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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
"You're a fucking idiot." Gerald was staring at him with disbelief. "I didn't mean to dump her! I was trying to tell you to satisfy her."
Arnold shrugged, still angry. "What's the difference? It's not a problem anymore."
"It's not a… what the fuck Arnold? What the hell is wrong with you?" Gerald was looking at him like he was an alien.
"What's wrong with me? Oh, I don't know… oh, wait, I'm a fucking cripple." He balled his hands into fists. "I'm so fucking sick of this shit… like I'm not allowed to be angry or fucked up over the fact that I lost my goddamned leg. I'm fucking handicapped, Gerald, do you understand that? I have the parking permit to prove it." He sucked a breath in through his teeth, seething at the injustice of it all.
"I am not a whole person, I am less than. I'm goddamned pathetic, and for some reason, people are surprised that I'm not comfortable trying to pursue a relationship?" He wanted to yell, to throw things.
Gerald's eye were wide, shocked. "Calm down, man… I didn't mean…"
"NO!" Arnold yelled. "I've never thought I was good enough for the girls I like… you wonder why I'm always so fucking meek and nice and gentlemanly…" he spat the word out, like it was dirty. "I've been a fucking pussy my entire life, because I felt like I wasn't worthy. And now I'm not. There isn't a woman alive who deserves to be with a legless fucking spastic like me, and the fact that Helga liked meproves that she's too good for me."
His chest was heaving with emotion, he was so angry, so fucking furious, that his head was pounding with it, his good leg was twitching, his shoulders hunched. "I like her, Gerald! I really, really fucking like her. How could I do that to her? How could I be so selfish as to saddle her with a cripple? A cripple that was too scared to bed her, nonetheless? What on earth could I possibly offer her? A lifetime of grovelling? Of apologising for not being whole?"
He stopped, his mouth open slightly, his breath coming hard. He collapsed into Gerald's couch, panting. He shrugged, suddenly out of energy. "She deserves to be with someone that's her equal." He said simply. "How could I be with a girl like that? Look at me."
Gerald was silent, staring.
"Fuck." Arnold groaned. He leaned forward, put his head in his hands.
"Jesus." Gerald let out a breath.
"I gotta go." Arnold went to stand up, swaying slightly on his unsteady feet.
"Wait, hold on man, lemme get my keys, I'll drive you." Gerald scrambled to his feet, but Arnold shook his head.
"No. No thanks man… I just wanna be alone, OK?" He suddenly felt tired, heavy… but also inexplicably like he wanted to go for a run. He smiled to himself, a run, yeah, right.
"Oh… yeah, right… OK…" Gerald just stood there, concerned, speechless. "Will, uh, will you be alright getting home?"
"Yeah, I'll be sweet." He hesitated. "Sorry for blowing up at you."
"Nah, man… no need to apologise." Gerald smiled. "Gimme some sugar." He stepped around the coffee table and gave Arnold a quick man hug, slapping him on the back as he stepped away.
"You'll be right man… I suppose it'll just take more time, huh?"
Arnold snorted. "Yeah… sure. Well… Seeya." He hobbled out of the apartment.
…
It was drizzling, the pavement was slick. Arnold welcomed it, the cool evening air in his hair. He moved as quickly as he could down the footpath. His 'leg' rubbed his thigh, as always.
A woman leaned against a wall, sobbing gently into her cellphone.
An elderly couple walked four fat, snuffling, tiny dogs.
Two girls held hands, shy, barely looking at each other.
A boy played guitar in a window, his feet dangling stories above the sidewalk.
A man cradled his his sleeping daughter on his shoulder. Arnold watched the little girl's face as they passed, her mouth slack, her arms limp around her father's neck. His heart ached.
Fuck.
He kept walking, he dug his ipod out from his jacket pocket and jammed the headphones into his ears. Leonard Cohen was suitably depressing… he limped on.
Sweat started to bead on his forehead, his upper lip. He could feel it soaking into the fabric of his T-shirt. He was about halfway home, and his legs were throbbing. His stump felt swollen, the rim of the leg was rubbing at his skin, the fabric wrapping around his thigh had slipped, bunched up like a sock falling down into a shoe.
His limp became more pronounced, causing people to look at him funny as he passed, but he tried to ignore it, kept his eyes on the pavement. The rain started falling harder, but he pulled the hood of his jacket up and kept moving.
The hard plastic socket of his 'leg' felt wet, he didn't know if it was from blood or sweat. He wanted to rearrange his leg wrapping, but he couldn't put his hands down his pants in public, so he just kept going. His legs were screaming at him, his hips felt like they were grinding in their sockets.
He was so tired. He hadn't slept a wink the night before, he had just lain awake, staring at the ceiling. He kept picturing Helga's face, her eyes wide, damp with tears. He wished he had been kinder to her… he wished he was whole, that he could try and be a man that deserved her.
His attention wandered, his leg slipped, went skittering out from beneath him. He came down hard.
"Ooof." All the air was knocked out of him. He saw sparks as his chin hit the ground. A blinding pain shot up his good knee. He just lay there for a second, trying to breath.
"Oh my god!" he heard a girl scream. He hoped it wasn't about him. He wondered if he was actually hurt, or just winded.
He heard a man calling "Hey, where are you… come back!" and the clatter of heels by his head.
"Are you OK?"
He groaned, rolled on his side a little. Oh, great. A pretty woman comes running to save him… of course.
"You took a really hard fall… can you sit up?"
He rolled onto his back, sat up. He worked his jaw, felt his teeth with his tongue. It didn't feel like he'd broken anything. He flexed his knee, it stung, but didn't feel too bad. The palms of his hands were roughed up, but the skin wasn't broken. He was OK.
He looked up at the girl. Oh Jesus. She had big, blue eyes. Heart-breaking eyes. He swallowed.
"Oh Jesus." She gasped, she stared for a second, then dove into her handbag. After a second she unearthed a pack of tissues. "Put your head up."
Huh? Arnold touched his chin, his fingers came away sticky, dark with blood. Oh. He suddenly didn't feel too good.
"Shhhh." Her voice was low, soothing. She gently clamped a wad of tissues to the bottom of his chin. "There…" She smiled at him, with those eyes. "We have to get you up. Can you stand if I help? Keep your hand on those tissues."
He wanted to push her away, but he felt kinda… spacey.
She took his arm, hefted him up. She was weirdly strong for someone so small. He leaned heavily against her shoulder. Her arm was around his waist.
"Are you meeting someone?" She asked "Or can I call someone for you?"
"No… no thanks… I'll just keep walking."
She laughed. "Um, no you won't. Here… I'll put you in a taxi."
"Hey!" The man's voice, angry sounding. Arnold turned to look at him. A big guy, kinda… sandy looking. "Are you coming or what?"
She laughed again. "Um, I don't think so, no." She turned back to Arnold, grinning. "Worst blind date ever!" she whispered. Her face sobered. "You really don't look good. Look, where do you live?"
He mumbled his address, emotionless, like a brainwashed child.
"You aren't far from me at all, I'll drop you on my way home, is that OK?"
He couldn't think anymore, he nodded.
She hailed a taxi and bundled him into the back of it. "Oh, don't worry about that, just drive. Can't you see he's hurt?" She rolled her eyes as the taxi driver started to complain about carting around a bleeding cripple.
"Here, let me see that chin." She replaced the tissues, stuffing the bloodied ones into the empty pack. She then pulled a tube of hand sanitizer from her bag and cleaned her hands up. She noticed him watching and held her palms up. "I'm a nurse, it's a professional necessity, nothing personal. I'm Emma, by the way."
"Arnold."
"Well, Arnold, it doesn't look like your chin will need stiches… they always bleed a bit, but it should heal up fine. Clean it up when you get home though." She leaned back against the seat and considered him. "You need to be more careful on that leg. Still in therapy?"
He swallowed, nodded.
"Where were you walking from?" Her eyes widened at the answer. "Jesus! Are you crazy!" her face softened. "Let me guess… a bit of self flagellation?"
He nodded again, casting his eyes down to his lap.
She reached over, patted his knee. "It'll get better sweetheart. I know it feel like you're only half a person now… but it isn't the end of the world."
He seethed, despite himself. "How would you know?"
As calm as anything, she held his eye and stated: "After my brother lost both of his legs in Afghanistan, I spent three years overseas working to rehabilitate landmine victims." Her gaze was steady, her voice low.
"Well, I feel like an ass." He sighed.
She laughed. "It's fine, it's to be expected. It's a traumatic thing, no matter what walk of life you're from. Just thank your lucky stars that you're a white male living in the US. If you have to be an amputee… you're the luckiest kind." She smiled.
"I dumped an amazing girl." He sighed. "Last night." He slumped over in the seat, keeping his hand pressed to his chin.
"Ah. Hence the insanity walk."
"She has eyes like you."
"She must be gorgeous then." Emma teased.
"She is."
"So she's worth getting your shit sorted for?"
He paused. "Touché."
She laughed. "This is your stop, handsome." She smiled. "Can you make it inside by yourself?"
"Yeah, I should be fine."
"Good… I'll see you around, Arnold."
"Goodnight Emma, thanks." He swung his legs out onto the street. "Oh, wait, let me give you some cash."
She protested. "No, really, you saved me from an awful evening, I owe you." But he pressed ten dollars into her hand.
"It's all I have on me, sorry." He got out of the car, even more awkwardly than normal, with his hand held to his chin.
He waved as the taxi drove off, then trudged lop-sidedly into his building. His legs throbbed, he could feel blisters on his thigh, and on his good foot. By the time he got in his apartment, he was close to tears.
He struggled to get to the bathroom, grabbing his crutches from his room on the way.
He pulled his first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet and filled the sink with warm water and disinfectant. Wetting a cloth, he dabbed his chin clean, dried it with another cloth, and stuck a band-aid on it before it bled so much he had to clean it again. Emma was right though, it wasn't that bad, just bled heaps.
He pulled his top off, lobbing it into the hallway, then tugged off his pants, sitting on the closed toilet in his boxers, he eased the prosthetic off his stump.
Fuck.
It was raw, bloody in parts. The skin was blistered in half a dozen places, and it was swollen, red… the flesh cinched in at the top, like when you wear socks that are too tight.
Dipping his cloth back into the warm water, he lay it over the stump, wincing when it stung.
It was just so fucking ugly. He hated it… he hated thinking that it belonged to his body… that this stunted, unpleasant thing was what used to be his thigh…
He used to like his legs. They were long, lean… they worked well. He was fast, he used to run when he was stressed, his stride ate up the pavement… and now he could hardly walk.
He stared at it, truly looking at it for the first time. This… thing… this foreign slug that had attached itself to his body - like a leech, a parasite - and ruined his life. He hated it more than he thought he could hate anything. He wanted to choke it, to wrench it from his body like so much decayed flesh… but he couldn't.
No matter how fast he managed to get, he could never outrun it.
He screamed.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Finding your Feet