Chapter Text
The rooftop was windy. Despite her hair being pulled back, some pieces fell around Helen's face, plastering to her cheek and across her nose. She didn't bother to swipe the errant strands away; her eyes were locked on the darkness below where Ernest had fallen only minutes ago.
“I guess I should have known I'd always be alone.”
The words were carried away with the breeze, barely above a whisper, but she knew Madeline heard them anyway. She could feel the other woman's eyes on her, could hear the clack of her heels on the concrete as she approached Helen cautiously from behind.
“Hey, Helen?”
Helen sighed, her shoulders deflating. “What?”
“I think… I'm your person.”
The redhead's eyes snapped forward, her body tense. “Oh no.”
“Admit it, Helen.”
She could hear the smile in her voice.
“You need me.”
“Oh god…” She closed her eyes, tilting her head back in silent agony. She did need her. Shit.
The blonde stepped even closer. Then, a set of cold arms wrapped around Helen's waist from behind, lightly tugging her body back so she was pressed against Madeline's front. A sharp jaw rested against her shoulder. Helen stiffened.
“We could have a life, us two,” Madeline whispered. “Maybe not like I dreamed… Maybe not how you remembered. But we could get by.”
A frown twisted at Helen's lips, her eyebrows furrowing. “Is that from Sweeney fucking Todd?”
Madeline said nothing and didn't move, almost as if she were waiting for Helen to do something or say more. When Helen didn't, the blonde dropped her arms slowly and stepped away with a barely contained sigh.
“We should go.”
Two months had passed since the night they vowed to stick together for eternity. It took some time to learn how to live together again after thirty years of fights, breakups, stolen boyfriends, rocky careers, and a stint in a mental institution (not to mention the whole murdering each other thing), but they eventually figured it out. Despite the size of Madeline's house, they spent a lot of time together, mending their broken bodies and broken hearts, which is why it took a while for Helen to notice what was different about Madeline this time around.
It hit Helen one day when they were lounging in the media room, watching Real Housewives and eating junk food. Madeline had the day off from filming and Helen was resting after a two week book tour. By the third episode, Helen looked over to where Madeline was sprawled out on the loveseat, a blanket tangled around her legs, her back against the arm of the seat, and her nails tapping against the glass of her phone screen. The author frowned, taking note of the distance between them; Helen on the couch and Madeline across the room. A shiver ran down her spine at the noticeable space.
“Maddie?”
The actress immediately reacted, her blue eyes darting over to Helen in surprise. Helen tried not to blush as she realized she had used a nickname neither of them had heard since they were much younger.
Madeline recovered quickly and replied, “What?”
Licking her lips, Helen shifted in her spot, tugging her blanket tighter around her body. “Why are you all the way over there?”
It was a ridiculous question, really. Madeline could sit wherever she wanted and she usually did. But that was what was so odd. In all the years Helen had known Madeline, not once did the woman give her an ounce of personal space. She was always touching her, playing with her hair, giving her hugs, tapping her nails along her arm, sitting right next to her despite the spacious furniture used for lounging. When she really thought about it, since that night on the rooftop, Madeline had only come in contact with Helen when she needed a paint job.
Madeline looked away from her, her focus back on the television, but Helen could see how stiff she held herself. “I don't know what you mean.”
Narrowing her eyes, Helen shot her an annoyed look. “Madeline.”
“What, Helen, oh my god,” the blonde snapped. “I'm trying to watch trash tv, can you shut the fuck up?”
Ah. She was deflecting. Classic Madeline. She'd do anything to get the heat off herself by acting out. Young Helen would have taken the bait. Current Helen (best-selling author, mental patient, dead) knew better.
Helen stood from her warm spot and walked over to Madeline. The woman was ignoring her, her nails still tapping away at her phone, her gaze locked on the screen and nothing else. She wasn't even blinking.
Helen snatched the phone out of Madeline's hands.
“Hey!”
Before the blonde could even so much as think of retaliating, Helen plopped down on top of her, settling on her lap.
“Helen!” Madeline squeaked out, but she ignored her.
“This,” Helen said, gesturing to their positions. “This is what I'm talking about, Mad. Why aren't you trying to sit on me every second? Why aren't you pinching and poking me like you used to?”
Madeline rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant teenager. “You're being so dramatic, Helen.”
Helen scoffed, tugging at Madeline's arms until they were uncrossed again, her bony fingers gripping Madeline's wrists. “I'm being dramatic? Mad, you used to practically crawl into my skin. You were like a fucking leech I couldn't get off my back.”
Madeline's jaw tensed, her gaze somewhere over Helen's shoulder. “Yeah, well, I'm sorry for that. Can you get off me now?”
Helen's frown deepened. “You're sorry?” Her surprise at Madeline's apology made her grip loosen on the actress's wrists.
Madeline yanked her arms from Helen's hold and then used her hands to push the author's shoulders so she'd fall back and off of Madeline's lap. “Just drop it, Helen. Jesus, you're so fucking whiny.”
Once again, not taking the jab, Helen shifted into a sitting position. Madeline had drawn her knees up, shielding herself physically now, so Helen pressed her torso against the blonde's shins, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“What the fuck is going on, Madeline?” she growled, anger simmering in her clay-filled belly.
“Nothing, Helen–”
“Bullshit.” A red-painted nail was pointed at the actress. “Need I remind you we are stuck with each other for eternity?”
“Believe me,” Madeline mumbled, picking at a lint ball on her blanket. “I'm well aware.”
Ignoring the acidity in her tone, Helen continued on and said, “Then talk to me. Tell me why you're avoiding me like this. And don't give me some shit excuse that you've ‘grown out of it’ or something. You hugged me that night, after Ernest fell.”
Madeline didn't reply right away. Her jaw was still tense, her eyes averted, and Helen could practically see the cogs turning in her mind as she thought about what to say. “You–” she began and then paused. Helen was horrified to see the sheen of tears gathering in Madeline's clearly conflicted eyes. “You tensed. When I hugged you, you tensed. And I thought–” Madeline tucked her chin to her chest, her fingers twisting in the blanket. “I thought of all the other times I touched you and how I was always the one to initiate it. I began to wonder if it was ever welcomed, or if… if I'm just too much for you, like I am for everyone.” She sniffled, shrugging her shoulders as she tried to pull herself together. Tear-filled eyes met Helen's green. “So, for once I stopped thinking about what I needed and thought about what you may need. Especially considering how reluctant you are to spend forever with me.”
Helen's gawking expression twisted into confusion. “I'm not reluctant to spend forever with you.”
Madeline snorted out a humorless laugh. “I'm not stupid, Hel. You almost died a second time when you realized I was all you had. I quoted Sweeney Todd to you.”
Helen smacked her palm against Madeline's knee in excitement. “I knew that was from Sweeney Todd!”
Madeline stared at her, not amused at all.
The smile dropped from Helen's face. “Maddie–”
“Please don't call me that.”
Helen blinked at the soft, crushed voice.
Madeline nudged Helen back with her knees, stood from the loveseat, and walked out of the media room, leaving the author alone and confused.