Chapter Text
Madeline was bored. Again. She wasn’t working these days – she had just finished her last press tour and had no upcoming movie, tv show, show, or anything really, which was starting to worry her, but she decided to forget about this.
She could have gone out and spent the night out drinking, but she was simply too tired. Can you believe that ? Madeline Ashton, too tired to get drunk. That’s a first , she chuckled to herself.
Ernest was working, so she had no one to get into a fight with. She decided to just take a nap and went to her room, where she let herself fall on her bed, throwing her shoes without looking. She stood up when she heard some boxes tumbling.
Ugh, seriously ?
With a sigh, Madeline walked over to her closet (the one in her room, which only contained her nightgowns and such) and started putting the boxes back where they were supposed to be. As she put them back, she realized she didn’t even know what was in half of them. They were all shoeboxes, so surely some old shoes and slippers she didn’t wear anymore but didn’t want to throw away for some reason would be in it, but some were just too heavy.
Curiosity got the best of her and she opened them all. At least now, she had something mildly interesting to do.
Two of them contained press articles, reviews and everything that mentioned her name – mostly positive, though some negative ones were wrinkled, drawn and scribbled all over as that was the only way she had found to let her anger out without causing a scene publicly.
Most of them had souvenirs and trinkets from trips, movie sets, former friends. She didn’t remember any of them now ; they were just faceless people she had once known, sets she had once been on, but she couldn’t remember any of them even if she walked into them right now.
Two of them were memory boxes from before she became famous, before she was Madeline Ashton, famous actress, sex symbol, whatever people were calling her these days, she didn’t really keep up anymore. Those boxes were all Maddie’s stuff. It was almost a past life now, completely disconnected to who she was today. No one knew that girl anymore, not the people she kept around her now. She was a distant memory, a ghost that sometimes haunted her on sleepless nights, when the alcohol made her numb but somehow not enough for her mind to stop torturing her.
She hadn’t thought much about it over the years – at least when she was sober, anyway. Now, though, she decided to step back into that world. Instead of closing the boxes and putting them back in her closet, far from view, she took everything out.
There were lots of diaries, old jewelry, everything people usually kept from high school and their early twenties. Except half of that stuff wasn’t even hers. It was Helen’s.
She ignored the tears in her eyes and sorted all of it into two piles : what she was keeping, and what she was burning. The first pile contained all her diaries and some old pictures that she just couldn’t bring herself to throw away, from graduation, parties and birthdays – all of them were of Helen and herself. The second, all the old necklaces, bracelets, letters, everything else. Everything that was in the boxes. Everything that had existed at the same time as Helen in her life, everything that she had outright stolen from her too – she knew Helen always saw her take the cheap jewelry sometimes, and she just let her do it anyway. Madeline had never apologized, or thanked her. Now, she could only wish she had.
Get it together, Madeline. She’s not here, I haven’t seen her in two years, I have no reason to think about her. I’m not her friend anymore. I don’t even miss her that much.
She put all the stuff to burn back in one of the boxes and decided to read all the bullshit that teen Madeline had written in her diaries. She was still bored, so surely reminding herself of how miserable her life was when she was a teenager would be entertaining.
It wasn’t entertaining.
She had forgotten that on top of being miserable, teen Madeline was also highly unstable and sometimes a danger to herself and others.
She was on the second diary – out of seven – and she was seriously considering burning them too, until she read something that she had completely forgotten about.
Nov 29th - Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I know something’s just wrong. I’m not supposed to feel that way. I’m not supposed to cry every time a man kisses me. I’m not supposed to throw up when I think of dating someone and I’m not supposed to feel like I’m living a fucking nightmare every time someone asks me out. None of this is supposed to feel that way, I should be happy. I should be normal. I don’t understand. I’ve tried to, really, but I just don’t. And I can’t even ask anyone about it, because I have an entire reputation to uphold. No one can ever know about whatever the fuck this is.
Dec 13th - I want this all to stop. This entire thing, those thoughts, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks now, and I literally can’t take it. I cry every night, I don’t want to be here. I don’t even want to wake up anymore. It’s hell. Something’s so wrong with me, and the only thing I can think about is how awful all of this is. And I thought about something that could explain all of this, but truthfully I think it would just make everything worse. Yeah, it’s an explanation, but if it’s true – it isn’t, by the way, it’s obvious – it’s basically a death sentence. For my career, 100%. For myself, maybe. Probably. I don’t know.
Dec 14th - I must’ve been high as fuck yesterday, can’t even remember what the hell this was about. Sure, the thoughts are awful, and yeah I’m like one breakdown away from doing something I’m going to regret probably, but I don’t know why. What the fuck is up with me
It popped up in her mind, as if it had been obvious from the start – maybe it had. Maybe she had just refused to see it. Now, lying on her bed more than two decades later, she could see it written in front of her when she closed her eyes, in that sloppy handwriting from long nights where her wrist hurt after writing over dozens of pages. She must have realized it on another drunken night, written it down, and thrown it away right after, telling herself it was fake.
“Oh, Maddie,” she muttered, as if her teenage self could hear it. “I’m so sorry,” she cried.
She knew what it was. She knew what she had been talking about all these years ago. She didn’t like men, that was what was wrong. It had taken her twenty years, countless nights she had spent getting drunk and high, even more nights sleeping with random men to convince herself she was fine, diary entries and a wedding to figure that out.
She wasn’t sorry for herself. After everything she had done, everyone she had hurt because she didn’t even like herself, she deserved to be stuck with the public persona she’d so carefully crafted thinking she would play the part just fine, when in reality she was everything she wasn't supposed to be. Madeline Ashton was supposed to be confident, flirty, charming, happy, not a lesbian. Right now, she was just stupid and sad. A little too sad. But that didn’t matter, she couldn’t change it, and even if she could, she probably wouldn’t. She deserved it.
So no, she wasn’t sorry for herself. She was sorry for teen Maddie, who cried herself to sleep every night, praying to a God she didn’t believe in for her pain to go away in the morning, or to simply not wake up at all. Who felt like a mistake everyday because she had no idea what was wrong with her, she just knew she was different. Who hated herself so much that she did everything she could to change entirely – and succeeded. Madeline Ashton had nothing in common with that girl. She had forced herself to become someone else. And yet, she remembered exactly how she felt when she was seventeen, her diary in front of her, tears in her eyes like every night, writing until her hand cramped, until she ran out of ink or paper. She was feeling the same right now. Helpless, small, eternally sad. Alone. Even more alone now.
A few days later, something caught her eye in a small shop, not too far from her house. She was in the middle of her weekly misery shopping spree, where she went to almost every store in the neighborhood and bought everything she could to feel better and remind herself that she was rich. She always went to the same stores, dressed the same way (thick sunglasses, black shirt, a pair of jeans, her hair tied up so that most people wouldn’t recognize her), listening to the same songs. She had just entered her last shop of the day when she noticed a little stand full of keychains. One of them especially got her attention, and before she realized what she was even doing, she took it and headed to the register to buy it, along with all the junk she’d also grabbed on the way to avoid anyone focusing on the suspiciously sunset colored keychain. She walked out as soon as she got the receipt back.
She tore it apart when she saw that the keychain was listed as ‘pride keychain - lesbian flag’ and her heart seemed to beat out her chest at the thought of some weirdo seeing this in her trash.
As she walked back home, the keychain hanging from the inside pocket of her bag, she told herself it was just a completely random thing that no one could have predicted. Maybe some sign from the universe to tell her she was ok, she didn’t actually need people to know about her sexuality for it to be ok, and she should be fine with it – she kind of was, surprisingly. She didn’t feel like teen Madeline did, and that was clearly progress. She just felt really stupid now, two years into her marriage to a man she’d stolen from a friend, sneaking into a shop to buy a stupid keychain that no one would ever see as a way to reassure herself, tell herself that as long as she knew and trusted herself, then it wasn’t just a twisted game her mind made up to torture her a little more – as if she hadn’t already suffered enough these past two years.
She told herself that she had never seen that keychain or that stand before, and it was all a total coincidence. But when she came back home and her footsteps echoed in the empty rooms, when she was left alone with her thoughts, she heard a voice in her head – the same voice that tormented her twenty years ago until she got drunk, until she sobbed so much she couldn’t breathe anymore, until she did anything to stop her mind from wandering into the hell she’d built there herself and replaced that ache with physical pain instead – telling her she had seen the stand before, she knew exactly what she would find walking into that shop.
She didn’t want to admit it was the truth, so she didn’t.
The following week, she and Ernest were having dinner together in one of her favorite restaurants. Obviously neither of them actually wanted to go, but there were too many rumors about their marriage – or rather, divorce – for them to just stay home and bicker, they had to show everyone they still loved each other.
That proved to be a very hard task for Madeline.
They had spent about forty minutes pretending to actually care about what each other was saying, they had even occasionally held each other’s hand, but Madeline felt like she was about to die now. She left to go to the bathroom, and as soon as she closed the door, she started sobbing. She had no idea why, but the tears just kept falling, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
She was sitting against the door now, crying with her head buried in her arms, hoping no one could tell it was her. That would definitely be everywhere tomorrow if someone saw her. She could already hear it : ‘Actress Madeline Asthon crying in the bathroom during dinner with husband : is it finally the end ?’, followed by some stupid pun about her last movie. It wouldn’t be the first time people made fun of her love life, it wouldn’t be the last either, but this time she didn’t think she’d be able to shrug it off like she used to. Something about this felt final. She had never really cared about Ernest and their marriage, and they had never even been happy together anyway, not since their actual wedding day (Madeline didn’t even think she had been happy then, but she was almost sure Ernest had believed in them for at least a day, before he understood she only barely tolerated him). She didn’t love Ernest, she never had, and she woke up everyday wishing she hadn’t married him, but the thought of divorcing him now seemed like the worst thing that could happen to her. Because if she divorced him, then she had nothing that tied her to Helen anymore. If she divorced him, she had to start a completely new chapter in her life, one where Helen didn’t exist. Where she was just a former friend. Where she had no influence, no lingering trace, no impact.
If she divorced him, then she had ruined Helen’s life for nothing.
Her mind brought her back to that night in her New York apartment, that dinner with Helen and Ernest. She never should have stolen him, she would probably be so much happier now if she hadn’t. She wouldn’t be forced to live with him, and Helen would still be her friend.
So that’s the reason I’m miserable in the bathroom .
She missed her. She missed everything about her. She missed talking to her, being able to text her if something reminded her of a random decade-old inside joke, inviting her out every few weeks just to talk the entire time and smile at Helen. She missed having someone who knew her – who knew her faults and fears, and still loved her no matter what.
Now, Helen was stuck in some psychiatric hospital on the other side of the country, and she couldn’t even visit her. Madeline had called once, and had been told that Helen’s state was simply too unstable for her to have any visits – of course, even if she could have visits now, Madeline doubted that she would be allowed to go. She knew Helen was there not only because of what she had done, though that was a direct consequence, but because she had developed an actual unhealthy obsession with her and every bad thing she had done to her. It wasn’t even so much about Madeline stealing her fiancé. It was about Madeline ruining her life over and over every chance she got.
She would do anything to go back and change it. She wouldn’t hurt Helen. She wouldn’t steal her boyfriends or her fiancé. She would be a good friend. She would be everything Helen deserved, everything she wanted.
She just wished she could see her again, apologize for everything that she had ever done, and hope that Helen didn’t hate her anymore and they’d go back to being friends. Unfortunately, that would never happen. Helen did hate her, and Madeline couldn’t even blame her. She should have hated her years ago already.
Madeline grabbed her bag and looked for her makeup, but she saw her keychain first. She held it tight for a moment, reminding herself she was ok. No one knew, no one would ever know, and it was ok. Her life was a mess, and she was really scared of having to get back out and face Ernest and possibly the people trying to get a picture of her, but at least she was ok with who she was. That wasn't her issue today.
She stayed there on the floor for twenty minutes, until she could get up and stop the crying. She did her makeup again, braided her hair to look a little less messy, and went back to her table, sitting back across from her husband.
She hadn’t noticed she’d been squeezing her necklace until Ernest asked her about it.
“Oh, yeah, it’s… old. I went through some of my stuff last week, and I found plenty of jewelry that I’d forgotten about.”
She didn't tell him the bandages on her fingers were because she had decided to burn it before changing her mind halfway through and fishing it out of the flames.
“Are you sure ? It reminds me of something.”
Because it’s Helen’s, dumbass.
“It’s pretty basic, you must have seen it somewhere else.”
Madeline - 00:03
happy birthday
ⓘ not delivered
I miss you
ⓘ not delivered
I’m so sorry
ⓘ not delivered
Madeline - 23:48
I wish we were still friends
ⓘ not delivered
I miss you so much
ⓘ not delivered
Madeline - 2:14
I’d do anything to have you here instead of him
ⓘ not delivered
I love you
ⓘ not delivered
“Madeline, what the fuck ?” Ernest yelled at her when she came back home that night.
Stefan was helping her walk, his arm around her waist. She had gone out a few hours ago, ended up in a bar, and then another, and then another, and she thought maybe she had made out or even fucked a few actresses in the bathroom, but she wasn’t sure, everything was blurry in her head, and she couldn’t even remember half the night. Then, Stefan had found her and brought her back home.
“Stop shouting, I already have a headache,” she groaned. “I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want .”
“You can’t keep doing this,” he replied. “You’re fucked up, Madeline, everyone can see it. It’s what they all say about you. Everyone knows you’re a complete mess. Drinking yourself to death isn’t going to do anything for you, except drive everyone away even more. Is that what you want ? To throw your career away because you can’t fucking stay sober more than a week ?”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. I don’t care about your opinion.”
“Keep lying to yourself. You care about everyone’s opinion, that’s the only thing that keeps you going. And yet it’s still not enough for you to stop all that bullshit. The alcohol, the drugs, the surgeries you keep asking me to perform. All of this is going to kill you someday.”
“Like I care.”
“Good. Because no one will cry for you.”
She was all alone. She knew she was, it wasn’t some groundbreaking piece of information like Ernest seemed to think it was. But hearing him say it to her face after almost four years of him really just shutting up and doing everything he could to not make Madeline mad… it was hard to hear.
She woke up the next morning to her face on TV, and realized she had been filmed getting drunk and then stumbling out of the bar with Stefan holding her up. The headlines were making her even more sick than the hangover. She hadn’t been seen drinking like that in years, since the first few months of her marriage.
At least no one had seen her make out with the entire female half of Hollywood. She didn’t know what she would do if that news got out. Would she have to come out ? Was that even an option ? She had been telling everyone who asked that she was such an ally , and that she felt that as a straight person, she should really speak out for the community even if she wasn’t a part of it, and that she was just so grateful to have had the opportunity to play a few queer characters that inspired some people. She couldn’t just tell everyone she was gay after all of this. As fine as she was with being a lesbian now, two years after admitting it, coming out just wasn’t an option. That would just kill whatever was left of her career. She’d never get hired again, she would have to explain why she was still married to a man. And she had gotten so good at playing straight, she wouldn’t know how to be true if she had to.
She was brought back to reality when she heard the journalists on TV say they had at least twenty seven other videos of her leaving the bar.
She reached for her phone, opened her texts, and then paused. She didn’t have anyone to text about this anymore. No one was there to pick up and comfort her. Old habits died hard, apparently. She was about to put her phone back down when she saw her last conversations.
She didn’t remember texting Helen’s old number yesterday night. Yes, fine, she’d texted at midnight for her birthday, which was just so dumb , but she just couldn’t help herself. No one would ever see them anyway, they weren’t delivered. Last night, though ?
She reread the texts three times just to be sure.
It didn’t even come across as a shock to her. She didn’t delete it, there was no point. She didn’t deny it either, there would be no one to hear it. She did love Helen. It was obvious in hindsight. She loved her so much she’d ruined both their lives by jealousy.
This entire thing just sucked.
Madeline’s career was officially finished. No one would ever hire her anymore. She didn’t look young enough, pretty enough anymore, and that god awful commercial had confirmed it. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t, not when people were around. If she cried, they’d know she had feelings and she wasn’t the actress no criticism could bother like she had been pretending she was for decades now.
She didn’t cry. But she let herself be sad once she was left alone with Stefan, then Ernest. That being said, her sadness turned into anger about eight seconds after he walked in. He was just so annoying. He was like a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong in her life. He still had a job, he still had clients, he still had a good reputation. He didn’t feel guilty about what he had done to Helen. She got even angrier when she remembered this. How could he not feel guilty ? It was his fault as well, he had chosen to cheat and then leave Helen. He was the one who’d proposed to Madeline two weeks later . He was the one who Helen was supposed to always count on, who should have been there for her through everything. He was going to marry her, for fuck’s sake. He was the one who was going to be everything Madeline had wanted to be for Helen. And he’d just left her, knowing she needed him more than anything. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to strangle him.
Two minutes later, she received a present. She didn’t know what she thought it would be, but she knew what she hadn’t been expecting. Something from Helen.
She was out. She was in town. She wanted to see Madeline. For the first time in ten years, she felt something like hope in her chest.
That hope died with her when the woman she had spent the last decade wishing she could see again pushed her down the stairs.
Then she realized that she still loved her when she was faced with the possibility of spending forever on earth without seeing her again, even after being brutally murdered by Helen.
And then, for the first time since before the night Helen had told her she was engaged, when she walked through the door with her, she felt fine. She had just been murdered, had murdered someone, and then witnessed yet another murder, but she felt fine.
Maybe now she would have enough time to apologize like she wished she had for ten years. Maybe now she would have enough time to make it up to her and show her she would be there for her like she should have been from the start.