A/N So this is the beginning of Helena's story, starting from her arrival in New York. We don't go directly to the resolution of what happened at the end of For Good, for which I hope you will forgive me (assuming anyone is still reading after that!). Helena's side of things is quite dark at times. There are mentions of suicidal ideation, violence, and other such cheery matters.
Helena George Wells arrived in New York a few days before term began at Juillard. She was 20 years old, and had already borne and lost a child, had been orphaned and left entirely without family, without home, without tether. She was a millionaire many times over because of her father's business acumen and investments, all of which had been passed to her upon completion of the probate process following his death, and the death of Charles, her brother, and Christina, her daughter. The money was something she couldn't comprehend, couldn't incorporate into her new perspective of the world. What could it matter that she was rich, when the one person she loved – the one person who made her whole, was gone, burned to ash, and her heart with them? She did not enjoy grunge music as a rule, but had, on one occasion, listened to a band called Pearl Jam at a party thrown by one of her classmates at Mountview Academy, the stage school she had always dreamed of attending. A dream that had crumbled to ash along with the ruins of her family and her home. The lyrics of one song had come back to her over and over, haunted her when she was hospitalised following Christina's death.
"Turned my world to black, tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be..."
She was lost, and she knew that this, her place at the new school, was her last chance to find something to tether her to this world before she was lost to oblivion. She had agreed with her psychiatrist that she would try to have a life, try to honour her daughter by making something of herself. But she had made another bargain, this one with herself. She would give it one last try, and if it didn't work, she was finished. And so she set about her studies with her usual determination, but beneath it all, when she was honest with herself, she knew that she was praying for failure, and for the blessed nothingness that would follow. The doctors called it suicidal ideation, but she regarded it simply as a release from the horrific pain that filled her. Her loss had tattooed everything.
Juilliard was impressive, well-equipped and staffed with astonishingly competent teachers and performers and technicians and artists of all kinds. Term began, and she held herself back from trying to make friends, her usual reserve reinforced with a frostiness that put most of her classmates off trying again. Steve Jinks, however, wouldn't let her be. He introduced himself, and challenged her to get to know him. Didn't she want any friends? She said she didn't, and he said that she was lying, looking at her intently with those crystal-blue eyes and a slight grin. She was charmed, despite herself, and introduced herself haughtily before beginning to laugh at his sly smile. And when he introduced her to his other friends (how had he even had the time to meet so many people?) she was amused by Claudia's punk look and foul motor mouth, Pete's silliness, and Abigail's quiet intelligence. They clicked immediately, she and Abigail, and spent many breaks and lunchtimes talking quietly about philosophy and psychology, a subject Helena had received an unwelcome introduction to during her incarceration on a mental health ward. Abigail was quiet, sympathetic, and knowing. But she never said anything about the pain and grief she saw clearly written on Helena's face.
The last of the group was Myka. She was a tall, slightly stooped figure with a mass of curls and beautiful green eyes which were only visible when one could persuade her to emerge from behind her shield of hair. She held herself in a defensive posture at all times, arms pulled in, hiding behind her hair and watching the people around her nervously, almost fearfully. Helena had tried to talk to her, and Myka had leapt – actually leapt- into the air and blushed like a naughty schoolgirl. It was that image that probably started her thinking about Myka as she shouldn't have. She had entertained crushes (and more, in one particularly pleasant instance) on some of the girls in her class at school – she'd gone to Catholic school and the uniforms were alluring, somehow, on some of the other girls (and particularly alluring on Helena herself, a fact that she had used to her advantage on more than one occasion). But Myka was clearly young and inexperienced, and Helena wasn't about to take advantage of that. And she herself was not ready for any of that kind of thing. She told herself to forget about the girl, and focus on her reasons for coming here, for uprooting her entire life. (Because trying to avoid temptation had always worked so well for her in the past, she thought to herself wryly.)
It was easy to avoid Myka, it turned out, because Myka avoided her like the plague. She had no idea why, but she shrugged it off and continued to focus on her studies as she had promised herself she would. She would give this a real chance. She owed it to Christina. She allowed herself the luxury of singing in a local church choir, to fill the too-long hours in between classes and singing lessons. She had a deep and abiding love for church music, and she allowed herself that indulgence. It was the only place where she allowed herself to simply be. She spent time with her new friends but she also held herself apart, never allowing them to get too close.
She was passing through the corridor that held the rehearsal rooms one rainy day when she heard Miss Calder's voice ringing out from a nearby room, illustrating to some student how she would like a certain phrase to be performed. Helena paused to listen. She had an endless fascination with Miss Calder, who was a highly trained singer and actress and she somehow made every action seem natural and graceful. Her voice was, quite honestly, a delight. The piece of music was Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'Pie Jesu,' a piece that Helena had performed in church the previous week with another lady from her choir. The other singer wasn't terribly good, and it had been a disappointment to Helena to sing such a beautiful piece with an inferior voice attempting harmony with hers. Then a new voice began, singing the section Miss Calder had just demonstrated, and Helena knew that this voice – this, she could harmonise with, more than happily. It was a different type of voice to hers, lighter but more pure, less belting but more soaring. It was as if light itself had been given voice. As she listened to the words, she realised that this voice must belong – could belong to no-one but Myka Bering. There were plenty of female singers here, but that voice, that timbre – it was unmistakeable to Helena somehow. Helena felt her heart still for a moment, at the purity of the song, but was brought back to herself by the distant slamming of a door. She told herself she was simply walking back to her room, but she knew that she was fleeing that voice. It followed her anyway.
And then it was Christmas, all of a sudden. Helena had endured the deathly silent dorm rooms over Thanksgiving, and had anticipated spending another lonely holiday as she watched her friends leave, eager to go home, one by one. She sang at the carol service on Christmas Eve, and she had noticed Myka there, watching her, open mouthed, almost panicking, and then rushing out as she and the choir finished their rendition of "O' Holy Night." She was, quite honestly, baffled at what she could have done to make the girl react like that. And then she encountered Myka again a few days later, trying to sneak back in to her room as quietly as possible. Helena was bored and lonely, and not looking forward to spending yet more time alone, thinking about her lost family while everyone else spent time with theirs. She was lost in thought when she saw Myka, and contemplated briefly what to say, before settling for "Merry Christmas, Myka." She had thought to slip by quietly – the girl clearly didn't want to spend time with her – but the effect of her words on Myka was electrifying. She jumped, spilling coffee and keys and phone to the floor. And when she turned – dear God, her face! It was swollen, grotesquely so, and displayed most of the colours of the rainbow. Helena wasn't sure what she said to the girl, but Myka was following her obediently, all of a sudden, and she busied herself in looking after the injured girl. She made coffee, because Myka was shivering, and because she assumed that Myka's plan had been to drink, rather than wear, the coffee she'd been carrying when Helena startled her. She gave her some painkillers that she had left over from a back injury she'd sustained in a dance class – a bit naughty, really, but no-one need know about it. Then she pressed an ice pack to the visibly wilting girl's face, stifling a gasp when Myka rested her head on Helena's shoulder, leaning into her. Helena studied her carefully for a moment, seeing that she was more than half asleep already, and drew them both down onto the narrow bed, still holding the ice to Myka's cheek. After a while, steady breaths told Helena that Myka was asleep, and so she discarded the ice pack and pulled a blanket over them both, switching off the lamp. She kissed Myka's injured cheek impulsively, gently, before Myka's soft breaths lulled her to sleep.