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Finding your Feet	By : DancingBear Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 13192 -:- 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-Finding your Feet
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 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
- 18-18
- 5
- 6
- 7
"You should ask me to dance." Helga put her hand on his knee, grinned at him with her perfectly painted lips.
He stared at her. "Yeah, me, dance… real funny, Pataki." He leaned away from her a little, crossed his arms. His eyes just roved around the room, looking anywhere but at the woman next to him.
"I… I wasn't…" Helga took a breath. "I mean, we could wait for a slow song?" Her voice was small, taken aback. Instantly, he felt mean, which made him feel guilty, which made him hate himself just that little bit more.
Arnold used to love dancing. His grandmother had taught him all the old ones. The waltz, the cha-cha, the foxtrot. He could even tango, back when he could dip a woman without falling on his face.
He just sat there, his fake leg stiff in front of him, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He should have been having a great night, he knew. An NY based paper had asked Helga to cover the premiere of the Seattle Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, and they had experienced the night on the paper's tab… but he just couldn't get into it. He was too fucking shitty.
He sighed. "Look, I really don't want to dance, for obvious reasons, OK?" He gestured out to where everyone else was having a great old time. "You go though, if you want, I don't mind."
She gaped at him for a second. "Um…" She glanced around the room, looking like she was about to cry. He felt bad for her, but more than anything, he wanted her away from him. He was sick of having her so close and friendly, reminding him that he couldn't do everything with her that she wanted… that he wanted to do.
She stood. "Actually, I think I might just get going, I'm not really feeling it." She couldn't look at his face. "I don't have to cover the social stuff, so my obligation to the paper is fulfilled. Are you ready to leave?" She sounded clipped, prim… like she was trying desperately not to let emotion in to her voice.
"Best idea you've had all night." He sounded way more petulant than he had meant to. She just nodded and started walking off, not waiting for him to struggle out of his seat.
She looked great, he had to admit, in high heels and tight leather pants. But that thought just made him angrier. He watched her round, leather-clad ass sway as she walked, and knew he would be too much of a pussy to let her know how much she turned him on.
He was so full of self-loathing that he thought he might burst.
She was standing out on the footpath when he caught up to her, her jaw clenched as she showed her little press pass to the valet. He spoke into a walkie talkie, and a few seconds later, a car pulled up.
"Would you like to come over?" She asked, as he slid awkwardly into the seat next to her, her gaze locked on his mouth, not his eyes.
And what? NOT fuck you some more? "No, thanks. I should probably just go home."
She nodded, a short, curt motion. He knew she was upset, he knew it was his fault… but for some reason, he couldn't stop being a complete asshole.
She told the driver his address, and the car pulled away from the curb.
It was the longest ride of his life. It was silent. Her hands were twisted in her lap, her knuckles white. He felt so fucking guilty he didn't know what to do.
I'm sorry! He wanted to cry. He wanted to put his arms around her and kiss her and apologise and tell her she was beautiful and fuckable and everything else he hadn't told her because he was too goddamned cowardly. But then, he was a coward, so he just sat there, feeling more and more like shit.
"Well, seeya." He murmured when the car pulled up to his building. "Thanks… for the night and everything." He tried to sound humbled, but he just sounded sullen.
I can't keep doing this to her.
She looked at him, her eyes massive, wide, round. "OK." She said, her mouth open slightly.
He tried to smile, shut the door, hobbled across the pavement.
"Arnold, wait." She came tripping out of the car behind him.
Annoyance and relief both flooded through him. He turned to face her, his keys in his hand.
"Have I done something wrong?" She asked, her eyes were shiny, she bit her bottom lip… she looked scared.
He sighed. "No… you haven't."
"I don't understand!" She gasped. "I mean, last time I saw you, everything was OK, wasn't it? And now you'll hardly talk to me!" A high edge cracked in her voice. Her bottom lip trembled.
Shit, she's going to cry. He at once both hated, and loved her. He wanted to grab her and sooth her, but he also wanted her to fuck off.
"Look, Helga. I just don't think we should keep on forcing something that isn't going anywhere."
He sounded callous, even to his own ears. He cringed.
She stared at him. She blinked, rapidly. "I… I uh…" She stuttered, before taking a deep breath and straightening up. He watched her switch from hurt to strong in less than a second.
"I didn't know you felt that way." Her voice was quiet, but hard. "I suppose I'll see you around then. Have a good night."
She turned on her heel and strode back off to the car.
He groaned. "Aw, Helga, I didn't mean it like that." How did you mean it then?
She didn't respond though, she didn't even tense up at his voice. She acted purely like he didn't exist. She slid into the seat, shut the door, and the car pulled away.
Shit.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Finding your Feet