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.