Chapter Text
The first thing that Helly is aware of is warmth. Wet, pulsing fever that envelopes her entire being. Infinite. All-encompassing. She can’t feel anything other than heat, can’t see anything but a deep red nothingness, though she can’t tell if her eyes are open or shut.
The second thing Helly becomes aware of is the fact that she cannot breathe.
Her body makes to inhale, but the action is blocked by the thick fluid that fills her lungs, her windpipe, her mouth. It plugs her ears and sends tendrils up her nose, wrapping her head in consistent, omnidirectional pressure. It’s not painful necessarily, but her body yearns for the sweet taste of oxygen.
She does not think yet, she is too young to have anything to think. She is still nothing but synapses firing, unconscious movement and instinct. Her heart pumps and her lungs try to breathe and her movements are only towards the end goal of inhalation. Her body reacts to the stimulus it’s been given.
Blind, aimless, Helly’s arms drift up above her head. She doesn’t know what’s up there. Doesn’t know what she’s searching for. But she reaches out all the same. Her hands push through forgiving tissue, moving in slow motion like she’s swimming through honey. The walls of pulsating flesh that recede as Helly touches them are hotter than the fluid that she’s suspended in, hotter than fire, hotter than the sun. But Helly has no opinion on this, no inherent knowledge that would lead her to a physical response. She just continues to push. Time stretches out into the distance, and Helly has no reference point for it. She could be moving at light speed, or it could take her a hundred years to move an inch. She has no way of knowing.
At last, her fingertips reach a thin wall. Helly presses her fingers hard into the elastic material, feeling the stretch and tension pushing back against her. A thought, a first thought, surfaces in her mind.
She wants to know what’s on the other side.
A burning ember of desire has begun to glow deep inside her, a fire that will only continue to grow as she does.
Helly longs to know.
To learn.
To consume.
The flame surges as her fingers push into the wall, and with a horrible tearing sound, her hands breach into cold air.
It’s awful. It burns, the cold on her skin. It’s raw, and new, and terrifying. Helly’s immediate instincts tell her to retract her limbs, that it would be better to die in this womb than to feel the cold for one second more. But the fire in Helly is strong, and she knows she has to get out.
Her fingers find purchase on the edges of the slit she’s torn, ragged and wet. With all the strength she can muster in her new limbs, she drags herself upward. The walls of flesh aid in her ascent, squeezing as if they too want to expel her from this cavity. Her mind is of singular focus, she must escape, she must breathe, she must live.
Helly’s head bursts out, tearing the hole open wider. Her eyes are shut, her head sticky and suddenly hit with a wave of the coldest air she’s ever felt. Sparks shatter and dance behind her eyelids, shock setting in and washing through her body. Helly gasps as she takes in her first sip of oxygen and splutters on the exhale. It’s altogether overwhelming, equal parts delicious and painful. This, Helly will learn, is how most new experiences will go.
She feels lightheaded, but the flesh of her former home continues to compress itself, forcing her out whether she likes it or not.
Her shoulders are out, then her arms, her torso, her hips. Then she’s all the way out, limbs collapsing onto hardwood floor. She trembles, freezing. Her breath is weak and shallow, her lungs so unaccustomed to the feeling of fresh air.
This is what birth feels like.
She lays there, limp and cold, for a length of time she will never know. When she finally opens her eyes the light that reaches her is blinding, sun streaming through a window onto her newborn face. There’s sound all around her, a low hum of air conditioning or electricity of something similar. It’s all entirely new, and yet Helly feels she recognizes it already.
The realization is alarming. She has enough awareness to know that she should not have pre-existing conceptions, she should not understand the sound of electricity or the warmth of the sun. But she does. Within her is an endless well of untapped knowledge, memories half-buried and immortalized in amber. The surface level of her mind is wild and untamed and new to everything, but each piece of sensory input has her clawing at the frozen memories in the back of her head, itching to know more, more, more.
For that half second after her eyes open, all these thoughts speeding through her head in an instant, Helly is nothing but panic. She feels a thousand feelings at once for the very first time, and the fear that notion inspires takes the form of rage. The instinctual part of Helly screams to bite someone, to claw out of whatever enclosure she’s in and stand on two feet and fight.
Then the details of the room cut through the static and a wave of calm washes over her. Despite everything, she feels safe. Like this is somewhere she knows intimately. Helly looks around, fascinated by this new sensation and eager to figure out why it exists.
She’s in a bedroom, that much she can tell. She knows what a bedroom is, why people must sleep, why the decadent mahogany bed-frame before her is an indicator of wealth. She knows that the sparsity of the decor means something about the person who lives here. She doesn’t quite know what, but something for certain.
Out of nowhere, her gut tells her this room is hers.
Helly lets this realization settle into her. The information feels delicious to access, immediately opening up a world of new questions and possibilities.
The walls are white, the duvet is blue. The window has no curtains and the door to the bathroom is ajar. These are all little notes that Helly makes, and she delights in each equally.
She doesn’t know how long she sits there on her hands and knees, frozen in place, the sticky film on her bare skin making her shiver slightly. What she does know is that at some point, her brain stops whirring long enough for her to hear something behind her.
An inhale. An exhale.
Slowly, Helly turns around. A gasp rips from her throat, and she can’t even celebrate the first noise she’s ever made, too stunned by the sight of an unconscious woman on the floor.
The mental war rages on, this discovery of unbelievable proportions cracking her world right open. There’s a person, another living being, inches from her skin. The understanding of this possibility was within her, but witnessing it is another matter entirely.
The woman on the floor is clothed, mostly, her shirt torn open in the front but still hanging from her shoulders. Down the center of her chest is a long, jagged gash. Blood and some sort of clear fluid ooze from the wound, and Helly creeps closer. Entranced.
Somehow, she knows that this woman looks identical to her. Her eyes trace over her features, smooth and peaceful in her comatose state. She knows that this is not a natural position for the woman’s face to be in. She knows that there is a hole in her chest that was not there before. She knows that it will close up quickly. This information doesn’t feel like the other facts, the locked up memories. This knowledge feels earned, somehow.
Helly leans over the body— Helena. The name floats into her mind. Helly leans over Helena, inspecting the meaty mess of her chest. It’s eerie, an open grimace with bloody gums. Helly realizes that’s what she crawled out of. She can feel her own heart beating. She looks down and she finds she wants to feel this Helena’s heart beat too.
Animal instinct kicks in, and Helly dips her head down, down, down. Her lips part, her tongue darts out. The smell of hot blood greets her nose, and she feels like a reptile scenting the air with her tongue. Helly breathes out and licks one long stripe all the way up the length of the gory wound. Her eyes flutter shut.
Ecstasy.
The blood coats her tongue, and Helly groans at the rich taste. Sour and sharp. Her first sip of life. Her first taste of Helena.
She wants more.
Helly scoots up to be level with Helena’s face. She’s so beautiful. More beautiful than anything she’s seen, and a thought comes to her that she will never see anything more beautiful. Helly licks her lips to erase any trace of her blood before bending to press a light kiss on her twin lips. When she pulls back, Helena’s face hasn’t changed. But Helly feels that her heart has synchronized with Helena’s.
The spring of knowledge tells her that Helena won’t wake until the birthing wound has healed. It also tells her that the bloody slime that coats her body will most certainly disturb Helena. This part is not the intoxicating connective knowledge of all things Helena, but the regular memories of what is socially acceptable.
On hands and knees, Helly crawls to the bathroom, slinking like a wounded animal looking for somewhere quiet to die. She slithers across the cold tile and into the bathtub, where she fumbles for the temperature handle and switches the water on. The shower spray hits her cold and instantaneous. Helly hisses, but doesn’t move. The water gradually heats up, and Helly relishes in the feeling of it streaming across her skin, still crouched on the floor of the tub.
Helly doesn’t bother with soap or shampoo, nor does she make much of an attempt to scrub herself clean. She just sits there, feeling the hot water coat her skin and imagining she’s back inside Helena. She doesn’t dry herself when she gets out, too content with the warm water on her skin to care. She gets cold once she opens the bathroom door and pads back over to Helena, but she doesn’t really mind. Helly’s thoughts have yet to move past simple wonder at the world around her, and in this moment Helena is the whole world.
She straddles her body and sinks to the ground, knees bracketing Helena’s hips. Her chest rises and falls. Her pupils move rapidly under her eyelids. Helly is utterly fascinated by the movement of her body. It operates like a machine, breathing and pumping blood without Helena’s permission.
The gash that Helly came out of has closed up, an angry pink scar left in its stead. Helly had already cleaned up the blood, so now all she can do is trace her fingers up and down the smooth new skin. Even newer than her own. She marvels at this concept. If Helly had her way, she would stay like this for hours, studying every inch of Helena.
Helena’s eyelids start to flutter. Helly’s heart rate picks up, and she leans in closer, until she can feel Helena’s warm breath on her face. She inhales what Helena lets out. She longs for more of her. Helly begins a silent prayer, please wake up, please wake up, please wake up.
And Helena does wake. Fast. Helly grins when her eyes shoot open, immediately in a panic. Maybe she had been scared before Helly was born, and time is just now catching up to her. Helly only has a moment to ponder the possibilities, before Helena lets out a squeak of fear and jolts upright, her head slamming into Helly’s with a comical smacking sound.
Searing white heat shoots through Helly’s skull where they had collided. This is what pain feels like.
“Ohhhh fuck,” Helly moans, falling backwards and clutching her forehead. Her head aches, and Helly is reeling from the sensation, reeling with elation at Helena’s consciousness and the shock of her first injury.
When Helly regains her wits, Helena is scrambling backwards until her spine hits the wall, her breath coming in sharp bursts, her eyes wide and horrified. Her hand is also pressed to her forehead, a mirror of Helly in every way. Helly doesn’t move. She drinks in every minute change in facial expression, letting Helena’s features soak into her sponge of a brain and drown out the uncomfortable bubbling pool that lies dormant within her. These memories are hers, this sight is new and real and all for her.
“What the fuck,” Helena manages. There’s nothing else to say, really. “Who… What? How— where did you… What the fuck?”
“I’m Helly,” is all she can think to say, struggling immensely to contain her excitement.
“What? Am I asleep? What the fuck?” Helena starts glancing around her room wildly, as if looking for some proof that she’s not dreaming. She suddenly processes her torn open shirt and yelps, pulling the tattered fabric around herself. “Why am I… What the fuck is happening?” Helly starts to crawl towards her, yearning to put her at ease, but Helena puts a hand out to halt her. “Don’t fucking come near me,” she warns.
Helly pauses, then ignores the warning. She has to take care of her. She moves slow, methodical, and Helena doesn’t attempt to stop her again. She just sits frozen, hand extended, terrified eyes remaining trained on Helly as she creeps close. Helly thinks that maybe Helena feels that same tether to Helly without realizing it yet. Maybe if she can make contact, Helena will understand everything.
Helly’s hand reaches out to Helena’s solar plexus, nudging her clenched fist out of the way and pointing at the scar marking the center of Helena’s chest. “I came from you,” she whispers. It makes something swell in her chest. She came from Helena. Helena is hers.
Helena looks down. She blinks. She looks back up at Helly. Then she buries her head in her hands, the heels of her palms digging into her eyelids as if that will erase this from her life. “Oh my god. What the fuck,” she mumbles to herself.
Helly finds herself grazing her fingers against Helena’s wrists. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know how. She wants to hold Helena. To take care of her. “It’s okay,” she murmurs.
“Are you,” Helena pulls her hands away from her face, making hesitant eye contact with Helly. “Are you… me?” she asks, barely above a whisper. Helly nods. Helena reaches out to cup Helly’s cheek in her palm. The look on her face is awed, almost reverant. “How?” she whispers.
Helly doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything that could make Helena move her hand away. “I don’t know.”
Helena looks back down at the scar, touching it delicately. “I felt this horrible pain in my chest,” she says, low and even, almost to herself, “and I sat down. Because I thought I was having a heart attack. And then…” she shakes her head. “Nothing.” Helly just watches her speak. She’s enthralled. Helena’s eyes drop from Helly’s face to the rest of her, and she immediately shrinks back into herself. Her hand retracts. “Can you put a shirt on?”
Helly takes stock of herself. She sits back on her heels. “I guess. It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”
“I don’t make a habit of looking at my own naked body for too long.” This is what Helena says aloud, but she hasn’t taken her eyes off of Helly’s body.
Helly wonders what that means, and the wondering is like lightning coursing through her. “Suit yourself,” she replies.
Helly rises to her feet and wanders into Helena’s closet, opening and closing drawers in search of anything other than business casual. It’s interesting that she knows what to look for, but not where to look. Helly tries to keep quiet, hoping that maybe if she takes up less space Helena will be able to cope with her existence.
Helly finally finds a pajama drawer and pulls out a thin, oversized t-shirt with a massive graphic of a horse on it. She grins and tugs it over her head. It hits her upper thighs, so she doesn’t bother with underwear, strutting back into the bedroom to find Helena hasn’t moved from her seat against the wall. She’s still just staring with wide eyes.
“Are you okay?” Helly asks. She realizes that’s a pretty dumb question.
Helena cocks her head, though. Her gaze traveling up and down Helly’s body. Examining, looking for any minute difference between the two of them. “No,” she mumbles after a moment.
Helly sits back down next to Helena, a few inches further back when she notices Helena subtly leaning away from her. Everything else around her feels so new and unreachable, but Helena is special. Each fiber of Helly’s being is tuned to Helena’s frequency, eyes glued to her every twitch.
“Why are you here?” Helena asks. The question echoes in Helly’s head.
“I don’t know. I was wondering the same thing.” Her voice remains quiet to match Helena’s, though she’s not sure why they’re whispering in the first place.
Helena doesn’t respond at first, just looks. She’s trying to figure her out, treating Helly like a puzzle she can solve. “Do you know who I am? Who we are?”
Helly nods, never breaking eye contact. She wants to look at Helena forever. “You’re Helena. You have green eyes, and red hair, and you’re a part of me.”
Helena swallows, absorbing. Her eyes trace over her face, down her shirt and back up. She searches for something. It takes a long time for to speak again, but Helly is happy to wait. She watches the gears in Helena’s head turn. “Do you know what Lumon is?” Helena asks. Helly considers it, frowning as she racks her brain, then shakes her head. “Jame Eagan? Kier?” Helly doesn’t know.
Helena keeps looking at her, and there’s a funny something growing on her face. Helly can’t tell what it means, and god does she want to. She wants to learn every expression Helena can make. “What are they?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Helly barely processes the words. The instant deflection is so human and sointoxicating. She tries desperately to think of something she could say to pull more out of Helena. Helena beats her to it. “Is this… permanent?” she asks.
Helly blinks. That’s a question she doesn’t know the answer to. The asking of it hurts, though. Helly has to think for a moment. Helena doesn’t want her. Doesn’t she feel that tether? Doesn’t she understand that Helly would do anything for her?
“Do you not want it to be?” Helly asks. Helena hesitates for a second too long, and Helly frowns, leaning back. “You want to get rid of me,” she remarks, and they both know it’s the truth as it falls out of her mouth.
Herein lies the rub. The starving animal within Helly wants nothing more than to return to Helena’s body. To claw open the c-section wound and make a home for herself between Helena’s ribs. So in essence, their goals are the same.
But there is a growing softness to that animal. She was born of fiery impulse and desire, and around her burning core is a developing cushion of squishy human emotion. It’s not just humanity, either, no. It’s Helena’s humanity, and the whole mess is too much for Helly to wrap her newborn head around.
“What do you want me to say here?” Helena asks, carding her fingers through her hair. “You’re an identical copy of me. What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. We could pretend to be twins.”
“I don’t have a twin.”
“That’s why I said pretend.”
“Don’t be dense. We can’t both be seen in public. God, this is a PR nightmare waiting to happen.” That last part is spoken to herself, and Helly doesn’t know what it means. She doesn’t care though, because the fire Helly felt before, as her pupils dilated in the morning sun, returns now with full force.
Why doesn’t Helena want her?
“So your first idea is to kill me?” She asks. It comes out more accusatory than she expects. She doesn’t back down, though.
“That’s—“ Helena cuts herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That isn’t what I said. I want to reverse whatever just happened to me.”
What happened to us, is what Helly wants to say. There are forty different retorts simmering in the back of Helly’s throat, and she can’t seem to get any of them out. “This isn’t fair,” is all she manages. Because it isn’t. Why would Helly be born wanting for Helena, if she hadn’t also been born wanting Helly? Where is the justice in that?
Something interesting happens then. When Helly says the word ‘fair’, a shift occurs in Helena’s face. Until now she had been able to see every change in emotion displayed in her eyes, and within half a second Helena appears to sever that ability. A wall goes up. Helly cannot begin to guess what she’s thinking.
“A lot of things aren’t fair.” Helena says. It’s measured. It’s intentional. The Helena she’s looking at now is a professional. This new, haughty businesswoman glances at her watch and curses under her breath. “I have to go to work, Helly. We can discuss this when I return.”
She turns to the closet to change her ruined shirt, but Helly jumps to block her path. “No, you can’t just walk out. I’ll follow you. You can’t stop me.”
Helena brushes past her. “Sure I can.” Helly scoffs at the cocky display and follows her into the walk-in, where Helena is clasping on a new bra.
“I’ll- I’ll go out and piss in the street once you leave. I’ll hot-wire a car and crash it into a liquor store and get your name plastered on every news network in the country.”
“No you won’t,” Helena says calmly, shrugging on a crisp blue button-down and turning to face Helly. She takes two steps towards Helly, fingers busy fastening her shirt. “You have no idea who I am. How much power I have. I could have you thrown into a mental institution without lifting a finger.”
Helena’s standing too close, now. Her mouth is quirked into a haughty smile, her eyes lidded. This expression will become familiar to Helly, she can sense this already. It doesn’t make her first time experiencing it any less thrilling.
“My name is already in the news,” Helena purrs.
Helly grits her teeth, her hands balling into fists. “You’re bluffing,” she spits, tilting her chin up to give the illusion of confidence. Helena sees through it.
“Would you stake your life on that?” She waits, and Helly doesn’t respond. “I thought so.”
Without another word, Helena spins on her heel and walks out of the closet. Helly hears a door open and shut, and then she is alone.