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Not exactly the ugly duckling	By : DancingBear Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 5459 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, nor any of the characters. I do not, and will not make any money from this story. (Original creator: Craig Bartlett)

Chapter List
- 1-Not exactly the ugly duckling
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-Epilouge
- 24
- 25
- 26
Dear Arnold.
Happy Birthday for yesterday.
February 7th, right? Well, I hope you got heaps of cool shit, had an awesome night, and woke up pressed against the ass of some curvy brunette. Birthday treat n all.
Melissa thinks I should write you letters. I'll never send them to you, obviously, but she seems to think that getting this shit out paper will help me sort my feelings out.
Personally, I think it's an erroneous endeavour. I know my feelings. I love you, I hate Bob, I hate Nick, I pity Olga, and I myself am a piece of shit.
Simple really.
But she thinks that I can't begin to deal with what Bob did (or what Nick did, for that matter) until I forgive myself, and understand why I was such a bitch to you.
I already know. I keep telling her that I'm a freak, and I just clam up and push you away whenever you get close enough to hurt me.
Apparently that isn't good enough, but I don't know what more she wants from me.
Anyways, enough about her. You're back in Hillwood. I saw you a while back, on the first snow day. You didn't look too chipper, but it was fucking cold. I hid from you. How pathetic is that? I stood behind a fucking tree. I thought I was going to drop dead, my heart was beating so fast.
I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am.
I keep having these fantasies that I could just turn up on your doorstep, apologise, and you'd forgive me.
I also fantasise that you take me upstairs, undress me, and fuck me…
You did something to me, you know. Now I know what it feels like to have your hands slide down the inside of my arms, to have your fingers curve around my ribs… I actually have a sex drive. Granted, I didn't realise it was there when I was doping myself up, but since I stopped chowing down on Miriam's Xanax, I –want- so bad that I very nearly invited Paul into my bed when he was over at Eugene's one night.
I didn't, I'm still just as much a virgin as I was before (minus what Nick did) but I think about it, with you, a lot.
Weird really. Logically, after all the shit I've been through, you'd think I'd go the opposite way, no?
I moved into this place last weekend, and I wanted to call you, ask you over. How fucked up would that have been? I wonder if you would have, or if your healthy sense of decency wouldn't allow you to bed the screwed up chick.
I still wince whenever I bend, anyways, so rough-n-tumble isn't in my immediate itinerary.
I'm sure someone has told you about what's happened to me. It's been a very weird month-and-a-bit. You would still have been at Uni when it happened. Dave and Eugene have been amazing, especially with letting me sleep at their places.
I had to get out, though. Dave's place is tiny, and Eugene has a new boyfriend, so I felt like I was intruding. I love my new apartment, although I'm too scared to sleep properly at night. I end up crashing on the sofa. I think I'll take Dave up on his offer to drive me out to the shelter and look at dogs.
The big boss has a Labrador or something, one of those all-American type things. He was pretty keen on the idea of another dog at the office when we spoke (a nice big heart to heart with an overweight moustached man in his 50's… it was awkward). I don't know if I'll take them up on the offer, I already get so much pity at that place that it makes me sick. I can't wait till everyone forgets about it and things can just go back to normal.
It would be nice to feel safer when I walk though.
Gah, I just re-read this thing, and I sound like such a fucking whinger. I'm not allowed to delete anything though, according to Melissa's rules.
Fucking shrinks… who'd have 'em?
I've gotten off track, anyways. This is supposed to be about you, or something. I don't really know what to say. I know you'll never read this, but it's still kinda embarrassing.
You remember when everyone got smashed at Curly's? I was the one that got you home and into bed. I know you don't remember that. It was pretty hilarious actually, in a vomit-y sort of way.
Ummmmm, what else?
I sat on your stoop for over an hour the night before you went away to Austin. I couldn't get up the guts to knock on the door though.
That weekend we went away with Phoebe and Gerald. I packed condoms… wishful thinking. Phoebe ended up using them anyways.
I stopped Harold from drawing on your face in permanent marker when you fell asleep at one of Gerald's parties.
Speaking of sleeping. That weekend we went away, I was faking when I 'fell asleep' on you in the backseat. I almost died when you put your arm around me.
Argh. Now I'm crying. I hate this shit. I don't think I cried since just after graduation… and then you come along and turn me into a bag of fucking mush.
This sucks.
…
Helga grimaced and shoved her chair back from the laptop, wiping roughly at her eyes with the backs of her hands as she staked away from the screen with all it's accusing, taunting words.
She threw herself down on her sofa, still bundled with blankets and pillows, and glared accusingly at the computer screen from across the room.
Her stomach rumbled, it must have been three or four in the afternoon, and she hadn't eaten yet. She had no food in the apartment, and really couldn't be bothered getting up and dressed. Eugene and Dom were meeting her for dinner in a couple of hours, she could hold out till then.
A cup of tea would be nice, though...
She hefted herself off the sofa again, restless, and put the kettle on. Plopping herself back down in front of the laptop, she fidgeted with the keys, read and re-read her unsendable letter. Her fingers almost itching.
There was so much she wanted to tell him.
…
Melissa wants me to DO something. Well, to be fair, I want to do something, but I'm too chickenshit to do it on my own. Melissa's forcing me to get my ass into gear.
Fair enough I suppose.
I let slip to her that I felt like my life had gone on hold when everyone else went off to college and whatnot, while I stayed in Hillwood. I told her that I kinda feel like I'm waiting for something to happen to me, that I'm in stasis or something.
Now I have to do something about doing something. It's hideously embarrassing.
What do I enjoy doing? What, if I am going to be honest with myself, would be my dream? I like singing, and I want to write.
I'm far too much of a puss to sing in public though, so writing it is. At least that way I can use a pseudonym, so if I suck, no one knows.
I've gotta look back through all my poetry books, but it's hard. Not only are the vast majority of them cringe-worthy, but it's just twisting the knife, bringing back more memories.
So I'm writing this instead of ripping off that Band-Aid.
Do you think there's hope for us? Most of the time I think I've ruined it, as I inexorably ruin most things, but every now and then, I figure that if I can sort my shit out, you might give me another chance.
I need to see you, to find that out, and I'm too scared to do that. Too scared I'll look in your eyes and know that it's over for good.
I know I'll know, when I see you again. I know I'll be able to tell, and that scares the fuck out of me. What if I bump into you in one of those movie-esque ways, and your eyes are full of revulsion or apathy, instead of the diffident longing that I wanted for so long, and then ruined when I got?
I know it's selfish of me, I'm sorry.
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Not exactly the ugly duckling