Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Helen Sharp spoke to Madeline Ashton was in the theater auditorium, during auditions for Carousel.

Madeline was wearing a red and white cheerleader uniform, the school colors, and her ponytail was so high it looked like it belonged to a Barbie doll, her shiny blonde strands swinging from side to side like the pendulum of a clock that Helen couldn’t stop following with her eyes. Silly, Helen thought. And also... fascinating.

Helen had seen her before, in the hallways, on the courts, always surrounded by people, always talking to someone, always smiling with all her teeth. But they had never exchanged a word. And in Helen’s mind, Madeline could only be a sophomore, or even a junior, there was something... complete about her, as if she already had the entire manual for surviving high school memorized.

Madeline grabbed the microphone and announced in a clear voice, enunciating each word:

“Madeline Ashton, freshman, auditioning for Julie Jordan.”

Helen choked on her water. Freshman? Her brain took a few seconds to process that. She was sitting three rows back, script crumpled between sweaty hands. She herself had initially planned to audition for the role of Julie Jordan but knew her chances were basically nil. Freshmen didn’t get leads, so she had already resigned herself to joining the ensemble. Naturally, she leaned forward, staring at the girl with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

The first notes of They Just Keep Moving The Line began on the piano; the theater fell completely silent, you could hear a pin drop. And when Madeline started to sing, the temperature in the auditorium seemed to shift. Helen felt goosebumps from head to toe. The girl had a striking voice, but it wasn’t just the voice, Madeline sang with her whole body, as if every gesture was meticulously calculated. She held the microphone confidently and sang in a way that didn’t feel general but specific, as if she were your friend telling you a secret.

Helen was mesmerized. She looked down at her script, sure she was staring too intensely and didn’t want to be seen as a creep. When Madeline finished and the teacher thanked her, their eyes met for a split second. Madeline stepped down from the stage and sat next to Helen.

“Hi, I’m Madeline! I'm obsessed with your Wicked eco bag!”

It was the beginning of their friendship, just like that, with a compliment about an eco bag.

Madeline got the part, which wasn’t a surprise to Helen, deep down, she already knew Madeline would get whatever she wanted. She had that conqueror’s aura. Helen stayed in the ensemble.

Now, they smiled gently at each other in the hallways, and for Helen, that was everything. It might sound childish, but she felt butterflies every time she heard a “Hey, Hel!” in the hallways.

On a particularly rainy Wednesday, Madeline poked Helen after rehearsal.

“Hey, wanna stay late and run lines with me? No offense, but the guy they picked for Billy Bigelow acts like a door,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Sure, but don’t expect much from me.” Helen laughed in a way she hoped sounded like a casual “haha” and not “I’m a weirdo.”

“Don’t be modest, I saw your audition for the ensemble. You were good!”

Helen raised her eyebrows, surprised. “You saw my audition?”

“Of course!” Madeline replied as if it were obvious. “I pay attention to these things.”

Helen realized Madeline was funny in a way that often went unnoticed, quick and sharp humor. She burst out laughing when Madeline made a joke about the theater teacher looking like the “prime suspect” on a Law & Order: SVU episode.

They went through the script twice. On the second run, Madeline started asking Helen about little tips on intonation, correcting gestures and pauses. They flowed well together.

“Helen, you own the scenes!” Madeline said, dropping the script on the chair. “You just need to stop hiding and you could totally get out of the ensemble.”

Helen smiled, unsure of how to respond but feeling something different, like, for the first time, someone had truly noticed her.

It was a Tuesday, and Helen was alone in the library when she got a message on her phone. It was from an unknown number:

hiiii wanna grab a bite later?
its mad btw

Helen let out a small squeal that earned her a sharp shush from the librarian. They had never exchanged numbers, how had Madeline gotten hers? The girl definitely had her contacts…

She hesitated for a moment, wondering what this could mean. Not just an invite, but an opening? A real friendship?

After a minute, she replied:

Sure. Where?

The answer came immediately, which wasn’t a surprise, Madeline practically lived glued to her phone.

Starbies!!!

At the Starbucks around the corner, their differences were obvious even in their orders. Madeline got a strawberry açaí refresher with a chocolate croissant, a combo clearly designed to keep her energy at full throttle. While Helen went for an americano and a butter croissant, modestly trying to balance out her friend’s sugar overload.

“Does your body really need all that sugar to function?” Helen teased, watching Madeline happily clutching her pink drink.

“Are we body-shaming now, Ms. Sharp?” Madeline said seriously.

“Oh god, no, I’m just, sorry!” Helen apologized at supersonic speed.

“I’m kidding, you’re just so uptight!” Madeline smiled, her eyes filled with that little spark that always made her seem like she owned the world.

Helen rolled her eyes and gave Madeline’s leg a little slap. “You’re weird.”

“So are you!” Madeline proclaimed, biting into her croissant and leaving chocolate smudges even on her nose.

When Helen got home, she caught herself thinking how strangely easy it was to talk to Madeline, even when their interests seemed so far apart. It was like, despite the differences, there was an invisible string connecting them.

They started meeting to study together, rehearse lines, grab coffee. Even their little arguments seemed interesting: Madeline could be stubborn, Helen could be demanding...

Slowly, whenever one of them was feeling down or struggling, whether it was Helen’s anxiety over getting an A instead of an A+, or Madeline convinced she’d forgotten every line just minutes before going on stage, the other would show up to offer support. A natural exchange of care.

Touches became more frequent, less casual. They seemed like opposite poles of a magnet, constantly drawn to each other in hallways, lunch breaks, and outside school. Physical contact grew: a touch on the arm to get attention, a hug that lingered longer to comfort after a rough day… But everything changed one night at a party.

The party was loud, filled with laughter and music pounding against their chests. Madeline and Helen danced amid the crowd as if they were alone in Helen’s bedroom, competing at Just Dance. 

Suddenly, Madeline grabbed Helen’s hand, pulling her away from the group.

“Come with me!” she said. “Please!”

Helen braced herself mentally for the classic ‘help the drunk friend’ moment that included holding hair back while Madeline emptied liters of alcohol off her throat, but when Madeline shut and locked the door, what happened next was completely different.

Madeline pressed Helen firmly against the door, her blue eyes shining with an intensity Helen hadn’t expected, leaning in to kiss her.

The kiss started slow, hesitant, then quickly ignited. Helen felt the world fall away around them, the noise of the party fading until it disappeared completely.

When they parted, the air crackled. Madeline smiled, lips flushed, and Helen knew in that moment nothing between them would ever be the same. Madeline’s lips found Helen’s again, this time with more certainty and urgency. The kisses were gentle, yet electric, making Helen’s heart race. Every touch, every sigh, seemed to open a door they both hesitated to cross.

“We better get back to the party,” Madeline whispered against her lips, a mix of playfulness and mischief in her smile. “If we disappear too long, they’ll start to miss us.”

Reluctantly, Helen nodded, and they returned to the party, lit by hanging lights and muffled music. They danced close, exchanged smiles, but the night’s tension hung in the air like an unspoken promise.

Madeline said she’d sleep over at Helen’s that night, but minutes before saying goodbye, she invented some excuse and slipped out the back door. Helen stood there, heart tight, afraid Madeline might regret what had happened.

The next morning, Helen woke to her phone buzzing beside the bed. A message appeared on the screen:

morning
is ur head pounding? mine is
sorry about yesterday i shouldnt have done it

Helen smiled with a touch of sadness, of course Madeline regretted it. Her fingers trembling slightly, she typed back:

All good
I wasn’t complaining lol

That simple exchange held a universe of unspoken feelings, a fragile hope, and the promise that maybe, just maybe, this could be only the beginning.

Helen noticed Madeline avoiding her gaze in the school hallways, steering clear whenever possible, ignoring her during rehearsals. The sudden, inexplicable distance left Helen with a knot in her chest, a heavy silence she didn’t know how to break. She held on for three days before confronting Madeline.

She found her near the storage closet, and without thinking twice, pushed the heavy door and locked it behind them.

“What the hell?” Madeline huffed.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Helen asked, her voice trembling between anger and sadness.

Madeline looked away, hands shaking.

“I just felt... too many feelings, Helen. It’s too much for me. I’m not ready to deal with whatever this is.”

Helen took a step closer, expression soft, full of understanding.

“You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to decide anything right now. We can just enjoy each other’s company, no pressure. No labels, no promises.”

Madeline raised her eyes, theirs locking in a silence that spoke louder than words.

“I’d like that…” she murmured, almost a whisper.

Helen smiled, and in that small, dark room, something fragile and beautiful began to bloom.

Over the years, Helen and Madeline continued to meet in secret, away from the curious eyes of their classmates. To everyone else, they were just best friends, an inseparable duo admired for their closeness and easy laughter.

But only they knew what really happened when the doors to Helen’s room closed behind them. There, the world shrank to soft touches, knowing smiles, and whispered secrets in the dim light. These were stolen moments from time, where they didn’t have to pretend or hide, where they could simply be Mad and Hel, no labels, no fears, no judgement.

Helen’s house was bathed in warm, soft light. Her mother had stepped out to “give the girls some space.” They were enjoying each other’s company, warming up for senior prom with cheap wine Madeline had brought, exchanging kisses and whispers.

Helen pulled up the zipper on Madeline’s dress. She tried to keep her hands steady, but they trembled, she was always trembling when Madeline was this close. In the mirror, they were contrasting reflections: Helen in a simple green silk dress, which Madeline insisted brought out all her "best features,” and Madeline in a cascade of pink tulle, the hem gently kissing the floor.

The prom theme was “Meet Me at Midnight,” transforming the school gym into an ephemeral dream blending The Great Gatsby with Cinderella. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling like improvised constellations, navy velvet curtains created the illusion of a night sky, and at the center, a silver metallic arch glittered, covered in tiny twinkling lights. Tables held glass centerpieces with water and floating candles, and in one corner, a blue neon sign slowly blinked the theme’s name. Everything felt suspended in time, as if midnight would never come.

Helen and Madeline arrived together. No one knew about them, sometimes Helen suspected not even Madeline fully did.

They danced, laughed with the theater crowd, soaking in a night that felt like both a beginning and an end all at once.

Then the first chords of Fade Into You echoed through the speakers, and before Helen could even think, her hands were seeking Madeline’s waist.

“Dance with me,” she said, no question, just a statement with a period.

In the center of the floor, the world shrank. Helen held Madeline’s waist, feeling the cool fabric of the dress and, underneath, the warmth she knew so well… Madeline didn’t pull away, but neither did she lean in. It was their public game. The almost. The maybe.

Helen was wrapped in the magic of the night, and the magic of Madeline. She felt Madeline’s body shift against hers as if it were inevitable, as always, the blonde’s face glowing inches from hers, eyelashes brushing golden lights. Helen leaned in.

The shove was subtle, but it hurt more than anything.

“Not here!” Madeline murmured, eyes hard as glass.

They left the gym, passing through heavy curtains to the outside courtyard where the music was muffled. The night air was cold.

“You can’t do this to me!” Helen’s voice trembled.

“Do what? If anyone’s doing anything, it’s you!” Madeline snapped, arms crossed. “Do you want to destroy me?”

Helen laughed bitterly. “Me?”

It was like Madeline chose her only to break her afterward. Because she knew too much. Because her touch carried danger. And yet Helen knew: if Madeline said ‘come here’, she would go. Always.

“I know you too well, Madeline!” Her voice cracked before she finished. “And that scares you. Admit it!”

Madeline tried to speak, but Helen pressed on:

“You let me get close enough to believe… then you break me. You'll always break me, won't you?”

In Helen’s mind, she pictured Madeline as a child on the beach rebuilding a sandcastle over and over, only to watch it be destroyed by her own scared trembling hands.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Madeline’s voice was laced with deadly venom. “I’m not like you, I don’t get… obsessed with every girl who smiles at me.”

The tears Helen had held back finally escaped, trailing down her face as she looked at the person she thought she might have loved. The rain started to pour, as if it mirrored her emotions, an unrelenting downpour that seemed endless.

“It’s not ‘every girl,’ it’s YOU! Why do you think you get to decide what I deserve?” she shouted, her sadness turning suddenly to anger.

“Hel, I’m not the person for you, and you’re not the person for me. We never will be. We’re girls, we can only ever be friends, you should know that…” Her words stung.

“I just thought maybe after school, we could really be together, we could…” Helen could’ve done almost anything to please her, to prove she was good enough for Madeline, but she’d never say that out loud.

“We couldn’t ANYTHING, Helen! God, are you really that stupid? I’m not gay. I like boys, like normal girls do!”

The last sentence hung in the air, filthy and cruel, and Madeline realized immediately she’d crossed a line. But she didn’t apologize. She never apologized.

Helen was speechless, her world crumbling beneath her feet on what should’ve been the happiest day of her life.

“Just…forget me. Forever.”

Madeline had always been the one who made her feel safe, but that night was different. It was like she’d taken a knife and stabbed Helen’s chest again and again.

They cut off all contact completely, and Helen moved to Boston.

At first, having no contact seemed impossible, like trying to quit an addiction all at once. Helen still felt Madeline’s presence everywhere, like a wine-stained dress she couldn’t wear anymore. You can’t just get rid of them bit by bit. One day you think you’ll die if you don’t see her, and the next, you try to convince yourself she never even existed in the first place.

As time passes, you start to remember your life before them. You stop reaching for your phone when something reminds you of them. You stop feeling like a phantom limb is dragging you automatically to a conversation with her. You stop looking at photos of the two of you. You remove the songs they introduced from your playlist. Eventually, you start forgetting them altogether. You become sober. Clean.

Three months without contact, and Helen felt she was becoming someone different. Autumn turned to summer, Helen went out more, met new people, gained new stories Madeline wasn’t part of.

Four months without contact, and Helen Sharp was finally starting to feel okay again.

Five months without contact, and she was feeling even better. She had a new prospect in medical student Ernest Menville. He was nice enough. Helen convinced herself she’d be fine.

Years slipped by like long shadows. Helen and Ernest held steady, firm and quiet, navigating both slow and hurried days, until the moment he knelt, offered a ring, and asked her to be his.

She walked streets that seemed to shout Madeline’s name in posters promising worlds where that blue-eyed girl shined like a distant sun. She walked with a ring that felt strange on her finger. And every time that Madeline from the silver screen crossed her mind, a bitter taste slid down her tongue, a mixture of pride, because Madeline had conquered the world, just like she always wanted, and hatred, because Madeline didn’t want her to be part of any of it.

Helen considered that she had a life many would envy. A weekly column dedicated to French literature, words that danced on the page, a kind, if boring, fiancé.

But that morning, opening her inbox, her perfect world flipped upside down when one invitation stood out: the ten-year reunion since high school ended. And for a moment, she hated herself because the first thought, even after all those years, was: Is Madeline going to be there?

Because, despite everything she had built, despite Ernest, despite her writing awards, despite the big apartment, despite all her strongest denials, Madeline still haunted her.

The gym was packed, soft lights casting a warm glow over the space. Silver stars hung delicately from the ceiling, reconstructing the senior prom night theme: “Meet Me at Midnight.” Voices and laughter echoed around as Helen, elegant in a simple dress, walked hand in hand with Ernest, who wore a flawless suit that matched the proud doctor aura he, and she, both carried.

Helen smiled politely at familiar faces, that kind of smile you wear for people you haven’t seen in ages and honestly don’t miss at all. There was only one person Helen didn’t want to run into, or maybe she did? Her mind was undecided whether seeing Madeline would be the best or worst thing possible.

She spotted her across the crowd, of course she did, they shared a magnetism no amount of time could erase. Taking a deep breath, Helen grasped Ernest’s arm, perhaps a little tighter than necessary.

“Come meet Madeline. We were in the theater group together.”

“You went to high school with the Madeline Ashton? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Ernest asked, his enthusiasm stabbing at Helen's stomach repeatedly.

Madeline was dressed to command attention, as always, an animal print outfit that would look tacky on ninety percent of people, but clung perfectly to her curves. Her eyes sparkled like never before. She strode confidently across the room and met them in the middle of the gym.

“Mad!” Helen said firmly, trying not to show the nerves gnawing at her and fighting the flood of memories from their last painful encounter, right there on this very floor.

“Hel!” Madeline’s voice was higher, that same anxious tone Helen apparently still recognized. She felt a flicker of relief in that familiarity. She caught Madeline’s eyes flicker down to her feet for a split second and instantly knew what she was feeling, the same ache Helen had carried almost every night since they parted at prom.

Helen convinced herself she was imagining things and cleared her throat before introducing Ernest with a smile she tried to keep steady.

“This is Ernest, my fiancé. Actually, Dr. Ernest.”

She wished she could say she had no idea why she added “Doctor,” but she did, it was meant to hurt Madeline, to show she’d moved on. And moved on to great things nonetheless.

“Hm, Dr. Ernest?” Madeline’s voice was sweet but laced with challenge, Helen knew. “What would you do to me? Aesthetically?”

Helen froze. The question was more than a tease, it was a cruel reminder that Madeline had cards up her sleeve: her charm.

Ernest let out an uneasy laugh as Helen felt the floor vanish beneath her feet. Madeline leaned in a little closer, steering the conversation into dangerous territory Helen wasn’t prepared to navigate.

She watched Madeline subtly flirt with Ernest, a silent, poisonous dance. Helen’s heart raced and her throat went dry. She tried to smile, tried to keep it together, but the drink in her hand turned to fire in her stomach. The betrayal she didn’t even know she could feel burned with fierce intensity.

Without warning, Helen slipped away, leaving behind the murmur of the party. Before she left, she slid the engagement ring from Ernest’s coat pocket, resting near hers at the coat check, leaving it as a final token.

Alone in her apartment, her mind was a whirlwind of questions no one was ready to answer, but one thought was crystal clear.

She sat at her desk, turned on the lamp, and began to write her letter as if pouring poison onto paper:

Ernest,
I don’t need explanations.
If she’s what you want, and it makes you happy, then go. May Madeline give you everything I could not.
When you return, please empty the apartment.
I want nothing of yours here, I will be in Paris.
Goodbye.
-Helen.

She didn’t cry, not even a single tear, but her eyes burned with something she could only describe as hatred. She folded the letter and left it on the living room table.

Paris greeted her with a cold wind and exactly what she needed: silent peace. No one knew her here. No one knew that the man she had planned to spend her life with had left her for her ex-best friend and the love of her life.

She spent her mornings wandering aimlessly, letting the streets carry her, embraced by the chill. Sometimes she’d stop in front of a bakery window, watching people simply live, mourning over chocolate croissants. Other times, she found herself by the Seine, staring at the water flow, just like her life.

Museums became her refuge. She wandered slowly through the Louvre, feeling the cold marble beneath her fingers, or the d’Orsay, where the impressionist brushstrokes seemed to echo a longing she couldn’t name. She would sit for long minutes in front of certain paintings, write for her column, and hope that, someday, some artwork would come to life and give her an answer.

At night, she returned to her small rented apartment, opened a bottle of cheap wine, ate a few pieces of baguette, and stood on the balcony, watching the city lights reflecting on the water. She tried to convince herself that being alone was liberating, that this was the life of an independent woman. But deep down, she wondered if she had been born to always be beside someone, and if that someone, to her eternal torment, wasn’t Madeline Ashton after all...

Countless nights she tossed and turned in bed, wondering if the breakup had affected Madeline as deeply as it affected her. Or at least a little.

Day by day, she convinced herself she was getting better. She had been left before, she could rebuild herself again... Until a certain wedding invitation appeared in her inbox.

Apparently, she was cordially invited to the union of Madeline Ashton and Ernest Menville.

The world shrank. First, her vision blurred, Helen tried to read more details, but her stupid eyes welled up with tears, making it impossible to see. Madeline. Ernest. Together. Still?

Her breath hitched, her chest felt heavy. When it came to Madeline, Helen had absolutely no self-control and the saddest part was that she was sure that Madeline knew it.

Helen ran out of her apartment without a coat, the night froze her bones, the wind whipped her hair, and the city lights shone brighter than ever.

One step, she thought. Just one step. She found herself standing on an overpass, seriously considering doing something very stupid. The blaring horn of a passing truck snapped her back. She didn’t jump. Not this time.

Hours later, she sat on a narrow bed in a room far too white, where the windows didn’t open and the walls seemed to absorb every breath. A nurse scribbled something on a clipboard. She barely remembered how she had gotten there.

That night, Helen realized she wasn't just mourning the love of her life, she had lost her best friend too.

And still, in the dark, she whispered:

Once I fix me, she’s gonna miss me.
Once I fix me, she’s gonna miss me.
Once I fix me, she’s gonna miss me.

It was a loop. A prayer. A plea. 

Helen had been discharged a week ago when she met Viola Van Horn on a night that seemed to magically conspire for it to happen.

She was sitting alone at a corner café, clutching a new prescription, trying to convince herself that the world kept spinning even after Madeline. Viola emerged from the shadows with an alluring and mysterious aura, her dark hair framing her face perfectly, a warm smile playing on her lips, as if she’d been waiting for Helen for years.

She struck up a conversation, speaking about beauty the way Helen spoke about literature: with absurd devotion.

“Beauty is more than wanting to be pretty, don’t you think?” she said, leaning over the café table like she was about to confide a crime. Helen shivered, noticing that suddenly the busy café seemed empty. “You want to be remembered. To walk into a room and make everyone forget their own names and only think: Helen.”

Helen didn’t answer right away. But inside her, something burned, an old wound Madeline had left open, a strange mix of love and humiliation, tenderness and rage.

Viola pulled a small glass from her pocket. The liquid inside looked like it held a multitude of galaxies.

“You want perfection, Helen?” she whispered. “Take a sip and drink it in. Kill your old complexion.”

Helen almost laughed. The promise sounded absurd. But, in truth, it didn’t sound absurd at all to someone who had spent nights imagining a hand closing around Madeline’s throat, only to then dream of the kiss that would follow.

She held the potion. And in that moment, she realized she wasn’t just trying to become perfect for herself, she was trying to become something Madeline couldn’t ignore, something that could hurt her just by existing.

Helen felt her entire body shift, she felt she could have it all: power, potential, attention and, most importantly, revenge. At that moment, Helen desperately wanted to find Madeline again, she just didn’t know if she wanted to hold her or destroy her first.

The book launch was packed. Photographers, journalists, people Helen hadn’t seen in years, all gathered under the warm yellow lights of the lavish hall. She’d chosen a red dress that screamed not just wealth, but whispered perfection. 

And then, Madeline appeared. She looked terrible. Helen felt a flicker of pity, but wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? To see Madeline miserable. Ernest stood beside her with that smug air Helen secretly always hated. Helen knew they both saw the row of photographers turn towards her, capturing every click like the lens was an extension of their gaze.

“Madeline… Ernest…” Helen said, forcing an exaggerated smile. “So glad you came! My agent said you’re not in the place to turn down even the opening of an envelope, Mad.” Helen laughed, but the sound bitterly coated her mouth.

“Well, we couldn’t miss it,” Madeline replied, her eyes scanning the room, searching for something to fix on other than Helen.

“The book talks a lot about… new beginnings. Moving past who we were. Just to be clear, our whole story is water under the bridge!” Helen touched Madeline’s arm with just a brush.

Helen turned to Ernest, eyes locked on him. “Oh, Ernest, it’s truly lovely to see the kind of man you’ve become! Let me introduce you to my agent.”

Helen spent most of the night clinging to Ernest’s arm, wondering if Madeline was watching, well, she would find comfort with the fact that Madeline definitely was feeling lonely, and that alone was sweet enough to keep Helen standing.

She was posing for what felt like the millionth photo of the night when she spotted Madeline slipping through the door.

“Madeline,” she called, running after her. “You’ve never been one to slip out quietly!”

Madeline stopped but didn’t turn around. Helen placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and gently turned her to face her. The realization struck like a lightning: Madeline was crying.

“Seasonal allergies, you know…”

Helen knew. It was Madeline’s official excuse whenever she was crying. The words came before Helen could think: “Sorry, it was rude of me to invite you, it’s just…”

“Hel,” she whispered. “You don’t have to apologize, you’re always apologizing... I should be the one apologizing. I hated myself for so long for what I did to you. I never meant to hurt you, I just…”

“I know, Mad. The sad part is, no matter how hard I tried, I never managed to hate you. I don’t think I ever will…”

“That’s okay, you’re better off…”

Madeline looked at her sadly and walked out of the room.

Helen stared down at the floor and whispered:

“I’m not…”