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Evie likes to count her ribs. It’s soothing. She’ll run her fingers down her left side first, feeling carefully from top to bottom before moving on to her right. She’ll dig her fingers into each divot, hook them underneath her rib cage as she sucks in a breath. It’s her morning ritual. Before taking a shower but after her first weigh in of the day. And at night, in the quiet moonlight that sneaks its way through their room’s tiny bathroom window, Evie measures herself. She hides the tape measure with her skincare, which she keeps neatly organized in a bin that Mal never touches. She begins with her arms, then her waist, then her hips, and always ends with her thighs. It’s something her mother taught her how to do. They used to do it together, her mom standing by her side as they measured themselves in tandem. They would stand in front of their bathroom mirror, which had a crack in it that split it into two. Sometimes, Evie would line herself up with the fissure, watch as it made her face go wonky. She was uneven and disassembled, just like her insides.
Doing the nightly ritual without her mother is lonely. Evie is almost tempted to invite Mal to join her. She thinks that Mal could keep her on track - the way her mother did - make sure that Evie stays slim and perfectly princess-esque. She thinks that Mal would be kind about it. Unlike her mother, swinging like a pendulum, simultaneously angry when Evie was fatter than her and then even more angry when Evie was thinner than her. But Evie knows that Mal would disapprove. Mal doesn’t need to keep watch of her weight anyways. She’s compact and light, a faery with faery bones. Evie’s always been jealous of that. Mal would narrow her eyes, would stand with her cheeks flushed fiery hot and her shoulders hunched up, like an antagonistic cat, hair standing up at the ends. She would grab her by her wrist and show Evie just how easily her thumb and pinkie wraps around it. Unbearably tiny. She’s done it before. Like back on the Isle, when Evie would refuse to eat her share of the rations. Or in the cafeteria, when Evie merely moves her food around and doesn’t actually eat, Mal will hold her wrist underneath the table. Mal is kind like that. And even if others might think Mal’s grip is too tight, Evie knows better. Mal’s touch is the only thing preventing the rot.
Evie likes to watch Jay’s tourney practices. Or more so, she likes how it’s the perfect excuse to spy on the cheer team. She likes watching the fly girls the most. Audrey especially. She’s tiny and slim in a way Evie can never achieve. They toss her in the air with ease, with abandon, there’s no worry for the fall. If Audrey were to crash, Evie is certain that fairy dust would catch her. A fairy blessing. Sometimes, Evie wonders what would’ve been if Mal had been given the same grace.
Evie will never tell, but she thinks that Mal and Audrey are two sides of the same coin. Mal is brash. All sharp corners and jagged edges, glaring and seething; Audrey is all that too - even if she pretends like she isn’t. Evie thinks that Audrey would’ve done well for herself on the Isle. She thinks that Audrey would’ve been like her. Playing politics.
Or maybe that’s all just wishful thinking. Just Evie being Evie. Naive and foolish and still believing in fairytales. Desperate to find any connection between herself and the royalty she claimed to be for so long. Evie wishes she was like Audrey. Prim and proper and covertly calculating. Audrey plays the long con and she would have succeeded if Mal hadn’t intervened.
Evie thinks she understands Audrey. She was raised as a princess too, no matter how much Audrey insists that her lineage is invalid. As she surveils Audrey from the top of the bleachers, or whenever she watches Audrey in class or sees her walking down the halls, whenever Audrey is talking to Chad or any of the other run-of-the-mill princes, Evie knows exactly what she’s thinking. Because Evie is thinking the same thing. It’s like she can see the cogs turning in Audrey’s mind. If she looks into Audrey’s eyes, she can see how they glint as she narrows in for the kill. Audrey knows exactly who she is and how people see her. Audrey knows how to play the game. She knows how to get what she wants, when she wants, without her ever having to get her hands dirty. Audrey is constantly laying the groundwork. Every action she takes is carefully planned and executed. Evie can’t help but admire it.
It’s a side of Audrey that Evie is certain no one else sees. When the others look at her, they see someone who’s spoiled and bratty, and that’s all true. But Audrey was going to be queen. She successfully attached herself to Ben and defended the title for far longer than someone who’s just spoiled and bratty ever could.
Practice is wrapping up and Evie prickles, goosebumps emerging from her skin. She knows that someone is watching her. Normally someone is. Evie can’t help that she’s beautiful and seemingly unguarded. But this is different. It’s not like the men who gawk and it’s not like when her gang is keeping watch. Evie looks down at the field and finds that Audrey is staring directly at her. Eye’s dark and sharp, lips downturned, hands on her hips. The tinsel of her pom-poms blow in the wind, but they don’t make her any less unnerving. Evie knows when she’s been caught.
Audrey is marching towards her. Somehow not at all sweaty despite having just finished practice. She moves quick, as if Evie is about to run away. But Evie knows a lost cause when she sees one, and the only way out is down and Audrey is already making her way up the bleacher stairs. All Evie can do is sit and wait. Her hands clasped in her lap and her gaze steady. Being this high up and waiting for Audrey to arrive reminds Evie of sitting in her tower. It’s almost like Audrey is her dashing prince, much more so than when Carlos stumbled through her window.
Audrey appears in front of her. Her slight frame blocking the sun as she towers above her.
“What do you want?” Audrey is scathing. “You’re not joining the cheer team.” She continues before Evie can answer.
“I don’t want to join your cheer team.” Evie scoffs. It’s a knee-jerk response, not carefully chosen as most of Evie’s words are.
“Then why are you watching?” Audrey’s face pinches. As though being in Evie’s presence is enough to give her a headache. “If you and your little friends are planning something, you better stop. Ben can only do so much to prevent you from getting shipped back to the Isle.”
It’s a warning. It should be a threat. But it takes much more than words to make Evie scared.
“I thought you wanted us to leave.” Evie stands. She gathers her things and pushes past Audrey, knocking shoulders too forcefully for it to be an accident. She turns around before walking away. “You know, someone might think you actually want us to stay - with how much you warn us before we get into too much trouble.”
It’s fun to watch Audrey’s face, see her pissy reaction whenever Evie doesn’t do what she wants. It makes her grin. She nearly skips down the stairs to where Jay is waiting for her.
“What did she want?” Jay’s arms are crossed against his puffed up chest. He’s a little confused and a lot protective, but Evie just smoothes her hand down his bicep. She forces him to uncross his arms, and instead, hold her hand as they walk back to the dorms. He’s a little sweaty, his hand a little damp, but Evie thinks he looks hot this way. Tired out and as close to roughed up as he can be in Auradon.
“Nothing,” Evie smiles sweetly at him, “Just girl stuff.” She shrugs her shoulders and she can tell the exact moment that Jay decides to let it go.
He prattles on about practice for the rest of the walk home. Evie is mostly attentive, listening to him complain about Chad while endlessly praising Carlos. Mostly, Evie thinks about Audrey. How close she stood to her; the smell of her perfume, memorable but not overpowering; her effortlessly curled hair in her effortless ponytail; how her uniform hugged her trim waist and how the flared skirt accentuated the sway of Audrey’s hips. It makes Evie flush. She’s never thought of anyone like this before, at least no one outside of her gang.
Mal is waiting for her when she gets back to the dorms. The lights are dimmed and she’s sitting on the chair that they placed in the corner of their room, the one that allows for full vision of all possible entry points. It’s like she's lying in wake, the way her eyes stalk Evie as she puts her things away. Mal doesn’t speak. This behaviour is all too familiar. It’s the way Mal acts when she has information she isn’t supposed to know and is waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. It’s a habit that tends to make Jay and Carlos restless. But Evie is good at waiting. It’s a battle of wills, seeing who’ll break first.
Evie continues with her nightly routine. She picks out her outfit for tomorrow and has it hung up in the closet. She prepares her bag and makes sure that everything is where it should be, her homework finished and her binders organized in the order of her schedule. Then, she goes to the bathroom. She washes her face, double cleansing to ensure that all her makeup is removed. She tones and applies her serums and finishes with moisturizer. She searches through her skincare bin to find her tape measure. It’s unassuming and plain, she used to have it for her sewing kit before her mother took it to use for this instead. She needs it to go to sleep. Her skin crawls when she doesn’t know the numbers. When she can’t confirm that she hasn’t inexplicably grown throughout the day. Evie digs and digs, hunting for it, as if it’s the only prey left in the woods to be eaten, her last chance at survival. She dumps out the bin, her skincare falling to the floor. There’s a crash as she does so, one of the glass bottles shattering, leaving shards that cut Evie’s hands as she scours through it. It’s like the barge all over again, when she had to fight tooth and nail for Auradon’s scraps. But it’s nowhere to be found. There’s nothing here but broken glass and blood.
Evie rubs at her face. It’s wet with tears, and wetter still as her blood is streaked across her skin. The leftover shards of glass embedded in her palms scrape across her cheeks, leaving scratches that Evie can only pray won’t scar. She rips at her hair. She tugs at the roots, like maybe the pain can ground her. Evie is sitting on the floor and she can’t bear to stand up. Getting up would mean having to look in the mirror, witnessing herself as ugly and unkempt and everything her mother hates. She’s probably fatter too. She wouldn’t know because she hasn’t been able to check. But Evie can feel the jiggle of her thighs and see the pudge of her stomach and she knows. She knows. If she were to stand on a scale, she would snap it right in two.
There’s only one explanation. There’s only one way it could’ve gone missing. Evie slams the door open. She crawls out, barely leaving the doorway before she glowers at Mal. Who’s still sitting in her chair. Unmoved. As if she hasn’t been listening to Evie freak out for the past several minutes.
“You went through my shit!” It’s not a question, or an allegation. They both know what Mal did. Evie clenches her fist, feeling the glass crunch as it burrows further into her skin.
Mal huffs. Finally reacting, breaking loose from her poised statue shtick.
“So what. You shouldn’t be doing that shit anyways.” Mal orders. Everything Mal says is an order.
“You don’t get it.” Evie cries. She shuffles towards Mal, resting her bloodied hands on Mal’s knees as soon as she reaches her. She knows that Mal won’t mind. Won’t care about the blood on her clothes as long as she gets to bask in Evie’s touch.
“Please Mal. I need it.” Evie bats her lashes, peering up at Mal through them.
“Please.” She runs her hands up Mal’s thighs, all gentle. Teasing at the crease of her hips.
“Evie, stop.” Mal takes her hands, halting them. Her voice surprisingly soft - as if Evie is some wounded animal.
“Don’t talk to me like that!” Evie snaps. She shoves at Mal to get up, legs wobbly and arms weak but it’s enough to push her away.
“Evie-“ Mal stands to join her. Voice still hush and almost kind. Auradon has made Mal soft and Evie hates it.
“Fuck. You. Mal.” Evie says, sneering, every word piercing.
She runs out the room, leaving Mal in the dust. Mal doesn’t follow, or maybe she does and Evie just doesn’t care enough to see.
Evie runs without a destination. Her bare feet thump against the ground. The floor is rough and familiar, like the cobbled streets of the Isle. She runs up the stairs, towards the upper levels of the dorms that Evie has never entered. That’s the floor the princesses live on. With their pretty views and their bigger rooms, with their balconies and their own private space. Princesses don’t need to share. No matter how nice or charitable, princesses are allowed things all to themselves. Unlike Evie or Mal or any other girl on the Isle, cramming themselves into whatever space is available, praying that there’s no one to prey on them. Evie runs and runs. She used to running. She’s used to the chase. Up until she rams into something, a collision that sends her flying to the floor.
Then, Audrey is before her, rubbing at her hips. “Are you alright?” She says, caring and so unlike how she’s treated Evie before, although she isn’t looking at her.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” The words are stilted, Evie isn’t quite sure how to act in this situation. On the Isle, you don’t stop to check on anyone, you get back up and you keep running.
“Oh.” Audrey’s eyes snap up, realizing it's Evie after hearing her voice. She takes Evie in, looking her up and down, shrewd and discerning. “Geez, you look like a total mess.”
It’s not exactly mean, just factual and to the point. Nonetheless, Evie bristles.
“Thanks.” Evie bites back. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Calm down.” Audrey says, as if Evie is a feral dog in need of training.
“I just mean…” Audrey looks around, making sure that there’s no one else here, like any amount of concern shown is a secret she needs to hide. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Audrey breathes deep before speaking again, her nose scrunched and her eyes closed, like she’s debating saying anything at all. “Is everything alright? Like, do you need help cleaning up?”
“Why do you care?” Evie speaks slow and low, eyes narrowing. She backs up, trying to create distance between her and Audrey. There’s no help without paying a price and Evie doesn’t know what someone in Auradon would ask for. She doesn’t know if she can afford it.
“You’re just, like, covered in blood.” Audrey replies, her speech tilting up at the end. Her stare is wide. Maybe she’s never seen blood this way before, when it isn’t accidental and easily solved with a bandaid. “And you could really use a hairbrush.”
She throws that in at the end. She’s just like Evie, mindful of appearance, like being witnessed as messy is worse than the glass in her hands and the scratches on her face. Evie giggles. It’s involuntary, it bubbles out of her, when she compares herself to a perfect princess like Audrey, to see that Audrey isn’t so perfect after all. Audrey can be just as vain as an evil queen. She has proven her right, her and Evie really do think the same.
“Sure, princess.” Evie drawls, leaning forward, her grin wide and her canines flashing in the faint amber glow of the torches lining the hallways. She likes how Audrey reels back a little, the intake of her breath, she can basically see the way Audrey’s pulse jumps and how her blood rushes through her.
“How can I repay you?” She’s directly in front of Audrey now; close enough that if she were to reach out even an inch, she would be able to trail her fingers up Audrey’s legs. She leans in closer still, so she’s face to face with Audrey, sharing breath. She stares into Audrey’s eyes. It’s heady. Inescapable. She glances from her eyes, to her lips, then back to her eyes. Audrey is staring back at her. Her chest held tight, her mouth slightly open, like she’s in awe.
“Nothing.” Audrey shakes her head. The words rush out of her. “Nothing.”
“Let’s just go to my room.” She pulls herself up, away from Evie. “Before anyone sees us together.”
Just like that, she’s back to her usual Audrey. Haughty and above it all. But Evie had seen her. Even if Audrey doesn’t realize it, Evie knows her. Maybe she knows Audrey better than she knows herself. She can be objective about Audrey, can easily put her in neat little boxes, in a way that isn’t possible for her own mind.
They head to Audrey’s room. Audrey a few feet ahead of her as she guides them down the hall. She unlocks her door and as its swings open, Evie takes a moment to digest the view. It’s simultaneously everything she’s ever imagined, but at the same time, all too clinical. Too perfect. It’s like a showroom. Not a single thing out of place, not an ounce of personality, it’s pretty and pink, and yet, it’s not like Audrey at all.
“Wow.” Evie whistles. “This is definitely a room.”
“Shut up.” Audrey rolls her eyes. It’s odd, hearing her speak like this. She sounds like any other teen girl, instead of a series of sound bites found in a media relations training manual. “Like yours is any better.”
“At least mine has some personality.” Evie shoots back, sitting down on Audrey’s bed without invitation. It’s soft and fluffy and definitely not the standard mattress that comes with the regular dorms.
Audrey doesn’t deign her with a response. She turns around and goes into her bathroom, presumably where she keeps her first aid kit. When she returns, she’s already holding a pair of tweezers. She sits beside Evie and takes her hands. She’s brusk, not entirely gentle the way Evie would expect her to be, but her hands are delicate. Unmarred by a hard day's work. She works efficiently, taking out every single glass shard, then rubbing the wounds with an alcohol pad. She reopens the scabs that were already developing, but Evie doesn’t even wince.
They don’t speak. It reminds Evie of the Isle. How her gang would huddle up and nurse each other’s wounds. Mostly, it was Evie doing the nursing. She doesn’t know why she’s allowing Audrey to do this. Letting her near when Evie is vulnerable and open for the taking. But Audrey is too, in a way, allowing Evie into the Auradon equivalent of her hideout. She wonders if anyone else has ever been in here. If Ben has, with all the years they were dating. Evie doubts it. Ben is too proper and Audrey too concerned with the message that would send. The room feels lonelier now. Colder. Evie looks at the plain walls and the hardwood floors, there’s no comfort anywhere, except for the blanket she sits on. Even back on the Isle, they all managed to find little comforts, even if they were only found in each other.
“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Evie doesn’t know why she opens her mouth, but the words are tumbling out of her.
“What?” Audrey pauses. Her meticulous bandaging of Evie’s hands interrupted.
“Waiting.” Evie moves to hold Audrey’s wrist. She wants to be touching her. As if touch is the same as connection. “Sitting in your room, waiting for someone to save you.”
Audrey pulls her arm away. It’s a jerk. As though she’s been holding her finger above a candle flame, waiting to see how long she can last without getting burned, giving in at the last possible moment. She scooches back, turning away from Evie, her eyes fixed on a point that Evie can’t see. Her jaw is clenched and her body stiff, but her voice is steady. “I don’t need saving.”
It sounds rehearsed. A sound bite.
“Right.” Whatever hold Audrey’s room had on her vanishes. The room is no longer cold - or maybe that’s just Evie’s cheeks burning from her candor. “Forget I said anything.”
“You should leave.” Audrey rises from her bed. Her back ramrod straight and her steps unexpectedly heavy as she moves towards the door. The fairy dust surrounding her has dissipated. Audrey is suddenly normal. Evie takes in her pjs and her hair in braids, her painted toenails and her makeup-less face. She seems smaller like this, and yet, Evie can picture her on the Isle. In her mind’s eye she’s bruised and battered, but still with her chin held high even as it quivers.
Audrey opens up her door. Just a crack. She peers through the gap, looking both ways down the hallway. “No one’s outside. You can go.”
Evie doesn’t hesitate. She exits the room and doesn’t look back. Until Audrey calls out to her. She’s halfway down the corridor before she hears Audrey’s whispered summon.
Evie turns around. Audrey is swiftly tiptoeing up to her and it’s like the fairy dust has rematerialized. Evie is reminded of Mal’s faery bones and wonders if Audrey is the same. If she were to cut Audrey open, would she find hollow bones and fire in her belly.
Audrey brandishes a hairbrush like a sword in her hand. She shoves it towards Evie. Ungraceful. “Here. For your…” Audrey gestures towards her head, waving her hand around, “you know.”
“Don’t-“ Audrey looks around again. As if anyone else would be up and walking about at this hour of early morning. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”
She’s not making eye contact. Her eyes are cast aside and there’s a blush colouring her cheeks.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Evie takes the hairbrush from Audrey’s hand. Their fingers glimpsing. She’s about to walk away, but Evie can’t resist reaching out and poking Audrey on the cheek. Her skin is warm beneath her touch. “Princess.”
She leaves with a wink. It makes her feel like Jay. She turns the corner and stops, carefully sneaking a peek. She watches as Audrey brings her hand to rest on her cheek. Evie can almost feel the phantom touch.
She clutches Audrey’s hairbrush as she continues back to her dorm. Her tight grip aches as the ridges of its handle jab into her freshly bandaged skin.
She arrives to find Mal sitting on her chair, almost like she had never moved at all. But Evie can see that her skincare has been placed back in its bin and the glass has been swept away.
Evie pays her no mind. Tomorrow, they’ll talk. They’ll probably fight, then inevitably make up. But right now, all Evie wants is to lay in bed.
She doesn’t think about numbers. She dreams about braids tied with pretty pink bows.
-
The next week, Audrey’s hairbrush can be found on her dresser. It’s a little out of place, a little too nice compared to the rest of her things, but Evie thinks it still fits.
“What’s this.” Mal says, picking it up one morning. The rose emblem embossed on the back shining in the rising sun.
“Nothing.” Evie takes it away from Mal and places it back on her dresser. Where it belongs.
“Just girl stuff.” Evie shrugs, before tackling Mal onto their bed. She kisses her, harsh and biting, just the way Mal likes and Evie can tell the exact moment Mal decides to let it go.