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The Creeps	By : SleepSomehow Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 6641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Just another dorky fan.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
4: Walls Coming Down

*Ring Ring Ring Ring* -Click-
"Helga, please," Arnold speaks to the silence on the other line, "Don't hang up! Just... listen to me!"
After a moment her sullen voice replies, bitter and distant, "Well? Spit it out."
He takes a deep breath, "Look. I am sorry I upset you. Very sorry. I really didn't mean to. We just... It's hard to talk to you sometimes."
Most the time, Arnold thinks but doesn't say it, knowing darn well she'd hang up again.
This is his third try calling the girl since she stormed out of the boarding house. He paces his room, glad to have his own phone now instead of the old rotary sitting dead center the upstairs hall, in earshot of everyone who lives in the boarding house. It's bad enough they are always prying into his business. He can only imagine how terrible it would be if his grandparents and, worse, the tenants found out about any of his so-called 'girl troubles'.
Hearing only silence on the other line, Arnold asks, "Hello? You still there?"
"Yep."
"Ok, good," He removes the book Helga had taken from his shelf and goes to turn it upright. In doing so, a piece of folded paper falls out from between the pages. Arnold picks up what appears to be a small note, opening it and turning it over in his hand, "Anyway, I, uh..."
The words 'I love you Arnold' are scrawled across the paper in swirling, red ink.
The young man stares at the note, perplexed.
"You, uh, what?" Helga's voice asks from the other line.
Arnold backs up and plops down on the couch, eyes still locked on the paper, "Did-Did you leave anything here when you came by? A note?"
The phone clicks. Helga hanging up.
"Again!? Dammit!" Arnold tosses the phone to the couch beside him.
In his head, he hears Helga's whispered confession from earlier. "Then and there, taken away by the moment, I-I almost told you those three words I dare not utter! I wanted to tell you everything! I yearned to speak the truth!"
"No way," Arnold breaths, shaking his head as he rises from the couch, "That's... not even possible! Me!? Not a chance! No way!"
In his head, he also goes through all the wonderful "pet names" the girl has given him over the years: 'Football Head! Moron! Dork! Pipsqueak! Hair Boy! Dweeb! Ignoramous! Midget! Loser! Jerk!', and then once when she was really mad, 'Arnold, you complete asshole!
With his own choice cuss words, the teen shoves this strange note in his pocket, feeling Brainy's photograph where he left it.
Pausing, Arnold pulls out the picture again, gazing down at it.
'I love you, Arnold.'
"No way," He repeats, biting his lip, "Too weird."
After a moment of heavy internal debate, Arnold slips the picture back in his pocket along with the note and grabs his coat from the back of the door. He runs down the stairs two at a time he darts past his grandfather in the upstairs hall.
"Hey, Shortman, where's the fire?"
"I gotta go out real quick," Arnold yells back as he makes his way down the second set of stairs for the front door, struggling to put his coat on the entire way, "Sorry I know it's late!-"
"Gonna make up with eyebrow girl?" His grandpa calls down from the landing, "She ran outta here pretty sore with you. Best bring some flowers or candy or something! Girls like that sorta thing."
Arnold pauses in the doorway, yelling back up, "How sore?"
His Grandma comes out the kitchen wiping a plate dry with her apron, "Y'know that face girls make when they're trying not to burst into tears after you just killed their favorite puppy with a sledgehammer?"
"Pookie!" His grandfather scolds the woman as he steps down the stairs from the landing, "Well, she's right. All red in the face and eyes buggy. Nearly knocked me off the stairs running past-"
Arnold doesn't wait to hear the rest, slamming the door behind him and grabbing his bike from the front stoop.
It's a three-minute ride the few blocks from his place to the Pataki's. He peddles hard and gets there in less than two. Still, it's more than enough time to mull things over in his head.
No one could've left a note in that book except Helga just then tonight. Did she come over just to do that? Was thanking me an excuse? Helga... actually loves me!? Not even LIKE, but straight to the big L, LOVE!
Arnold swallows hard as he peddles.
I don't get it! How!? We've been friends, or at least some form of acquaintances, forever since as far back as I can remember. Not once did she say anything about... LIKE-liking me. I've always thought she hated me! I mean, she's tells me she hates me almost every day! Ok, she doesn't REALLY hate me, but certainly resents me to some degree! I know Helga isn't entirely hateful, but still! I don't even know how to feel about this... I'm-I'm almost MAD! How can I even respond?! Then there's that Polaroid... Jeez, what the hell am I supposed to do!?
Now Arnold really feels like a total, Brainy-level pervert for having run off with the photo. Just as guilty as the disgusting boy who took it. Worse; a damn hypocrite. But how could he not keep Brainy's Polaroid after seeing the thing? Underneath all those clothes is...
"One hell of a killer body," Arnold mutters to himself, skidding around a corner and peddling faster, "Who knew..."
Arnold blinks, shaking the vision from his head as he pulls up to Helga's front stoop.
Better not think about anything remotely perverted right now unless I want to get backhanded just like Brainy.
Arnold almost feels bad for wailing on the kid now that he can see just what Brainy was pining after.
Dude, it's HELGA friggin PATAKI! You aren't about to hide in the bushes with a camera salivating and doing who knows what else while your childhood friend changes! Brainy shouldn't have either!
Arnold steps up to the door, more nervous than he has ever been when confronting Helga, and knocks once, twice, before deciding he should probably not be there at all. The boy turns to leave just as the door creaks open.
A waifish blond woman peers around the door, "Yes?"
"H-Hi, Mrs. Pataki," Arnold squints, unconsciously trying to tell if Helga's mother is intoxicated or not. He recognizes her from the handful of times he's seen the woman with Helga, which really isn't that many.
"Oh, aren't you one of Helga's little friends?" Mrs. Pataki smiles faintly.
Having hit a few growth spurts, Arnold is nearly the same height as the woman.
"Yeah, Arnold," He frowns, "Is Helga home?"
"Mhmm, she's upstairs in her room," The woman opens the door, motioning for Arnold to come inside. She is in a bathrobe with some sort of nightgown beneath and slippers.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pataki, I know it's late but-"
"Please, call me Miriam. Mrs. Pataki sounds so old hat," The woman grins faintly, Arnold catching the faintest whiff of something alcoholic even though she seems fully coherent, "It's perfectly alright. B's still at work so it's just Helga and I here being night owls, as usual. I'm sure she won't mind."
Miriam Pataki shuts the door behind him and continues off toward a dimly lit living room nearby,
"Her room's the second one on the right upstairs. Helga doesn't have too many visitors, except Pheobe of course. She'll be happy to see you."
Arnold wanders off alone through the darkened house, muttering to himself, "Happy, yeah... Really hope I don't get clobbered for this."
At the top of the stairs in the eerily dark, quiet old home are a series of doors, the only light coming from the half-open door second on the right.
"H-Helga?" His voice comes out in a low, nervous squeak.
This really wasn't my best idea, coming over here.
Arnold pushes the door open the rest of the way only to be confronted with the living embodiment of the photograph in his pocket. Helga, mid-changing into an oversized, ratty t-shirt for bed. Thankfully facing away from the doorway. Unfortunately for his boyish libido and faltering sanity, the girl wears a teeny pink thong. Arnold's never seen a girl's naked buttocks in person. The experience jars him, the aghast teen temporarily forgetting to breathe. Pert and firm set on the slender curves of immaculate thighs. The wonderful dip and curve of her lower back and trim waist.
I REALLY shouldn't be here!! She's going to skin me alive! Maybe... if I turn around now and run she won't even know I came by-
Helga, oblivious to his presence, grumbles incoherently to herself until the door creaks just slightly. The young woman slides her shirt down and whips her head around, spying Arnold standing there staring like a damned fool.
Yep. I'm dead.
Within seconds she's on him, fists at the ready and cursing like an enraged, delirious sailor on a twelve-day bender.
Arnold's life flashes before his eyes.
In the chaos, the irate girl reaches out and grabs Arnold by the throat, slamming him back hard against the open door with her other fist raised and poised to swing. He's paralyzed with both fear and embarrassment, unsure which is worse.
"Wait!," Arnold manages to choke out from her death grip, "Helga!"
"I oughta knock your ass back down the damn stairs and into the street, you-you sicko!" Helga hisses, cheeks burning red, "Just what do you think you're doing here!?"
Arnold gulps.
This is bad.
"I- please don't hit me! I just came over to talk! I swear! Your-Your mom sent me up here!"
The anger on Helga's face falters. It takes a few seconds before she lowers her fist and lets go of his throat, "I wasn't going to actually hit you, idiot! I should! I really should! Criminy, are you a Peeping Tom now, too!?"
"No!" Indignant, Arnold tries to regain some form of composure, stepping away from the door he had been abruptly slammed against.
"Then why were you watching me change!?" Helga nearly growls, cheeks inflamed.
"I-I wasn't! I mean, I didn't on purpose!," Arnold scratches the back of his head, looking away, "Who changes with their door wide open, anyway!?"
The girl stands with her arms crossed over her chest, which is probably for the better seeing as she's not wearing a bra and Arnold's eyes are trying so very hard not to wander.
"How much did you see!?"
Arnold stutters, stumbling over words, "I-uh enough?"
He blinks.
She blinks.
"Why you little-," She reaches out to slap him.
"I couldn't help it! You're-You're gorgeous!," He blurts out, wincing in dreaded anticipation.
Why? Why did I say that!? Oh jeez...
The hit never comes. Arnold opens an eye from behind his raised arms, peering out.
Helga stands frozen in time, her arm still raised, yet the rage has fallen from her face replaced with a look of bug-eyed disbelief.
"Wh-What?" Helga stiffly lowers her arm.
Arnold lowers his as well, beyond flustered, "I-I... said that out loud, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you sure did," Helga's shoulders hunch, wide eyes locked on him.
She backs up to her bed and slumps against the edge, taking a seat without tearing her gaze from the boy. The expression on her face a mix of stupified and suspicious. More the first than the later.
Maybe now is a safe time to run?
Arnold folds his arms across his own chest, eyes moving to anything but the flustered girl at the center of the room.
"W-Why are you here?" She finally speaks, breaking a very deliberate silence.
Arnold shifts from one foot to another, scratching the back of his head, "I told you- You kept hanging up on me and I wanted to talk."
"So you came to my house at 10:30 at night-"
"It's not even a school night," He scoffs, "Besides, I want to settle this."
"And apparently see me naked," Helga sighs heavily, eyes turning down to the floor.
"That... was totally on accident," He points out.
"Between Brainy, Mr. Simmons, Principal Jenkins, like five police officers, and now, of all people, you, just about everyone has seen me naked today! I can't catch a break here!" She sounds as though she may cry again.
"I'm really sorry, Helga, I didn't mean to-"
"I know you didn't. You're... not like that," Her voice has returned to the soft, sensitive girl Arnold so rarely sees. It peaks his interest.
I just might make it out of this alive.
She buries her face in her hands, "I just wish I could crawl in a deep hole and die already."
"Please don't," Arnold clears his throat and steps tentatively into the room, "I... wouldn't like it if you died."
He makes a point to nudge the door so it swings slowly closed again. Helga's mother seems nice enough but the lady does have a drinking problem. He'd rather not have to encounter her again.
If her personality is anything like Helga's...
Arnold imagines Helga drunk and belligerent, quickly shaking the thought away. That sort of erratic behavior magnified would be cataclysmic.
"What is your problem, Arnold!?" As if on cue Helga raises her head from her hands, suddenly confrontational again, "You, of all people, should want me dead! I've been a total jerk to you and you're still so-so damn nice!"
He has no answer for this. It takes him a moment to reply, "I know you don't mean half the stuff you say, Helga. It's... just how you talk."
"Stop!" She growls, slamming her hands down on the bed at her sides, "Stop it!"
"Stop what? I want to be nice to you! And I'd really like it if, for once, you were nice to me back without snapping at me or turning it into an insult!"
Helga pauses, eyes darting away from his. After a moment of internal conversation she mutters in defeat, "It's... just not that easy. You wouldn't understand."
"I'd like to try?" Lost as always, Arnold steps further into the room and hesitates, "Can we just sit and talk, maybe? Give it a shot?"
Helga blinks tears away, patting the bed beside her, "Well... it's not like this day could get any worse," As if realizing it probably could she looks up at him with a glare, "Please don't take that as a challenge."
"Why would I?" Arnold steps up to the bed taking a seat a safe distance from the girl.
The room smells like clean laundry with an underlying musk; the sand and grass in the park, the clay dust on the baseball field, sweet with sunshine and sweat. She smells like so many days spent outdoors having fun. It's not a bad scent. His eyes move about her bedroom, Helga Pataki's bedroom. Now it's his turn, he's the enemy crossing into her base. Her private lair. Alone at night..
Ah jeez. Don't think about that.
Arnold takes a deep breath, pushing any lurid thoughts away. Beside him, the girl self-consciously tugs down the edge of her t-shirt nightgown as she tries to cover at least some of her exposed legs. It doesn't work. Lightly tanned and so impossibly long, dinged with bruises here and there. Impossible to ignore.
"So?" There's a slight tremor in Helga's tone, "What are we talking about?"
Arnold's eyes shift away from her toned thighs, "Well, I, uh, guess... why do you have so much animosity toward me? What did I do to make you hate me?"
Helga's shoulders hunch, eyes trailing back to the safety of the wood floors, "I-I don't hate you. I'm just...," She breathes in deep, "Dealing with a lot."
"But why take it out on me? Did I cause any of it?"
The girl shifts uncomfortably, "More or less."
"More or less?" He gives her a look.
"I just..." Helga struggles to find the right words, "You... were the first person to be nice to me at school. For a bit there it seemed like you were the only person. I'm- Not a lot of people are nice to me, see?"
Arnold scratches his head, trying to make sense of things.
"I don't know. Like you said earlier," She looks away again, tone returning to the safe, snarky shield of sarcasm, "I'm not what you'd consider 'normal', right Bucko?"
"Ok..." Arnold reaches down and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, "So this has nothing to do with the constant teasing?"
Arnold places the note in Helga's hand. She doesn't have to open it to know what it is. The girl temporarily goes mute, her fist closing tight around the paper, crumpling it up.
"Yeah, well, what of it!?" Her defenses build back up at breakneck speed, "See!? This is why I don't bother! I can't say anything nice ever! It just gets thrown back in my face!-"
"Please, don't do that," Arnold is quick to see what she's up to, "I'm not throwing anything in your face! I'm just asking. You can talk to me, Helga! I'd like it if you did, really, I would!" He pauses, clearing his throat, "Why did you leave that note in my room?"
The look on her face is of mortification and dread, but he has to push. Arnold has to know just what the heck is going on with her and why. Even if he's starting to get an idea. A very, very confusing idea, but an idea none-the-less.
"I-I didn't think you'd find it," Her voice comes out in a faint whimper. Like that of a wounded animal taking it's last few breaths of air, "At least not so soon. Maybe not ever."
"Then why leave it at all?" He persists.
To Arnold's surprise, tears begin to stream down Helga's cheeks, flowing freely as if they had been waiting at the ready the entire time.
"Because I had to tell you somehow, in some way, ok!?" Her voice is thick with emotion, weak and struggling, frantic, "Even if you didn't see it for awhile! Even if you never knew who left it! At least I got it off my chest! I'm losing my damn mind here!! " She bows her head, her pigtail-free hair shielding her face from view.
Then it hits him. His Grandfather pointed it out numerous times, although Arnold wished to ignore the elder man's words, finding it too far-fetched. Helga's teasing has been out of frustration. Just two children on a playground pulling each other's hair, pointing fingers, name calling and the like. Sometimes you really can't see the forest for the trees.
She teases me because she likes me. Every day, all day long, Helga's focus has always been... on me!
Most the time this focus of hers would drive Arnold up a wall.
"That's it!! I've had it with her! I'm going to say something this time! I'm so done!!" Arnold had said once to his friend Gerald while storming out of the cafeteria after one of Helga's immature pranks, still shaking thick chunks of brownie out of his hair.
"Good luck, man," Gerald rolled his eyes, "You know it ain't gonna stop. She'll never leave you alone."
Disguising the move as a trip, Helga had "accidently", dumped an entire tray full of brownies on his head because he was talking to Lila during lunch. At the time he thought she was doing it to mock his sad attempts at flirting when, in reality, she was diverting his attention, any attention, good or bad, back to herself.
Well, it worked. As per usual.
Then there were times when the teasing stopped. Days where Helga was sick, out of sorts, or otherwise just too emotionally distraught to even lift a middle finger his way. Arnold noticed right away something was wrong. Shockingly he never let out a sigh of relief, never rejoicing in the fact he had a day safe, away from the girl's torment. Arnold would actually worry. Then, regardless how much grief his friends gave him for being a 'masochist for torture', he would question her, ask what was wrong, see if he could help.
I-I guess I always sorta wanted her attention, too.
Helga's shoulders sag in a heavy droop. This is nothing like the joy she felt while revealing her deepest, darkest secret in Mrs. Bliss' office.
This is absolutely excruciating! A torture I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies!
Mortified, the girl's psyche curls up into a tightly-wound, centipede-esque ball, armored to the teeth as to protect what little soft tissue still remains.
I want to die, she barely remembers to exhale, tears flooding her vision, I want to be worm food deep down in the ground where it's safe.
"Wow, I- I had no idea-" Arnold states, visibly shocked.
Is that bad? Is that good? What the hell, Arnold! Give me a better response than "Wow"! Who the hell just says "Wow"! You dolt! You stupid, handsome jerkwad!
Helga stands on trembling legs from the bed, hiding her fear as best she can and staring down the boy with a glare so heavy it actually hurts.
"If you plan on yelling at me for telling you something so important, so soul-crushingly difficult, Football Head," She sticks out a bony arm, pointing at the door, "Then just-just leave! I've had a shitty enough day and you ripping my heart out surely would be the icing on the cake!"

The boy leans away from her emotional outburst, eyes wide, "Helga, why would I yell at you!? I'm more confused why you didn't tell me sooner?"
The fervor only lasts so long. Her shoulders fall again. The visible pain on her face slipping out from behind another enraged mask, her inner self, again, exposed to the world.
"Because," Helga's voice weakens significantly to a thin whine, "Do you have any idea how terrifying this is? Telling someone who hates you how you truly feel about them? I don't blame you for hating me. I've-I've made you despise my very existence by how I treat you every day of my miserable, useless life! It's all my fault!"
"Helga," Arnold stands up from the bed, now defensive as well, "I definitely do not hate you. I've never hated you!"
"Bullshit," She sniffles, turning away.
He-he doesn't hate me? Oh joy! Oh rapture-
"Sure, you can be... difficult sometimes-"
Helga snorts in agreement.
"But I know what you're really like underneath all that."
"Oh? What's that?" The wounded girl sniffs, asking sarcastically, "Pray tell?"
"Well," Arnold sits back on the bed, "For one, you're pretty funny-"
"Yeah a real joke factory-"
Arnold ignores her, continuing, "And smart. Independent. Creative-"
Helga interrupts with another snort, this time meant in disagreement.
"Strong, considerate, brave, sensitive, passionate, loyal-"
"You sure are laying it on thick, hair boy!"
He notices he's got a faint smile from her, adding, "Attractive."
Helga looks down at the faded, stretched-out Big Bob's Beepers t-shirt she's wearing, at the band-aid on her knee and her frazzled hair, then back up at Arnold, "Now I know you're delusional!"
"Nope," Arnold's eyes trail down her legs then back to the safety of the floor, "Er, could you possibly put some pants on?"
"Why?", Helga's eyes narrow, no more streaming tears.
He's staring hard enough, Helga's heart skips a beat, Gorgeous and attractive, eh, Arnold? Never expected to hear you say either of those words about me, EVER! I-I can die happy! Even if you decide you do hate me, I'm too ecstatic to care!
"It's... kind of distracting," Arnold points out about her lack of pants.
At this, Helga smirks wider and plops back down on the bed beside the 'distracted' boy.
"It's just legs, jeez," She states proudly, "Deal with it."
Arnold gives her a shy smile, "Hey, at least you're not crying anymore."
"Yeah, well," Helga notices his attention straying down to her shirt again and quickly crosses her arms over her chest, "You did say some pretty flattering things, jerk."
"Jerk?" Arnold's eyes shift back up to her face, looking oddly offended.
"Sorry, I'm... not exactly a pro at being nice to you"
Moved by Arnold's kind words and feeling decidedly brave, Helga opens her hand and gives the crumpled note back to Arnold, "Guess you can have this back."
He takes the object back from the girl and smooths out the paper, reading it again, "This is some pretty heavy stuff, Helga."
"You have no idea..."
"How long have you felt this way?" Arnold asks, placing the paper back in his pocket.
Helga stares at the floor, fighting off impending tears again.
This talk is actually going pretty well. Now If I could just stop crying for a minute that'd be grand. I look like a darn, blubbering fool!
She has trouble responding to his last question, mumbling under her breath, "You don't want to know."
"So, uh, why me? Just because I'm nice to you?" Arnold asks.
"No? Just... because?" Helga feels cornered again, never having thought out how she would explain the extent of her infatuation with Arnold to him. There are numerous journals filled to the brim with detailed, extravagant prose describing, in extreme depth, her love and lust for him. Still, the girl merely shrugs, "Reasons?"
Arnold gives a deep, mildly irritated sigh.
"Yeah, you're... nice, ok?" She clears her throat trying to come up with something, anything to tell her true love before she royally messes up this moment just like everything else, "And I guess you're pretty smart sometimes- When you're not being an arrogant little know-it-all-"
He can tell the girl is really struggling, "Hey, it's not a big deal. We can talk about something else if you aren't comfortable-"
Beyond frustrated with herself, Helga flops back on the bed and covers her face, speaking from behind the safety of her own hands, "It is, though. It's a huge deal! There's just... so many reasons! It's-It's hard to list only a few!!"
Still not used to her opening up like this, Arnold goes to reassure the girl once again, "Helga, really, it's alright-"
"Your unfaltering kindness!" She blurts out, letting the words flow from her as they burst forth,
"The noble way you're always first to stand up for what's right in this dreary world! How you radiate an intense positivity even in the bleakest situations! Your addictive, illuminating smile! Your vast, exquisite, unique imagination! How you walk, talk, think, act, dance, swim, breath, everything about you is-is completely intoxicating!-"
The boy is clearly embarrassed by the girl's outpouring of emotions, "Ok that's-"
"How you smell like freshly baked vanilla cookies and mint toothpaste!" She continues, unabashedly riding the torrent of emotional release, "The twinkle in those deep, emerald eyes! The way the morning sun touches your golden locks whilst I sit in restrained lust behind you on the bus each and every day-"
"Whoa, ok Helga!," Arnold is taken aback, "That's... more than enough. Thank you."
The girl, not having the heart to look, keeps her face covered.
"There's more, lot's more, but I think I'll vomit if I keep going," she whimpers, "Nerves and... whatnot."
"That's alright. I-I think I got the idea."
"I may puke anyway," She lowers her hands, staring blank up at the ceiling.
They sit in silence for a moment.
A minute passes and Helga sits up on her elbows, "Are we done with the interrogation or what-"
Arnold is turned to face her, although at some point during her purge of admirations, his attention strayed, eyes glued to her legs. Helga bashfully peeks down, realizing upon laying back on her bed, the t-shirt rode up exposing her panties again.
She quickly sits up and tugs down the t-shirt, "Maybe I better get those pants."
"Uhm, yeah," Arnold is quick to busy himself by looking at just about anything else in the room that's not Helga.
She slips off the bed and knocks over a laundry basket of clean clothes beside it, rifling through the mess for a pair of pajama bottoms. Something catches her eye on the ground next to the bed. Helga picks it up, examining it.
"What-What the hell?" She gasps, looking up at Arnold, "Did you just drop this!?"
Arnold pales, seeing the Polaroid photograph clutched in her hand, "Ah crap."
Helga stands, glaring down at him, "Did Brainy give this to you!?? Is-Is that why you slugged him!?"
"No, he didn't, I-" Arnold goes to stand, Helga pushing him back down.
"No! It's my turn to ask the questions!" She hisses, enraged again, "Where the fuck did you get this!!"
Arnold's cheeks burn with indignation as he glares back up at her, "On the ground, ok!? It was out front the school!"
"What, did you go looking for it or something?!"
"No! It was just lying there and I picked it up. I-I didn't know what it was, I swear!," Arnold places his elbows on his knees and leans his head in his hands, "I should've just... thrown it away."
Helga stares at the picture then looks back down at Arnold, noting just how embarrassed the boy is, "Why didn't you?"
He doesn't answer right away. After a moment Arnold drops his hands and straightens up, looking her dead in the eye. His face shows exasperation and something else. Something Helga hasn't seen from Arnold before this moment. An intense, pleading, wanton stare that leaves the girl all too hopeful.
"Should I just leave you a note, too?" He asks earnestly.
Helga gaps, "What?"
He shakes his head, "You are impossible, Helga Pataki!"
Arnold rises from the bed and grasps her arms. Terrified what the boy might do or say next, he goes and does the best/worst thing possible and moves in for a kiss.
Helga has anticipated this moment for years. Fantasizing in extreme detail every imaginable way it could go down. Mid-argument with her standing in an old Bob's Beepers t-shirt half crying in her bedroom late at night with Miriam passed out drunk on a couch downstairs was not on the list of winning scenarios for her first real, honest-to-god Arnold kiss. Not that this is the first time they've locked lips, although it definitely isn't like any of their other close encounters. First, and most importantly, this time Arnold has initiated and not the other, usually forceful, way around. There is no play being acted out, no fake girlfriend schemes, nothing of the sort. This is a real kiss.
The young man's lips are dry, his tongue warm and wet, his mouth a bizarre menagerie of teeth, and the entire affair makes Helga's head spin so fast and her heart nearly thud from her chest.
Very quickly into the kiss, Arnold's hands are venturing down her back. Her own are at his chest, instinctively poised to panic and thrust him from her. She fights the urge to flee and, instead, enjoys the feel of his slim, toned chest, of his own heart thudding faster. In her distraction, a hand is suddenly on her buttocks. Half over the t-shirt, half under, touching her skin. Then his other hand joins in, grasping the other cheek. Helga gives a squeak through their engaged lips as Arnold squeezes.
He-He just groped me! He's still groping me!
The girl gives in to the typhoon of emotions and melts against her beloved foe, in turn knocking them both back onto the bed. Not in the way you see in movies where the fall is graceful and the kiss just continues in a savage, beautiful tangle of arms and legs. Instead the two teens land with a loud "Oof!", knees and elbows painfully jutting everywhere.
Helga quickly scampers to sit up on top of the disoriented boy, breathing heavy, face flushed pink.
Jeez! I can't do anything right!
"S-Sorry," Helga says breathless from Arnold's lap.
"Hey, no worries," The boy sits up on his elbows, dazed yet quick to comfort her.
I just kissed Helga Pataki. That... actually wasn't weird. I mean, it was definitely weird but not bad weird. Good weird. Is good weird even a thing?
Arnold bites his lip, staring at the scantily clad girl in his lap whose shirt just so happened to shift a lot during their awkward rendezvous.
Can't believe I grabbed her butt. Can't believe she LET me grab her butt!
Helga quickly tugs the t-shirt back down and crosses her arms over her chest yet again.
Arnold goes to speak and blanks out, not wanting to screw things up anymore for fear they are already spiraling out of control again. Helga has gone from inconsolably crying to cursing and rude. From violently threatening to, most shocking of all, confessing an intense love for Arnold. All this in the matter of a few minutes.
Needless to say, his fear is justified.
Yet there is something to this entire situation that has sparked Arnold's interest more than just a newfound visual attraction. Any girl can be nice to look at. Helga is definitely not 'any' girl. She is profoundly, unabashedly a fiery, dangerous being, seemingly unattainable let alone even tameable. The girl's impassioned rage is earnest. Her tragedies from a broken home worn on her sleeve, disguised by her own stubborn will. Helga is damn near the toughest person he knows, male or female. This is a huge cross to bear and something Arnold has always subconsciously admired about the girl who constantly badgers him. Likewise, her feelings are intense and, apparently, contagious. He finds himself swept up in the moment.
"You are gorgeous," Arnold breaths, staring up at the very familiar, complete mystery of a girl perched precariously on top of him.
She blushes harder than she already is, eyes narrowed, questioning, "Um... thanks?"
Arnold blinks, "I said that aloud again, didn't I."
"Er, yeah," Helga gives the slightest smirk, "You keep doing that."
He slumps back on the bed, his hands on his head, "That's... sort of why I couldn't throw the picture away."
"Seriously?" She repeats, this time adding, "That's real pervy, Arnold."
"Yeah," He agrees with a shy, boyish grin, "Yeah it is."
She mirrors the grin.
A booming sound from downstairs brings their little moment to a tire-screeching, cars-colliding, maimed-victims'-bodyparts-everywhere, halt.
"HELGA!" Bob Pataki's bellowing voice echoes through the house.
Arnold and Helga startle at the sound, freezing in place.
"Is the girl asleep yet, Miriam!?"
"I don't think so, B," Miriam is somewhere below on the first floor.
"Good, I want to talk to her!," Big Bob stomps up the stairs.
"Oh, criminy," Helga hisses low, first to knock herself from the stupor and scrambling off Arnold from the bed, "Great freakin' timing, Bob!"
Helga grabs a pair of shorts from the clothes basket she flipped earlier and jumps into them, no longer caring if Arnold sees another flash of anything in the process.
"We gotta get you out of here, pronto!" Helga adds to Arnold, "This is not good!"
"What? Why?" Arnold sits up.
"Are you daft!? That's my dad we're talking about! He'll murder you if he finds a boy in his 'little girl's' room! Doi!"
"True, um, yeah... this isn't good!," Arnold whispers, quickly following Helga's lead and climbing off the bed.
"That big doofus is blocking the only way out! How are we gonna get you outta here?"
Arnold looks around, spotting Brainy's old perch outside in the form of a tall tree, "Window?"
"HELGA!" Bob calls again, this time from the hallway nearing the door, "You up!?"
Even if Helga was sleeping she'd be awake after all Bob's shouting.
"No time!" She whisper-shrieks and grabs Arnold's arm, dragging him toward the closet, "Don't you dare make a peep! Don't even breath!! Or it's my neck, too!"
"But I-" Arnold gets shoved into the dark wall of clothes.
Helga barely gets the closet door shut when Bob peaks his head in the room, "Ah good, you're awake."
"Don't even knock or anything," The girl leans back against the closet, crossing her arms and feigning her usual disgruntled demeanor, "Jeez Dad, is there no privacy in this house?"
"Come downstairs, would ya? Your mother and I would like to talk to you."
Bob's voice sounds not so angry, for once. Almost human. Now even more worried and confused why Bob hasn't asked about Arnold's whereabouts since Miriam is clearly awake and talking, Helga obediently follows her father from the room.
Stay put, Arnold. He will literally Hulk-smash you through a wall if he finds you hiding in my room! You don't know my dad like I do. His anger is always on a hair-trigger and you're already not exactly his favorite classmate of mine.
"What's this all about," Helga gruffs, following her dad into the kitchen.
Miriam is at her usual cabinet beside the refrigerator pulling liquor bottles down to make her third or forth 'night cap'. Looks like mixed cocktails tonight, orange juice and soda already out on the counter.
"Pour me one too, Miriam," Bob sighs, plopping down in a dining chair, "It's been a long day."
"Tell me about it," Helga mutters, "So what's the big deal?"
"You, Helga," Bob squints his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "That-that wheezy shrimp at school, he just snuck those smutty photos, took all those weird 'trophies', and did nothing else, right?"
Helga makes a disgusted face, "Uh, yeah. Didn't the cops fill you in with all the gritty details?"
"Yeah, well, I just wanted to check and make sure. See if we need to charge the kid for anything else. Scrawny, perverted nerd... Glad that boy with the weird head whacked him one!," Bob laughs as Miriam hands him a drink, "Didn't think a damn orphan had it in 'em to lay a guy out."
"Stop calling him an orphan, Bob," Helga folds her arms, scowling, "It's really messed up, even for you."
"That your boyfriend or something?" Bob teases, never knowing whether it's an appropriate time to torment or comfort someone.
"No," Helga responds stiffly.
Just some boy in my closet, dad. We were making out on my bed when you so rudely interrupted-
Helga pales.
Just some boy... in my closet!! MY CLOSET!! With Arnold's pictures plastered all over the walls! The candles, the incense! The many numerous stolen objects of his! All those journals filled to the brim confessing my obsessive love!
"Hah, look at that face!" Bob laughs, "Our girl's finally got herself a boyfriend, Miriam! Eh, I'll give the little guy props for walloping that perv kid. If he's dating my daughter he better have her back, right? At least he's not the spineless little geek I remember."
Helga tries to speak, managing to look like a fish out of water instead. Mouth opening and closing. No sound coming out. Not even air.
OH MY GOD I TOSSED ARNOLD IN HIS OWN SHRINE!!
"Is that the nice boy who came by tonight, Helga? Harold, was it?"
"Ar-Arnold," Helga manages to spit out, correcting Miriam's god-awful, unknown mistake even in this time of grave misfortune, "His name's Arnold."
"Aww, how sweet! Did he leave already or is he still upstairs? I should bring you both a snack. How about some popcorn? There's some Jiffy Pop around here somewhere..."
"Wait, Helga had a boy over at the house?" Bob's eyes narrow, "And they were upstairs together!? Alone!?"
"Mhmm, probably little study buddies," Miriam shuffles through some more cabinets, "Poor guy was so shy coming in. Isn't that just adorable? Now, where did that popcorn go..."
Why didn't I stash him under the bed?? Why the closet?? Oh god, did I leave the candles lit or is it too dark in there for him to see!? What if he pulls the chain on the overhead light! Which journal was out on the alter?? The poetry or one of the, ack!, more private volumes!!
"Boys in my house!?" Bob starts to rise from the table, "Why I outta go up there right now and-"
"He left!", Helga says adamant, "Awhile ago!" the petrified girl turns to her mother, "You were sleeping. I-I walked him out. He was only stopping by!"
Bob's glowers at his wife, "Why did you let the little runt in, Miriam? You know my rules about boys in this house!"
"Oh don't be like that, Bob," Miriam walks over and pats him haphazardly as she takes a seat, drink in hand, "Helga's allowed to have friends over. Pheobe visits all the time-"
"Yeah, Pheobe's a girl!" Bob's glare moves from his wife to his daughter, "You better not bring any dates to this house, Helga! Olga would never do a thing like that!"
"Well I'm not Olga, Bob," Helga glares back, pushing her chair from the table and standing,
She starts out the room, Bob's voice calling, "Why was he here, anyway? Probably bragging about punching that perv earlier..."
Apparently, he's here to hide in my closet and find out he has a stalker who rivals Brainy on the insanity scale! Mercy, I'll never be able to explain this away! Ever! I'll have to move far away! Change schools! Change my name!! Burn off my fingerprints and start a new life!!
Helga pauses at the doorway, thinking fast, "He... brought my homework! You know, from the classes I missed today. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be going back to bed."
Stop talking, Bob, I have to get upstairs! Maybe Arnold didn't even go through the barrier of clothing! There's still a chance he doesn't know I'm totally psychotic! There's still a CHANCE!!
"Hey, missy, we wanted to talk to you about today-" Bob starts.
"I'm fine, dad. I'm tired of talking. Already talked enough. I didn't know anything was happening. It got handled. End of story."
"Yeah, ok," Bob hollers from the kitchen as she starts her run up the stairs, "Oh! You better be down here and dressed by noon, little lady! We are going by the precinct tomorrow with my lawyers to make sure that kid gets the full brunt of the law!"
Arnold, please don't be mad at me! I beg of you!
"Sounds wonderful," Helga grumbles, rounding the top of the stairs in a whirl.
"Hey, I tried!," Bob says to Miriam, "If the girl doesn't wanna talk she doesn't wanna talk! I'm not gonna pry it outta her! Did you, y'know, ever talk about the birds and the bees with her or-"
"Oh B, she's a teenager! Of course we did!" Miriam's voice fades into the distance, "She didn't want to talk then either. Helga's a... very private girl-"
Please don't be curled up in a ball rocking back and forth on my closet floor!
"Arnold! I can explain!!" Helga whispers frantic as she bursts into the bedroom, rushing to the open closet door, "I swear! It's not what it seems!"
Helga peers in, pushing the clothes aside. The shrine is as it was. The candles burnt low, almost snuffed out but still lit. Nothing is moved. The pictures aren't torn down. There's no petrified Arnold in the corner, mouth agape, eyes bulging from their sockets at the horrors he's been subjected to.
W-Where the hell is he?
"Arnold!?"
A breeze catches her attention. Helga turns around to see the window open.
With a grunt the girl slides the troublesome window back open and, half-hanging outside, continues calling in a shrill hiss, "Arnold? Arnold!!!"
Nothing.
No... I-I need to explain the shrine! He can't just leave! Not like this! Should I follow him? Would it... would it even make a difference if I explained myself? Explained how I'm not like Brainy, we're not the same- we're-
"...Exactly the same."
Helga's knees give way, causing her to become liquid and slump down the window frame, the wall, to her cold bedroom floor below.
"He's gone," She curls up in a ball on the floor, clutching her chest, "But... did he run because of dad? Or... because of me?"
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The Creeps