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Helly
Helly opens her eyes to morning light streaming through the window of Devon’s guest bedroom. She blinks against it, groggy and disoriented, the way she always feels the first time she surfaces after Helena’s week. The sensation is like stepping into a life half-lived, where her experiences only half belong to her. She doesn’t know if she will ever get used to it.
She pushes herself up in bed, feeling the soft cotton of the borrowed pyjamas that Devon gave her. They smell like detergent, but even that makes Helly mad. Why does Helena get to be the one to slip into the clean pyjamas? To feel the cool comfort of the fresh sheets late on Sunday night when she returns so that Helly can wake up here. Helly brings the lapel of her pyjamas up to her nose and breathes in the scent deeply, determined to enjoy whatever freshness is left. It’s a sharp contrast to the cold sterility of Lumon and the tight, uncomfortable work attire that she was forced to wear when she worked there.
Reluctantly, Helly reaches for the notebook on the nightstand. After a couple of weeks spent trying to pass messages between themselves through Devon, who—between the stress of caring for her newborn daughter, navigating her separation from Ricken and dealing with both Helly and Helena—was so sick of forgetting messages or getting this wrong, she had bought them two notebooks. One for the guest bedroom where Helly wakes up, and one for the hotel room that Helena calls home.
Helly snatches up the book and flips through to the most recent entry.
Didn’t touch your stuff. Didn’t talk to Devon. Didn’t get any further with my evil plans for world domination. You’re welcome.
Helly scoffs and tosses the notebook back onto the nightstand. Stupid bitch thinks she’s funny.
A week gone. Again.
Helly pushes off the bed covers and stands, stretching. Even though Helly is never physically trapped inside her body, she doesn’t feel anything while Helena is in control, she still likes to stretch every muscle in her body when she wakes, rolling her joints and pushing her limbs as far out as she will go, like a captive animal being freed from its cage.
Outside of the bedroom, Helly can hear the sounds of movement. Devon is chatting to the baby as she goes about her morning, probably brewing the coffee. Helly is grateful beyond words that Devon took her in after everything that happened, but she still feels uncomfortable around them. Like she’s trying to wedge herself into a place that she doesn’t fit.
It has been two months since Lumon had fallen and Helly was released into a world that still feels so chokingly raw and new. Two months since Mark had freed Ms Casey, only to realise that she was nothing like his Gemma. Two months since Mark pushed away the world and took what he had left of his wife far away, leaving Kier behind. And leaving Helly with it.
Devon had taken her in. Not out of kindness, not really. Out of pity.
But, this is the life that Helly has been given. The freedom that she’d clawed and bled for. She’ll be damned if she isn’t going to enjoy every last moment of it.
She exhales deeply and pushes open the door.
Devon
Devon looks up at Helly from where she stands at the sink, Eleanor strapped to her chest, a mug of coffee steaming in her hand. She will never get used to how one person—well, one body at least—can look so physically different.
Helena is sharp, reserved and cold in a way that is so prominently conveyed on her face and in the way she holds herself. When she arrives on Sunday evening so that Helly can wake up here at the start of her week, Helena will never say more than a curt hello before whisking through the house and into her bedroom. She doesn’t even unbutton her goddamn coat.
And yet here is Helly, standing barefoot in crumpled pyjamas with tousled hair as though she doesn’t give a damn how she’s perceived.
“Hi sweetie,” Helly coos at Eleanor, waving her hand and waggling her fingers gently. Devon feels Eleanor wriggle against her in amusement while Helly pours herself a cup of coffee with way too much French vanilla creamer to even be considered coffee anymore. “Morning, Devon,” she adds softly, practically mumbling into the rim of her cup.
Devon smiles at Helly. She’s never offended by the way Helly greets Eleanor first every time, only glancing up at Devon afterward. She can tell that it’s Helly’s way of breaking the tension, though Devon does everything she can to make sure Helly knows she is welcome here.
Helly takes another sip from the coffee, then hesitates, staring down at the cup in her hands.
“Too hot?” Devon asks gently.”
She shakes her head, seemingly emerging from the thought she was trapped in. “No, it’s lovely. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s weird. That I can just drink this because I want to, you know,” she looks up at Devon and smiles. “Good weird,” she reassures.
Devon’s heart aches for the woman standing in front of her. Over the last two months, she has watched Helly stumble through so many firsts. Her first time feeling the rain, first time sleeping through the night without waking in a panic, first time running in sneakers and shorts rather than heels and a skirt. And it’s wonderful, really, that Helly is free to do all of these things, but Devon’s heart breaks all the same.
After a few minutes of sitting at the kitchen counter sipping their coffees together and Devon watching Helly make silly faces to entertain Eleanor, Helly sits back in her chair and clears her throat. “So, uh… how was Helena last night?”
Devon shrugs, trying to keep any expression from her face. “We didn’t talk.”
Helly scoffs at this. “What, so she just marches into your house, in silence, and goes to bed?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Whatever, it’s fine.” Devon stands, busying herself with clearing away the coffee pot and her empty cup.
What she doesn’t tell Helly about is the nasty scowl that Helena wears as she marches through the place as though it’s beneath her to be here. The way she grimaces at Devon’s repeated offers of a cup of tea before bed, even though Helly likes to have one, so on some level Helena must like that too.
“She sounds like a real—” Helly glances down at the baby then back up at Devon and mouths ‘asshole’.
Devon’s expression darkens as she exhales sharply. “She’s the worst. I’m not going to pretend that I’m thrilled about the time she spends in my house as herself, but this is the situation that we’re in. I ignore her, she ignores me.”
She regrets her honesty as soon as she sees Helly’s eyes mist with guilt. “Sorry, I—“ she stammers.
“Oh, honey, don’t you apologise for her. You’re new to this. You deserve the chance to be a person. But Helena?” her lip curls slightly. “She hurt people. She was complicit in all of the pain that Lumon caused.” Devon winces, “she hurt Mark,” she adds softly, knowing that his absence is still a sore subject for both of them. “But none of that is your fault.”
“But it’s my fault that she has to come here, right?”
Devon shrugs. “I knew what I was getting into.”
The baby stirs and Devon rocks her absentmindedly. The moment stretches between them, thick and heavy, until Devon inhales sharply and forces a smile onto her face.
“But anyways, fuck her, right?” she declares.
Helly grins and makes a face of mock horror at Devon’s language towards the baby.
“This is your week. How do you want to spend it?”
-x-
Devon has always appreciated the small, quiet moments of her life. Reading a good book, having lunch in a great cafe or walking her daughter around the park and listening to the sound of the wind moving through the trees. But she’s never really thought about them until Helly came into her life.
Now, everyday is like watching somebody fall in love with the world for the first time.
Today, Wednesday, Devon has suggested that they stop by the farmers market before Helly goes out on her late morning run. The produce is always fresher first thing in the morning, and Helly had mentioned wanting to go during her last week awake.
Helly stands now in the middle of the market, eyes wide, transfixed by the sheer abundance around her. Stalls overflowed with ripe tomatoes and bunches of basil. Baskets of peaches, their golden-pink skins glowing in the morning sunlight, fill the air with their sickly sweet scent. The sounds of people laughing, haggling, calling out to the stall owners across from them fills the space like music.
Devon can see Helly’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, pulsing gently. A telltale sign that she’s getting overwhelmed by everything around her. Devon can imagine how jarring it must feel to somebody who’s starting point in life was a silent, sterile office with only three other people.
“Hey,” Devon whispers, resting her hand gently on Helly’s forearm. “I’m here.”
Helly sucks in a sharp breath and nods, then smiles back at Devon and starts to walk around, exploring the space.
Devon is browsing the stalls, looking for some root vegetables for tonight’s dinner, when she feels Helly rush up beside her. “Dev,” Helly grins. “Look at this!”
She turns to see Helly at the stall beside her holding up a small glass jar of honey, turning it carefully in her hands. The light catches the golden liquid inside, making it shine like something precious.
“It’s honey,” Devon tells her, amused.
Helly shakes her head, still staring at it. “Shut up, I know that. But… someone made this. Like a farmer or a beekeeper collected it and put it into little jars and put a sticker on the jar and brought it here for us to just… have. Isn’t that awesome?”
Devon can’t help but smile, Helly’s grin is contagious. “I mean, we can’t just have it. We have to buy it.”
Helly rolls her eyes playfully, then stares at Devon meaningfully once more. “You get to buy it,” she emphasises. “Don’t you see how lucky you are?”
Devon feels something warm settle in her chest. She’s never considered herself lucky - not with everything she’s lost in her life, not with her failed marriage and widowed-then-not-widowed brother hundreds of miles away, and certainly not when it comes to the availability of fucking condiments. But as Helly looks in wonder as she turns the glass jar over in her hand, Devon thinks that maybe she’s got it all wrong.
Devon buys the honey. Obviously.
Helly carries the little jar around for the rest of the time they’re at the market like a treasure, holding it up to the sun every few minutes. They walk for another hour, weaving Eleanor’s pushchair in and out of the rows of stalls, sampling strawberries, touching soft linen scarves, smelling homemade candles. Every new discovery is just as awe-inspiring as the last. All for things that Devon has never thought twice about before now.
When they pass a bakery stand, Devon takes two pieces from the free sample tray and hands one to Helly to try. “Homemade bread,” she tells her.
Helly pops it into her mouth, eyes widening instantly. “Oh fuck.”
Devon grins. “Good, right?” she asks, desperately trying not to think about the moan that escaped Helly’s lips.
Helly grabs another piece before she can even answer, and is halfway to pulling out the purse with the money that Helena leaves for her before she’s finished it. “How does it taste warm? It’s just flour and - what, yeast? How is it this good?”
“It’s fresh. Not like that processed crap that I’m sure they gave you at Lumon.”
Her face shifts slightly at the mention of Lumon and Devon wishes she could take it back in an instant. “The food wasn’t that bad,” she mutters sadly, but she shakes off the dark expression quickly. “I could live off this, though,” she declares, taking another bite and selecting the loaf she wants to buy.
Devon swallows, feeling a tightness in her chest. She wants to apologise for every moment that she had to spend trapped down there. She wants to present to Helly every wonderful thing about the world.
What she doesn’t want - what she can’t bear the thought of - is Helly laying alone in Helena’s hotel room, waiting to fall asleep and knowing that when she wakes up, another week will be gone.
Helly
Another week lived.
Despite herself, Helly grins as she unlocks the door to Helena’s hotel room late on Sunday evening. With Devon’s help, Helly discovered so many new things about the world this week. Her favourite of which is definitely swimming. Devon had taken Eleanor for a baby class at the local sports center and encouraged Helly to come along and use the adults pool while they were there.
As soon as she slipped into the water Helly felt her legs kicking instinctually to keep her buoyant. The sensation of the water surrounding her, embracing every part of her body. Holding her up, despite the risk of it dragging her down. It was incredible. Helly swam lengths non stop until the end of Eleanor’s baby class, and asked Devon to drop her off at the pool three more times this week.
“Hey, I bet this fancy-ass hotel has a sweet pool. You should check it out.” Devon had said to her before she dropped her off.
But, looking around the room, Helly can’t imagine that Helena spends much of her week swimming.
There is a large writing desk in the corner of the suite, piled high with papers and documents. Helena’s laptop sits in the centre, but she’s never left Helly the password. It’s part of the arrangement that they have: you don’t interfere with my half of the life, I won’t interfere with yours.
Seemingly, Helena’s half of the life is spent working on the elements of Lumon that still exist. The medical devices and pharmaceutical sales. From what Helly can gather from the documents, they’re trying to sell off what’s left, but she doesn’t care much. All that matters to Helly is that she wakes up at Devon’s every Monday morning with money in her purse and a week of freedom ahead of her.
How the tables have turned.
Helly dresses in Helena’s disgustingly luxurious pyjamas and brushes her teeth. As she’s brushing, she rifles through Helena’s makeup bag, leaving the components strewn across the counter. She then knocks over a few of Helena’s perfectly aligned lotions, for good measure.
As she climbs into the oversized bed, she grabs the notebook from the bedside table.
Devon is kind, stop being mean to her.
Ps: thanks for learning how to swim.
Devon
Three sharp knocks on the door pulls Devon from her almost-doze on the couch. Ricken had left with Eleanor a few hours ago and it wasn’t a Helly week, so Devon was getting ready to curl up with a good book and not leave the house for the rest of the day. She wasn’t expecting visitors.
Grumbling to herself, she pushes up from the couch and notices Eleanor’s stuffed giraffe wedged between the cushions. Ricken is convinced that she can’t sleep without it, though Devon has never once seen a flicker of recognition on Eleanor’s face when it’s presented to her.
“Goddamnit,” she mutters, snatching up the toy and walking through the house to greet him.
Who she doesn’t expect to see on the other side of the front door, is Helena.
“What do you want?” Devon asks cautiously. It’s only Tuesday, almost a full week before Helena is due back.
A smug grin slips onto Helena’s face as she quirks an eyebrow. “Is that how you greet her, or is the hostility reserved only for me?”
Devon doesn’t take the bait, just stares at Helena expectantly, waiting for an answer. Helena huffs out a sigh. “I wore my blazer over here last week and that ditzy bitch didn’t bring it back to the hotel.”
Hearing Helena talk about Helly like that is infuriating. The woman who brought Helly into this world and made her life a prison has no right to speak about her in that way. The woman who smiled in the corporate propaganda while the workers suffered. While Mark suffered. How dare she?
“Can I go and get it?” Helena asks, and Devon realises she hasn’t spoken.
“I’ll go,” Devon tells her quickly. “She wouldn’t want you in her space.”
Helena laughs. “You know that I go up to that laundry basket she calls a bedroom every Sunday?”
Devon pinches the bridge of her nose. “Shut up. It’s different. This is outside of the arrangement. It would feel like a violation.”
She rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.” She huffs again. “Fine. Whatever. Just make it quick, I have a meeting this afternoon.”
Devon practically scowls to Helena as she turns back into the house in search of her blazer.
Helena may be a dreadful person, but she’s not wrong about the state of Helly’s bedroom.
Devon looks around with a grin as she takes in the state of the place. For the first month, Devon had cleaned the guest bedroom, put on clean sheets and left out fresh pyjamas, but as Helly became a semi-permanent fixture of the household, that felt a little patronising. Devon has mostly left her to it since then.
The bedroom is a perfect reflection of Helly. Disorganised, with clothes strewn about the place. Half finished art projects from the week that she discovered painting. Swimming costume drying over the radiator. Empty mugs from her bedtime tea. Helly had the freedom to live outside of the confines of a perfectly organised space and she really was making the most of it.
She chuckles as she sees the blazer in question crumpled by the wardrobe door, and grabs it to take back downstairs to Helena.
Back downstairs, Devon is surprised to find Helena in her kitchen. Pristine and composed, casting a judgmental eye over the dishes in the sink and Eleanor’s toys on the kitchen island.
“I told you to wait outside,” Devon snaps, tossing her the blazer.
“You didn’t,” she corrects.
Devon opens her mouth to speak and snaps it shut again. “Fuck, I didn’t. I’m tired. But that doesn’t mean you can just walk in like you own the place.”
Helena shrugs. “I came to see for myself,” she says, voice smooth and measured. “That little brat had a good look around my hotel room. Pawing through my things. I want to see what she’s doing here.”
“She’s living her life”
This earns Devon a smirk. “My life.”
Devon moves before she can think. In three sharp steps she’s in front of Helena, almost toe to toe. So close that she can see the flicker of something in her eyes - something that isn’t quite fear, but isn’t far from it.
“You don’t own her,” Devon hisses. “Not anymore.”
Helena’s lips curl slightly, as though she finds the whole thing nothing more than amusing. “Own her?” she scoffs. “Devon, I am her.”
“No,” Devon shakes her head, her breath unsteady. “You wish you were her.”
They’re much too close. There’s too much tension crackling in the space between them.
Devon hates her. She hates the way she looks like Helly, but isn’t. She hates the way that she stands here, so calm and untouchable whilst everyone that Lumon hurt is still trying to piece themselves back together.
Devon glances down at Helena’s lips.
Just for a second, she steps back as soon as she realizes what she’s done, but it’s too late. Helena notices.
Helena’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and Devon sucks in a nervous breath.
Then, Helena leans away, laughs condescendingly and raises her eyebrow.
“I see, now.”
Devon blinks, shaken from whatever the fuck that was.
“Fuck you. You don’t see. That wasn’t-” Devon stammers as she puts some space between them. “I wasn’t going to-” but she can’t finish a sentence while Helena is staring at her so calmly.
“You want to fuck her. That’s why you let her stay here.”
Devon’s cheeks burn red with embarrassment and rage. “That’s not- I don’t want anything from her.”
And that’s true. Devon really does care about Helly. She wants her to be here while she discovers the world. She loves seeing her face light up with emotions. So what if she happens to have noticed during this time just how beautiful her face really is. She would never-
“My, my. How complicated,” she taunts.
“It’s pretty simple actually. I let her stay here because I care about her. You will never understand what that’s like”
Helena hums, tilting her head like she’s considering something. Then, she leans in just enough to whisper, “you’re just like your brother.”
“Get out.”
She doesn’t argue. She just smooths out her coat, nods once and walks towards the door. Before she leaves, she glances back, smirk still in place.
“When you figure out that she’s still too hung up on Mark to give you the attention you’re craving, you know where to find me.”
And then, she’s gone, leaving Devon seething.
Helly
She awakes with the familiar jolt - the dizzying, stomach-dropping sensation of being thrown onto a train that’s already in motion.
When they’d first settled their agreement of alternating weeks in their life, Helly was assured that having the switch occur in the middle of the night during sleep would be less jarring, but it hasn’t gotten any easier.
She groans, rubbing her eyes, trying to get her bearings.
It’s her week now. Which means-
Her eyes land on the notebook sitting neatly on the nightstand. Frustratingly, her pen is lined up beside it perfectly and her collection of books is straightened too. Even the empty mugs are aligned with the edge of the table. That interfering witch just can’t help herself.
She signs and grabs the book, flipping to the latest entry.
It’s different than usual.
Spoke to Devon on Tuesday. You may be interested to know how defensive she was when I asked why she lets you stay here. I wonder why that is? Surely she doesn’t have an ulterior motive…
Helly blinks, then reads it again.
She scowls, hating - not for the first time - the fact that Helena isn’t here for her to lay into.
What the fuck is this supposed to mean?
With a frustrated grunt, she pushes over the neatly arranged stack of books on the nightstand. She storms downstairs and into the kitchen.
Devon is standing by the sink, sleepily pouring coffee and rocking lightly as she bounces Eleanor in the carrier strapped to her chest. “Morning,” she mumbles, handing Helly a mug.
“What did she say to you?”
Devon frowns, looking at her groggily. “Who?”
“Her.” Helly crosses her arms. “When you saw her last week.”
Devon exhales, rubbing her forehead. “How did you know about that?”
Helly grabs the notebook and flips it open, then shoves it across the kitchen island towards Devon. “This. This weird cryptic bullshit. What does she mean, ‘ulterior motive’? What did she say to you?”
Devon reads the note then groans. “This notebook was supposed to make my life easier.”
Helly crosses her arms, waiting for a response.
“Let me go put her down and we can talk. Okay?”
Helly nods, feeling guilty that she didn’t greet Eleanor like usual when she woke up this morning. Seeing the baby’s face light up was one of the best parts of her day.
Once Devon is back in the kitchen, she sits beside Helly at the kitchen counter with a sigh. “Okay, talk.”
Helly raises her eyebrows and gestures towards the notebook again, earning another sigh from Devon.
“She turned up here on Tuesday wanting a jacket from your bedroom. I went upstairs to get it and when I came back she was snooping around the kitchen, said something about wanting to see how you live,” Devon sighs and hesitates before continuing. “She was being an asshole, trying to get under my skin or cause tension or something.”
“But what did she say?” Helly presses.
“She asked why I let you stay here.”
“So?”
Devon shifts uncomfortably. “She pointed out how complex this situation is, Helly. Fuck. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Helly narrows her eyes. “Complex how?”
She sighs in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “She was just… being Helena Trying to get a rise out of me.”
Helly watches her carefully. Devon isn’t meeting her eyes, which means she’s holding something back. Unfortunately for Devon, she doesn’t know just how persistent Helly can be.
“By saying what?”
Devon ground again. “Damit, Helly.” She gets up and starts to pace the kitchen. “She just. It’s just that… You’ve got to admit this is weird. You were in love with my brother, and now he’s gone, and we’re still here. And we’re close.”
Helly feels her heart pounding in her chest at the mention of Mark’s name. It isn’t as though Helly hasn’t had similar concerns. Helly’s personality has been partially shaped by the time she spent on the severed floor with Mark. And Devon misses her brother. They laugh at the same things, make the same stupid jokes. She’s wondered before if Devon is only keeping her here as a way to feel closer to him.
“So she thinks you’re trying to replace him with me?”
Confusingly, Devon’s posture sags with what looks like relief. “Yes, Helly. That’s what she said.”
Helly feels tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Devon’s hand comes up to rest gently on her forearm. “But that’s not what this is, okay? I want you here in spite of who you are, not because of it.”
Helly blinks at her, stunned. She hates Helena for making her doubt everything. How can she still be so cruel after everything?
She brings her hand up to cover Devon’s. “Thanks,” she whispers.
Devon gives her hand a short squeeze. “Any time.”
-x-
The following week, or, Helly’s next week anyways, after any lingering awkwardness from Helena’s attempt at trouble making has passed, Helly finds herself in the living room sat on the carpet with Eleanor.
“I’ll be less than twenty minutes, I promise,” Devon assures her from the doorway where she is fastening up her coat.
When Ricken had dropped of Eleanor last night they had forgotten the car seat base in the back of his car. He was due to come back this evening to drop it off, but in the meantime Devon desperately needed to stock up on baby wipes. Helly can’t drive, and Eleanor can’t ride in the car without a car seat, so, here they are.
“You’ll be okay with her?” Devon asks.
“Are you talking to me or the baby?” Helly teases and Devon rolls her eyes.
Helly turns her attention back to Eleanor, who is wide-eyed and fascinated as Helly bounces a stuffed bear in front of her.
“Boom!” Helly declares, making the bear bounce onto another one of the toys and flop onto its back.
Eleanor giggles, delighted.
“You’re going to make her weird,” Devon calls over.
Helly grins. “That’s all your fault. She’s already weird,” she coos, pinching Eleanor’s chubby cheek affectionately.
Now that Helly is more comfortable here, she loves the playful banter that they’ve settled into. It reminds her of Mark, but not in a wistful longing for her first love kind of way - she really is trying to be happy for him that he has another chance with his wife - more in a giggly way that gives her butterflies. She’s missed the camaraderie of the workplace, she guesses.
Devon says a final goodbye and shuts the front door behind her.
Helly winces, expecting Eleanor to cry at the absence of her mother, but, unbothered, she claps her hands and bounces slightly on here legs, eyes locked on the bear.
Helly makes the bear jump again, earning her another shriek of laughter from Eleanor.
Helly looks around the cozy living room, the plush blankets and the photos on the walls. The well loved books. Her half finished mug of coffee on the table. She could get used to feeling at home here.
Devon
It’s late on a Sunday afternoon and Devon is sitting with Helly on the back porch, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine. Helly’s mood always dips on a Sunday as she counts down to being dropped off back at Helena’s hotel, ready to lose another week to her.
Eleanor is with Ricken, so Devon has spent the day with Helly out hiking. Helly told Devon a few times not to feel any obligation to stay with her on her child free Sunday, that she didn’t need a babysitter and would call her using the mobile that Devon had bought if she needed any help. Devon had only shrugged, claiming that she had to come because she’d never forgive herself if she let Helly get eaten by bears.
“Bears would enjoy you, you know. All that honey you eat. You’d be like candy to them” Devon remembers telling her, then cursing herself for putting the image of tasing Helly into her head. An image that had haunted her for the rest of the hike.
Now that they’re home, splitting a bottle of wine, lounging on the outdoor couch, Devon tries not to notice the way that the light catches Helly’s hair, making her glow like something golden and untouchable. She doesn’t bother with styling her hair the way Helena does, instead preferring to let it dry after her shower. Soft waves frame her face, and the sun shining through the wispy hairs gives an almost halo-like effect.
“You’re staring,” Helly says softly, still staring out over the horizon.
Devon blinked, snapping out of it. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” Helly says, turning to face her. “You do that a lot.”
Devon opens her mouth to say something. Respond. Apologize. Make a joke. But the words don’t come. Helly shifts on the couch, moving slightly closer and reaches out, fingers curling gently around Devon’s wrist. The touch is so delicate it sends a shiver down Devon’s spine.
“What she wrote in the notebook last time,” Helly starts softly, “she didn’t mean that you want me here as a replacement for Mark, did she?”
Devon swallows and shakes her head slowly.
“Are you afraid of this?” Helly whispers.
“Afraid of what?”
“This.”
Then, Helly kisses her.
It’s soft at first, almost careful, as if giving Devon a chance to pull away. But Devon doesn’t. She should - there are a dozen reasons why she should - but instead, she finds herself bringing her hands up to Helly, one to her waist, one tangled in her hair, holding her as she deepens the kiss.
It’s warm and slow and dangerous.
Devon has wanted this for weeks, but it isn’t right. Mark loved Helly first. She loved him. Half of Rickens belongings still litter the house, they aren’t even divorced yet. She breaks away abruptly, chest rising and falling, eyes wide with something between panic and longing. “Helly…”
Helly exhales, resting her forehead against Devons. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmurs.
“This isn’t - I mean, I don’t know what this is,” she stammers.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m married.”
“Separated,” Helly corrects.
“And Mark-”
“Is with his wife,” Helly’s voice is firm, but not angry. Just sure. “I know about Ricken. I know about Mark. And I know that when you look at me it isn’t about either of them.”
Devon should put a stop to this right now. Nothing good can come of it.
She kisses Helly again.
Helly melts into the kiss, moaning softly against Devon’s lips. Devon cups Helly’s cheeks, then pulls back slightly to look into her eyes, silently questioning.
“Yes,” Helly answers the question unasked. “Yes,” she says again against her lips.
Their kisses don’t stay gentle for long. Suddenly, it’s hot and wet and full of passion. Helly’s hands are everywhere, in her hair, at her waist, trailing up her side.
“Bed?” Devon pants between kisses.
Helly shakes her head. “Right here. In the sun. I want to feel the warmth on my skin.”
Devon nods. It’s early spring, and the sun is starting to set so it won’t be warm for much longer, but Helly is shifting so that her back is against the couch and Devon is above her, and she’s never been more desperate to give Helly everything she wants.
Devon brings one hand up to Helly’s waist, grazing at the exposed skin where her t-shirt has ridden up. She drags her hand upwards, taking the material of the shirt with it, tickling Helly gently and coaxing her into relaxing into her touch. “I’ve got you,” she whispers as she presses open mouthed kisses into Helly’s neck.
The moan that escapes Helly’s lips as Devon drags her thumb over her nipple is obscene. She arches her back upwards off the couch, craning to Devon’s touch. “I’ve got you,” Devon tells her again as she repeats the motion. She squeezes Helly’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger experimentally.
Helly cups the back of Devon’s neck and drags their lips back together for a searing kiss. This time, when Devon rolls her nipple again, Devon feels Helly’s moans against her lips. She continues to tease, switching to Helly’s other breast, then back to the first, greedily drinking in all of her delightful sounds.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Helly breathes out.
“Less — talking — more — enjoying,” Devon smirks back, punctuated by kisses against her sternum.
“Sorry,” Helly says with a grin. Then she props herself up onto her elbows. “But this is so much better than anything I’ve experienced so far. I can’t believe it took this long to — oh.”
Devon’s mouth around her nipple cuts her off mid sentence. She swirled her tongue slowly, then released it with a pop. “You’re thinking too much. Just relax. Enjoy it. We can talk after,” Devon whispers as she peppers Helly’s chest with kisses.
Helly nods quickly and settles back into the pillow. As Devon’s kisses trail down Helly’s stomach, she sucks in a sharp, anticipatory breath.
“Is this okay?” Devon starts to ask, but Helly is already shimmying out of her sweatpants. “Okay,” Devon smirks against her sink. “Somebody’s eager,” she teases.
Devon’s lips ghost over Helly’s inner thigh, planting soft kisses into the skin, inching closer and closer to her goal. She grins as Helly squirms beneath her, writing in excitement for the pleasure she hasn’t yet felt. “Devon,” Helly pleads.
With that, Devon swiftly adjusts so that her arms are hooked beneath Helly’s thighs and finally, her lips make contact.
“Devon, fuck. Devon –” Helly moans, to Devon’s delight as she drags her tongue up the length of Helly’s centre, then sucks gently on the tight bundle of nerves at the top. She alternates between kissing, lapping and sucking at Helly. She feels Helly tangling her fingers in hair, pleading for more as Devon bring sher closer and closer to the edge. Helly’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut and her breathing comes in fast pants as Devon’s tongue thrusts against her.
Maybe it’s because the feeling is so new to Helly - or maybe it’s because Devon is really fucking good at sex - but it only takes a few more minutes for Helly to finish. As she does, she throws her head back so hard against the couch that Devon’s surprised she doesn’t injure herself. “Devon. Fuck - this is – I cant. Devon – oh. Mark. Fuck.”
Devon’s breath catches in her throat. In shock, she kisses gently at the skin of Helly’s inner thigh as her ragged breathing slows and she rides out her wave of post-orgasm bliss. Helly rocks against her.
“That’s it, baby,” Devon murmurs as she crawls back up the length of Helly’s body and pulls her into a tight embrace.
Post orgasmic haze may be Devon’s favourite of all Helly’s expressions.
“That was my favourite new thing,” Helly sighs blissfully.
Devon scans Helly’s face for any acknowledgement of what she’d said, but there’s nothing. Helly was too caught up in the bliss, gasping and moaning the first thought that came into her head. Her and Mark were a thing, right? It’s not that weird that she’d be thinking of him right now.
Except, it is weird. It’s horrendous and complicated and Devon never should have let it happen in the first place. In this moment, with her limbs tangled with Helly’s while she nuzzles into Devon’s neck, all that Devon can think about is Helena.
She hates Helena for being right.
Helly tilts Devon’s face towards hers and pulls her into a slow, soft kiss as she grazes her hand over Devon’s waist and pulls at the hem of her t-shirt. Devon catches her arm before she can move any further. Helly pulls back and eyes her with confusion.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Devon whispers, lacing their fingers together with one hand and using the other to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and cover them both.
“I want to –”
Devon shakes her head. “I know. But that was a lot for you. Just be here in the moment. Enjoy it. Close your eyes for a while, if you want. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”
Helly lets out a reluctant sigh of protest, but settles against Devon’s chest.
Helena
She awakes from her sleep with a start, gasping for air. It’s the same nightmare every time. She’s standing in the elevator, bracing herself for the moment that she wakes up again in eight hours, when suddenly the ground vanishes from beneath her feet. She’s hanging from her neck, scratching at the noose, kicking, gasping, dying–
And then she wakes up.
The transition back into consciousness, for the one week at a time existence that she is permitted under the agreement with Helly, is never easy.
Squinting, her eyes adjust to the light as she looks around the familiar walls of her hotel room. Not a thing out of place, aside from the lazily tossed notebook and pencil beside the glass of water and half-eaten protein bar on her nightstand, and Helly’s clothes in a crumpled pile beside the bed.
When they had first decided on their living arrangements, Helena had been adamant that it would make much more sense for Helly to just live in the same hotel room as her. Since Jame had kicked Helena out of the family estate due to perceived failings to save the severance procedure, Helena had moved into a hotel temporarily while they - Helly and Helena - could agree on a more permanent solution. She had the idea that it would be convenient if Helly could just stop being a baby and share the space.
Now, Helena can’t think of anything worse. Helly is destructive. She gives in to the urge to create mess and chaos. Sure, Helena could take off her pyjamas and toss them into the corner of the room rather than placing them, nearly folded, at the end of her bed. It would be easier, but she doesn’t do it. Helena has restraint, Helly has none.
Helena sits up and pushes the covers off herself and stands out of bed. She replaces the bedcovers, pulling them taught to smooth out any wrinkles, then languidly stretches her arms up above her head as far as they will go. She repeats the stretch all the way down to her toes, then rocks side to side, stretching out her joints. She breathes deeply, feeling a heaviness in her limbs. She really needs to insist that Helly stops exercising on a Sunday and leaving her to deal with the stiffness.
Snatching up Helly’s balled up clothes for the hamper to be collected by housekeeping, Helena pads across the room to the large, luxurious bathroom. As much as she hates the way she finds herself after Helly’s week – with frazzled, wavy hair and unmoisturized skin – Helena loves her Monday morning shower. It’s her time to wash away the frivolity and debauchery of Helly’s week and wipe the slate clean.
Once in the bathroom, she examines herself in the large, well lit mirror. Tangled hair, just as she expected. Freckles are emerging on the bridge of her nose and the high points of her cheeks. Fuck. Extra concealer will be needed to cover those up. She really needs to leave Helly with some spf moisturiser next week if she’s going to spend so much time in the sun.
Then, something catches Helena’s eye that makes her breath catch in her throat.
There’s a hickey on her neck.
Helena can’t help the smirk that settles on her lips.
That little slut.
She walks back into the bedroom and grabs the notebook from her nightstand, looking for an explanation.
Thanks for the advice. Sorry if you’re sore today. Devon and I had a lot of fun last night. Thought you’d like to know, since you don’t have much happiness in your half of the life, do you?
-x-
Helena sits on her laptop in the hotel bar, staring at the screen, but not reading a single word. She tries to focus as she learns to understand the copious amounts of legal jargon in front of her. Even ousted from her family, Helena has no choice but to work day and night to make sure that at least part of Lumon survives the nightmarish severance controversy. She refuses to let it all have been for nothing, so she sits here, night after night, working.
There are emails to answer, reports to review, rebranding proposals to consider, purchase offers, all demanding her attention.
All she can think about is Devon.
Devon’s hands on Helly. Lips on her throat. Devon’s soft, familiar voice saying her name – No. Not her name. Helly’s name.
She isn’t even particularly fond of Devon, she’s just furious that Helly is right. Helena doesn’t have happiness in her half of the life. She doesn’t spend time with people, let alone fuck them.
Unable to return to the work in front of her, she glances around the hotel bar.
Helena’s an attractive woman, she knows that. She’d have no problem picking any person in here and taking them back up to her room for the night. She looks over at the bartender, a woman a little younger than her, who has been ogling her every night this week, and flashes her a coy smile. She’s about to strike up a conversation but – ugh. That means talking. And listening. She couldn’t care less about people, or their hopes and dreams. Or their fucking complaints.
And besides, why should she put in the work for a mediocre fuck when the heavy lifting has already been done for her?
It would be cruel, really it would, to fuck the object of Helly’s affections twice. Capitalising on her hard won affections. Soaking up all of the love and attention intended for her.
But that’s who Helena is. Cuel and cold. Or at least, that’s what’s expected of her. Why not play into it?
Helena slips her laptop into her bag, grabs her coat, and pulls out her phone to order a cab to Devon’s house.
-x-
“Helena,” Devon greets, wearing a wonderfully guilty expression. “She forget your jacket again?” she laughs uncomfortably.
“I think we both know that’s not why I’m here,” Helena tells her, speaking softly, stepping into the space like she owns it.
Devon sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fucking notebook,” she mutters under her breath.
“Can I come in?”
With a sigh, Devon steps aside and lets Helena into the house, then closes the door behind her.
Helena feels out of place in the living room from the moment she crosses the threshold. It’s disgustingly homely. The fireplace is lit, casting a warming glow over the plush furniture. There are soft looking blankets draped over every surface, and lit candles dotted around the room. She sees an open bottle of wine with a single glass beside a book on the coffee table. How very domestic.
She tries to picture Helly in this space, bare feet curled up beneath her on the couch with a glass of wine.
Devon clears her throat from beside her. “You can sit, if you want.”
Helena gives her a curt nod and shrugs off her long tailored coat. She hands it to Devon, who leaves to hang it up while Helena sits rigidly on the couch. When she comes back into the room, Devon sits on the couch just about as far away as she can get and wrings her hands anxiously.
“Sorry,” Devon says softly.
“What for?”
Devon furrows her brow and looks up at Helena in confusion. “Well I – you know we, Helly and I that is, we did that. But it’s your, you know – body, I guess? You must feel – ” she stammers. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? An apology?”
Helena scoffs. “Please,” she says with a delicate wave of her hand. “She has complete bodily autonomy for non-permanent matters, just as I do. Diet, clothing, hairstyle. Who we talk to.Who we fuck. That’s the agreement.”
Devon's shoulders sag in relief and she sighs. “Then what do you want, Helena?”
Helena had come here with the intention of getting some enjoyment for herself, but being here, in the warmth of the fire, looking at the home Helly has found for herself, the self-destructive side of Helena wins out. She wants to destroy it for the both of them.
“Do you really think this is what she needs, Devon? To live like this, surrounded by all your… domestic comforts ? Sleeping in your bed? Playing with your baby?” Her voice oozes with sarcasm, making it clear that everything in this space is beneath her.
“She doesn’t sleep in my bed,” Devon shoots back. “And you don’t get to talk about her like that.”
Helena’s lips curl into a smile, unbothered. “Oh, but I do. You see. You might think you know her, but I’m the one that knows the real Helly. Not the fragile little thing you’ve been pretending to save.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Devon asks. Helena doesn’t miss the way she leans closer on the couch.
“Did you know that she tried to kill me? Not herself. Me.”
Devon’s expression changes to one of shock and horror. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Devon, is that she stepped into the elevator, with an extension cable and a trash can. She climbed up, wrapped the cord around the light fitting, and then around her neck.” Helena pauses, hating the way her voice hitches. “Then she waited, right as the doors were closing, before she kicked the trash can away.”
Devon shakes her head. “She was trapped. Scared. You put her there.”
“She wanted me to feel it,” Helena snaps, raising her voice. “She wanted me to wake up choking and afraid. I couldn’t breathe. And now every week I have to relive-,” she cuts herself off. “Did she tell you any of that?”
Devon shakes her head.
“You don’t know anything about her, but I know exactly who she is. You’re just her escape. A way to feel like she has something real ever since your brother abandoned her,” Devon winces, but Helena pushes on. “You can keep her here for now. Make her feel special. Let her make you feel special. But we both know that as soon as Mark realises that fucking body-double will never be like his dead wife, he’ll be back here for her and she’ll leave you quicker than you can say complicated.”
Helena feels the sting of Devon’s slap before she sees her move. She purses her lips and grins into the pain. Yes. This is what she needed. A hissing pain that forces her to feel alive.
Devon’s breath heaves as she raises her hand to her mouth in shock. “Jesus. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“I bet that felt good, didn’t it?” Helena says softly, leaning in close to Devon.
Devon shakes her head in disbelief.
“Do it again,” Helena rasps.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Devon asks in horror. She tries to stand, but Helena keeps her in place with a rough grip on her knee.
She brings their faces close together, panting breaths mingling between them. “Do it again, you fucking coward. Hurt me. Do it,” She taunts.
But it’s not a slap that Helena feels next, it’s the rough crush of Devon’s lips against hers.
It isn’t soft. It isn’t kind. It’s violence. Teeth, pressure, something bitter and angry burning between them. Helena groans against Devon’s lips, matching her aggression, pushing back against her. Devon’s fingers twist roughly into Helena’s hair, pulling her closer. It’s not enough.
“Harder,” Helena hisses against Devon’s lips.
Devon grips her hair roughly, eliciting a sinful moan from Helena. She yanks her head back and drops her lips to Helena’s neck, sucking and biting. “I hate you,” Devon growls against her throat. Helena moans again.
“You don’t,” she taunts.
Devon pushes Helena back onto the couch aggressively and forces her thighs open with a knee. “I fucking hate you,” Devon tells her again as she grips Helena’s hair hard enough to hurt.
“Yes,” Helena hisses against her lips. “You hate that you’ll never have her, not fully. She’s not yours. Not really,” Helena tells her, writhing against her touch. “Show me how angry that makes you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes, Devon. Fuck me. Take all that repressed, frustrated divorcee rage and fuck me with it.”
A low groan tears from Helena’s throat as she grinds up against Devon’s thigh between her legs. She didn’t even know that she was desperate for this. The pain and the pleasure. Cruelty. Passion. Anger. Ecstasy. She craves it all.
“Turn over,” Devon growls.
Helena does so readily, almost excitedly as she braces for the pain that she longs for. She imagines Devon with Helly. So gentle. Caressing her. Teasing her. Peppering light kisses all over her body as they make love. All that love and care, it’s disgusting.
This is what Helena deserves. To be fucked, face down, fully clothed with her skirt bunched up to her hips.
“I bet you didn’t do this with Helly, did you?” Helena breathes out, deliberately riling Devon up. Provoking her.
The only answer is the sharp slap of Devon’s hand against Helena’s ass. Helena gasps in pleasure and pain as Devon grabs a firstful of her hair and jerks her head back. “Keep her name out of your goddamn mouth,” she spits. Devon doesn’t wait for Helena’s response before she spanks her again and then once more.
Devon drags Helena’s underwear to the side in one swift motion. She rubs softly, smearing Helena’s arousal over her entrance, then wastes no time in thrusting two hooked fingers inside of her. Helena pushes back against her needily, meeting her thrusts. There’s no room for ceremony here, no tenderness in the way that Devon grips Helena’s hips with her free hand, slamming her fingers into her, eliciting yelps and moans and cries.
“Devon. Fuck…”
“You’re nothing like her, you know that?” Devon whispers, her breath hot against Helena’s ear. She doesn’t slow the thrusts of her fingers.
Helena laughs through her panting breaths. “I am her,” she chokes out. “I am her and you hate me for it.”
The twisted darkness rooted deep in Helena’s gut, knowing that she will never be Helly. Knowing that she will always be Helly, is what sends her over the edge. Helena’s orgasm washes over her with a cry as she drops onto the couch. She feels tears stinging at the corner of her eyes as Devon withdraws.
There’s no tenderness, no post-orgasm cuddling, no tender caresses as Devon retreats back to her corner of the couch.
Helena rolls onto her back and adjusts her skirt to cover herself as she stares up at Devon’s ceiling.
“You need to leave.”
Helena inhales sharply and nods. She pushes herself up onto her elbows and looks over at Devon with a smirk. “What, you don’t want me to get you back? Call me what you like, but I always reciprocate.”
“Just go, Helena.” Devon won’t even look at her.
“Fine,” Helena mutters, and drags herself up off the couch. She slips her shoes back on, though she doesn’t even remember them falling off, honestly. Then she crosses the room to grab her coat and leave. She’ll call a cab from the bottom of the street.
In the doorway, she hesitates. It must be the after effects of the shattering orgasm that has left her feeling so vulnerable.
She speaks quietly, almost a whisper. “I have spent my whole life being made to feel special. Working and toiling and living a life of servitude for Lumon, but knowing - truly believing - that it’s worth it because I’m vitally important. Next in line as CEO. My whole life was mapped out. But as soon as I’m no longer useful, it’s just gone .”
Devon stares back at her, eyes misted with tears.
“Now, all I get to be is the villain.”
With that, Helena leaves, not waiting for Devon’s response.