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Madeline Ashton hated Helen Sharp for leaving.
She sat at her vanity, staring eye to eye with the girl in the mirror. She primped, preened and adjusted every single detail with care, assembling the full mask of the Madeline Ashton persona as she silently asked the reflection whether the one person who could see through it would appear tonight…
Madeline felt a hunger, physical hunger that manifested in her craving for attention, she assumed it was the norm for anyone in show business. But the problem was that it could only ever be sated by a specific pair of sparkling emerald eyes… Attention had always followed her like a steady hum that filled the air wherever she went. Smiles, glances, laughter… the world seemed eager to feed her hunger, yet none of it ever touched the hollow place inside her stomach.
She thought about her most recent boyfriend, the one she seduced at Helen’s birthday party, the final straw that ended their friendship. Madeline punished herself daily for it, he had added nothing to her life. He had never scratched the surface of her. None of them did.
She had learned that adoration in excess could still feel like famine, because what she wanted was not the many, but the one. It was Helen’s gaze she craved, the singular weight of being seen not as ornament but as someone vital, essential. The applause of the world rang loud, roaring, but no matter how close others leaned in, how tenderly they tried to offer themselves, their presence dissolved like cotton candy in water. Only one girl had ever made her feel less like a persona and more like a person and those eyes no longer glanced at her.
The cruelest hunger of all: to be fed by countless mouths, countless hands, yet remain starved because the one who could satisfy the ache withheld herself. Madeline hated the need, hated the hollow it carved inside her, but she knew she would chase it until the end. For what is attention if not the fire that keeps her alive? And what is fire, if not the one who refuses to vanish?
It was this hunger that had led her to write an e-mail inviting Helen to her movie premiere.
She stared at herself, hoping against hope to see herself truly reflected for once.
Helen Sharp hated Madeline Ashton for staying.
She hated that she had stolen her boyfriends, hated her pretty face, her glittering gowns, her straight-to-DVD movies and hated her shining hair. But most of all, she hated that even after cutting ties, Madeline was everywhere. A bakery, wild berry pancakes on the menu: she thought of Madeline. Something funny: she could almost hear Madeline's genuine laughter, the one only Helen had known.
It was strange to mourn someone who was alive and haunting you. The world still held Madeline Ashton with pride, with her laughter, even if fake, her over-the-top gestures Helen used to give her shit for and yet that person no longer existed, at least not for Helen. So how was it possible that Madeline was still there?
The cruelty lay in proximity. She could still see her, sabotaging herself by searching Madeline’s interviews and keeping a google alert on her name. Madeline was so close and yet so far. On the red carpets she was surrounded by people, others now stood where she once had, others received the softness she still ached for.
She told herself it was just an ache, a wound that would dull. And yet, night after night, she carried the weight of wondering: would Madeline ever turn back, even for a moment, and remember her? Because even if she didn’t, Helen remained there, suspended in longing, haunted by a tenderness she could no longer touch, now offered to hands that were not her own. She hoped to haunt Madeline in return, to be remembered as the one that could’ve promised love for a lifetime.
Madeline burned like a fire in Helen’s heart, and that fire flared strong when she opened her inbox to find an invitation to Madeline’s movie premiere.
Helen tried to pull herself together, clawing out of the pit of anxiety. She had debated for days whether to go, clicking and un-clicking the RSVP button like it was a light switch. She waited until the very last moment to accept the invitation.
It had been a year since she had severed her ties with Madeline. She had been firm, insisting she needed space, though even as she said it, a small part of her ached. Madeline had cried, actual real tears, not the practiced ones of an actress and Helen had felt her chest tighten, realizing some wounds never fully heal, it was hard to stick to her needs and not Madeline's and it was even harder to watch her cry and not do anything about it. They had been inseparable since kindergarten, a duo through and through… Helen had helped Madeline study for the SATs, Madeline had attended every symphony presentation Helen had and camped beside her for a Taylor Jenkins Reid book signing, even though she herself hadn’t read a single one of the author’s novels. Those small gestures had been everything.
Over the past year, Helen had moved forward in ways she never even imagined. She had met new people, opened doors to friendships and opportunities she hadn’t expected and published her first book! A novel that caused a stir in the literary community, earning her a contract for five more manuscripts. On paper, she had achieved brilliance. Yet the glow of it all felt faint, almost muted. Every triumph was shadowed by the need she felt to share it with Madeline, she had everything she ever wanted but the absence of the one person whose gaze had always made her victories feel alive. None of the congratulations, none of the praise, had the warmth of being shared with Madeline. Every e-mail of praise, every toast at a celebratory dinner was carried with a hollow echo: it was hers alone and somehow that made it not hers at all.
Helen often wondered if Madeline even thought of her, if the fire they had shared had burned to ashes or if she had simply moved on. The thought was unbearable, and yet impossible to shake. And though she had chosen this separation, asserted her independence, part of her would forever linger in that shared past, haunted by warmth she could no longer touch.
Those feelings churned in her stomach like spoiled broccoli as she got ready. A silent challenge to look impeccable, so that Madeline would have no choice but to notice her, notice how she was… well.
Helen chose a black dress, it had a nice cleavage and the fabric was tight in all the right places. She started absentmindedly brushing her hair, letting it fall in a half-up, half-down style, a few delicate strands framing her face, the same way Madeline had taught her back in seventh grade.
When she looked at herself in the mirror before walking out the door, she saw that everything reminded her of those small, unremarkable moments that had always been hers and Madeline’s alone.
Helen's heart jolted and she couldn't breathe.
Madeline was standing right there, moving through the crowd like a flame in a darkened room, effortlessly luminous. She was wearing a pink gown that shimmered like pure glitter, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, she was perfect. Every eye seemed drawn to her, but Helen felt Madeline's eyes resting on her. It was somehow usual for them, everyone watching Madeline and Madeline watching Helen. Her gaze was sharp, assessing, and somehow intimate all at once. She smiled and Helen felt the pull in her chest tighten, the ache she had carried for a year sparking like a live wire.
She questioned if there was something wrong with her cardiopulmonary health, because it seemed like nothing inside her worked anymore.
"I thought coming empty-handed would be rude," She blurted out, "so I grabbed this..." She handed Madeline a sister's fruit company wild blueberry pancake mix, like it was a hot potato. "I hope you manage not to burn all of them..."
“That’s so thoughtful, Helen! Thank you. But you know that I can’t promise anything about the ‘burning.’”
They laughed and for a moment, they were just two people, chatting at a party, friends? Acquaintances? Friendly archenemies?
They slipped into their own world, words tumbling over each other as they caught up on the year they had spent apart. Helen spoke carefully at first, then with growing warmth, telling Madeline about her new publishing contract, the excitement in her voice almost making her forget why they had separated in the first place. Madeline’s eyes lit up in genuine delight, and for a moment, the distance between them, the year of absence and unspoken longing, seemed to dissolve.
Unintentionally, they drifted further away from the hum of the party, letting the chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses fade into the background. Soon, they were seated together in the winter garden at the edge of the hall, the soft scent of red roses surrounding them. No one was paying attention to them and the solitude felt unexpectedly comforting, isolating, yes, but also profoundly restful.
Helen finally gathered the courage to speak of the elephant in the room. “And… the…” She couldn’t bring herself to name the latest boyfriend Madeline had stolen.
“Oh, old news. We lasted like a week. Such a dumbass, Helen… but you knew that, right?” Madeline laughed and Helen felt her face heat, a wave of anguish crashing in. “Maybe having terrible taste in men is our curse.” Helen had genuinely liked him and Madeline had the audacity not only to steal him for herself but also to laugh about it?
“You know your curse, Madeline? You ruined every single one of my relationships, invited me here and didn’t even bother with a ‘sorry.’ Your curse is that you’ve destroyed and betrayed yourself for absolutely nothing.”
Helen turned to leave, but Madeline’s hand, warm and insistent, caught her forearm.
“You know your curse, Helen? Why don’t you look me in the eye? You hide behind quips, but what you lack is courage… always have, always will.”
“You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth.” She took a deep breath and began to spill the words that had been lodged in her throat for years. “When I see you, I see that flame ignite, I can't not have you in my life. I thought it was hate, or something uglier, envy… but it’s not, Madeline, it’s something… something good. So why hide it? You must know how much you mean to me.”
Hunger. Fire.
Madeline swallowed, stunned by the raw honesty. Maybe she should take her own advice and find a bit of courage herself.
“You know something, Hel?” Helen’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname, so familiar, like catching a whiff of a perfume and being instantly transported to a specific day. “I used to feel this enormous thrill making you jealous, but the reverse… wasn’t nearly as exciting. Every time someone even looked at you, I felt sick, as if my stomach acid had risen and burned in my throat. I swear to you it was so bitter and pungent and real.” Madeline swallowed hard, as if just remembering it made her feel that sickness all over again. “So I hurt you, trying to inflict the same kind of pain I felt… I… I’m… sorry.””
Fire. Hunger.
Madeline’s last words came through sobs she had been holding back. “Maybe… I was so afraid you’d hurt me that I ended up hurting you…”
“Mad.” Helen’s voice was soft, lifting a finger to brush a tear down her cheek, carrying the blush with it. Their eyes locked, and Helen saw clarity, as if everything suddenly made sense.
For a moment, the world disappeared. Helen leaned closer, their breaths mingled. Madeline didn’t pull away, tilting her head, eyes searching for permission she didn’t need to ask.
Their lips met, tentative and explorative at first, then deep, trembling, urgent, years of longing pouring into that kiss. Madeline let out a little sigh and Helen smiled in the kiss, her hands framing Madeline’s face, thumbs brushing flushed cheeks, the blonde pressed closer, yielding just enough.
The warmth from earlier had erupted into a full-blown volcano, lava dripping until every nerve ending blazed with sensation. Their heart thundered with the force of a thousand galloping horses, the pounding spreading until it seemed to throb in every part of them. When they parted, foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts still thrumming in a shared rhythm.
“I’ve missed you more than I can say,” Helen whispered. “You must know how much I love you”
“So have I,” Madeline replied, out of breath, tear-streaked. “And so do I.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes, holding the delicate, dangerous thread binding them, their everlasting thread of fire like a love refusing to die.
“Let’s get out of here! You’ve got some pancakes to make!” Madeline said, taking Helen’s hand.
They laughed when their fingers brushed and a small jolt of electricity shot through them.
Being together was depth without darkness, was an incandescent flame, was true love.