

“Yeah, I can tell.”
Madeline let out a dramatic gasp and Helen held the urge to turn to see the little pouch and the way her brow furrowed when she was offended.

Madeline stormed out of the room like a furious teenager, stomping on the floor and leaving the light on. Helen groaned and buried her head in the pillow like an ostrich.

It wasn't long until she heard Madeline's voice again, still pissed.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to suffocate myself so I'd pass out and get some sleep."

“Damn, and I thought that I was the dramatic one.”

When Helen sat in the bed, finally looking at her. She was holding a cup of hot milk, constantly holding it with one hand and then with the other, trying to not burn her fingers.

“Is that a cup of hot milk?”
“No, Hel. It’s dog’s cum.”
Helen stared at her, squinting to distinguish the liquid better.

"Were did you find a dog at this hour and how did you get its cum?"

Madeline looked at her with a disgusted expression. She remained like that for several seconds, hoping it was a joke.

“Are you fucking stupid? I was being sarcastic, Hel. Of course it’s milk, for fuck’s sake.”

Helen tilted her head.

"I think you need more sleep than I do."

"Just drink it."

Madeline sat across from her on the bed, handing her the glass. Helen took it slowly (ignoring the shiver that had run through her body when her hand brushed Madeline's), trying not to burn herself. She looked down at the liquid and then raised her head to look back at her best friend/roommate/rival/whatever-Madeline-Ashton-was-to-her.

"Mad, I'm not eight years old. I doubt this will work."

Madeline threw herself in the bed, hiding her face behind her hands and letting a very exasperated groan left her lips.

"God, you're unbearable. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes, Ernest when I accused him of cheating on me with you."

Both of them were surprised by that answer. Helen because it had slipped out, and Madeline because she doubted they'd ever mention that man again.

Madeline looked at her, noticing how Helen avoided responding to her gaze, drinking all the milk in one gulp and wiping her mouth with her hand. She left the glass on her bedside and played nervously with one of her curls, still trying to ignore the way Madeline was looking at her.

It was that same look the psychiatrists had given him in the mental hospital, the same look people had given her at Madeline's wedding, when she'd been wearing that dress that barely fit her and begging Ernest to keep her. The same look Stefan had given her as they both listened to Ernest and Madeline's moans of pleasure in the next room.

It was the kind of look that screamed “poor little Helen Sharp, she is such a pathetic and stupid old woman who has the hope of having a normal life someday.”

“I don’t think the milk will work, Mad.” She said.

“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I… I mean, sorry for…”
“I know what you meant. It’s okay, Mad. Don’t think about it.”
Madeline swallowed. She, too, used to wonder what would have happened if she had never invited Helen to that stupid dinner at her house. The two of them would probably still be mortal, still have their usual bickering and squabbling, and Helene's mental health would undoubtedly be much better.

She already knew that. She knew that when they met again that night in her dressing room, after months of not seeing each other, she'd been struggling with anxiety and depression. And yet she'd had the nerve to seduce (and sleep with) Ernest right under his nose. She'd never confessed to anyone about the nights she'd cried, the parties where she'd drunk so much she'd passed out, the times she'd run razor blades over her wrists thinking about the fact that Helen was in a fucking mental asylum because of her.

“Do you feel tired or something?” She said, trying to distract herself of her own guilt

Helen shook her head.

"Do you have any other bright ideas?"

“No, I don’t think… Wait, where is that thing you wanted to drug me with?”
It only took a few seconds for Helen to realize what Madeline was talking about.

“You mean the narconol?”
“Yeah! We could use it to knock you out and…”
“I gave it to… Ernest.”
Madeline blinked.

“What?”
“I gave it to him. And, to be honest, I don’t think that he can give it to us now.”

“Oh my God, that man is a completely useless cunt even when he is dead.”

Helen couldn’t help but snort. Madeline sat so she could gaze at her better, smiling ever so slightly at the sound of her friend’s laugh.

“You think this is funny?” She asked, even though she was smiling too.
“I guess.”
“Well, it’s not. If you don’t sleep, I won’t either, and that would be insufferable for the both of us.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”

Madeline signed.

It didn’t seem like any of them was going to sleep that night.

She remembered what she herself used to do in the last years of her marriage to Ernest when she didn't want to sleep with him or when she was simply too tired after a day without a single job offer and without a single person asking for her autograph.

She smiled to herself.

“Come on, get up”, she said with a lot of energy.
Madeline took Helen’s hand in hers, forcing her to get out of the bed and guided her out of her (well, their) bedroom. 

Helen didn’t even bother in saying a thing.

Over the last few days, she had learn to not question Madeline whenever she came up with one of her amazing ideas.

The two of them padded down the winding staircase into the basement, Helen dragging her naked feet against the floor while Madeline walked in front of her, suddenly really excited. When they reached the heavy double doors, Madeline threw them with a push.

Inside, the room was ridiculous. Velvet curtains, gold accents, plush recliners in rows—even a little stage in front of the screen. 

Helen wished she could die again right then and there.

"Why do you have a movie theater in your own house?"

"Because I can afford it, dear."

Helen looked around.

The walls of the room were covered with posters of every single movie Madeline had ever appeared in. The best part? The posters were signed. By Madeline herself and no one else.

“You really need therapy,” she muttered, sitting in the nearest seat, already knowing that she was going to be there for a very, very long time.

“I have therapy. It’s called watching myself on a forty-foot screen. Do you want some pop-corn?”

“No, I’m… wait. Are we going to watch your own movies?”
“Duh. What did you think we were going to do in my own cinema?”

Madeline dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. She sat right next to Helen, who was thinking of all the other things that she could be doing at that very moment.

She'd already seen every single one of her movies during the six years she spent planning her revenge. She knew them all by heart, from the dialogue to the soundtrack to the expressions of each of the actors (especially Madeline's). She remembered the feeling that washed over her every time she saw that blonde hair appear on the screen. The times she'd cried with rage when she heard her laugh, the times she'd screamed herself hoarse when she smiled. She also remembered, with some shame, the times she'd... caressed her own body when she watched Madeline perform a sex scene.

Madeline noticed Helen's expression when the movie title appeared.

Mamma mia!

"Have you ever seen it?" Madeline said, without taking her eyes off the screen.

"Have you ever met a single person who hasn't seen Mamma Fucking Mia?"

"So, you've already seen it."

"Obviously, Mad."

Madeline didn’t say anything. She just reached over, tugged the blanket that had been draped over one of the seats, and spread it over both of them.

Helen frozed.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

Did Madeline think that they were on a date or something? Why would she do that?Why would she cover them both with a blanket, like some kind of teenage couple at a drive-in?

If she was still alive, her heart would be pounding in her chest like she’d just swallowed a blender. She could smell Madeline’s perfume, the same one she wore at that wretched wedding, the one that haunted Helen’s nightmares for years.

Her eyes darted to Madeline again. The flickering light from the projector made her look even more radiant than usual. Madeline shifted, resting her chin on her palm, looking almost… soft.

Helen swallowed hard, turning her attention back to the screen.

Except, oh, what a surprise, Madeline was also on screen!

Helen still remembered the day she accompanied her to the casting for that film.

Mamma Mia! was the first film in which Madeline had landed a leading role (Sophie). Not only that, but she would share the screen with Meryl Streep herself. Helen had always felt there was a strong resemblance between the two actresses, although she didn't know why.

Her head tilted slightly toward the armrest.

Madeline glanced at her every few minutes, trying to analyze her every reaction. Occasionally, she mentioned some curious fact about the scene they were watching or complimented herself, saying how talented she was despite being only nineteen and having taught herself to sing. Helen answered her in monosyllables.

“You know, I really like this scene” she said at one point. “The director told us to jump off that cliff into the sea and told us that it would look really nice if they edited in slow-motion. He was right, though. But I was terrified of landing on a rock and fucking die. Isnt that ridiculous?”
She laughhht to herself and turned to look at Helen, who was deeply asleep, with her head resting on her right shoulder, her hair lightly caressing Madeline's arm.

Madeline almost choked with her wine.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”
As if she was mocking her, Helen cuddled even closer to her, her lashes moving ever so slightly.

Madeline placed her glass on the coaster and massaged her temples.

Helen couldn't sleep after spending hours in a bed that cost thousands of dollars and drinking a glass of milk, but she'd fallen asleep while watching good people singing ABBA songs in Greece.

Still, she wasn't going to allow Helen (no matter how adorable she was while sleeping) to spend the night in her movie theater.

"Come on," she whispered.

Madeline helped her on her feet, throwing the blanket over her shoulders, and practically dragging her to the living room without even turning the movie off.

Helen walked beside her with heavy steps, more asleep than awake. She reminded Madeline of a sick Victorian child on the verge of death.

She carefully laid Helen down at the sofa, who stirred but didn’t wake up. Madeline smiled to herself. She could have her bed just for her.

She started to walk to the stairs, but stopped just to see Helen again.

She looked so beautiful like that. So… relaxed. Madeline couldn't even remember when was the last time she had seen her so tranquil. Maybe ten years ago, when she introduced her to Ernest and then Madeline stole him from her and…

Fuck.

She was, indeed, a bitch.

Was letting Helen live for free in her mansion for all eternity enough to make it up to her? After all the pain she had caused her?

The sofa was really small. What if Helen moved in her sleep and fell? Well, it wasn't that concerning if she thought about the fact that Helen was already dead (because Madeline had killed her, by the way)

If she fell, she would wake up and that would start the circle all over again.

She signed and lay right next to her, 

She slipped her arm around Helen's waist to hold on tightly and keep from falling. Their faces were so close that Madeline could feel Helen's breath in her own nose. She snuggled even closer. Not because she enjoyed sleeping next to her (not at all), but because she was freezing, and that thin blanket wasn't enough.

But she didn't close her eyes.

She stared at Helen, at the color of her cheeks, her little freckles, her lips… God, her lips. Had they always been this red, or was Helen wearing makeup? No, that couldn't be. But still, they were so pretty... They seemed really soft and... Madeline blinked several times, realizing the thoughts that were crossing her mind.

That wasn't very heterosexual of her.

What would happened if she…?

Well, there was nothing weir about that, right? They were friends after all.

She closed the space between them, giving Helen a gentle, kiss on her lips. Madeline smiled to herself when she realiced that they were just as soft as she had imagined.

It was just a good night kiss, nothing more. 

She closed her eyes, finally falling asleep.

“She woke up to the morning light illuminating the living room and Helen's voice asking her something she couldn't quite make out.

"Madeline, what are we doing on the couch?" she asked again.

Madeline ran a hand over her eyes, stretching.

"Last night you couldn't sleep, so we watched a movie."

Helen nodded slightly, somewhat recalling the events of the previous night.

"Well, seeing is an understatement. You fell asleep twenty minutes into the best movie ever."

"Mamma Mia is the best movie ever?"

"Obviously, Helen. What kind of question is that?"

Helen laughed, snuggling even deeper into the blankets and Madeline.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"What?" Madeline murmured.

"I say thank you, Mad. You're making me feel at home here with you."

"Oh, please."

"I mean it. Everything has been really weird after… this.”
She placed her hand over her stomach, were her hole used to be.

“When you say it like that it looks like you are pregnant.” Madeline said.

Helen rolled her eyes, but she still smirked at the comment, which made Madeline feel the same funny feeling she felt when she was looking at her while she was sleeping on her shoulder.

“It’s impossible to be nice to you. You know that, Mad?”
“You should be thanking me. You got to sleep last night thanks to me last night, though.”

“I know.”

She got closer to Madeline, who thank God that she was already dead because, if she wasnt, she could literally have a heart attack by having Helen so fucking close to her.

“And that is why I’m going to make it up to you” she whispered.

Madeline gulped, but she still smiled.

“Oh, you are?”
“Yeah.” She said, with a really low voice that made the blonde tremble.

They stared at each other for a while, both holding their now useless breaths.

“We are going to have breakfast at whatever coffee shop you want to. My treat. And then you are going to come with me to the pharmacy so I can get my sleeping pills so this doesn't happen ever again.”

Madeline smiled more than she wanted too.

“Oh, that’s such a shame. I really had a good time last night.”
Helen smiled too.

She pulled off the blanket and started to sit up, but stopped.

"Mad?"

"Yes?"

"Why is your arm around my waist?"

Shit.