Fanfiction - Hey Arnold! - Selfish
May. 14th, 2008 11:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leskuhTitle: Selfish
Fandom/Universe: Hey Arnold!
Character(s): Helga, Arnold, Phoebe, Gerald
Rating: Teen
Helga is selfish. She knows and she doesn’t regret, because it means she can twine her fingers in his hair and not feel the slightest bit guilty (even though his wife is out of town and she is the other woman). She can’t feel guilty, because she knows that she deserves to be selfish, because she’s given up so much and it’s about time that the universe repays her.
She lives in riddles and lies and untruths and never bothers to think about the blending points anymore, because she is older now and wiser now and --
(drunk-and-stoned-and-broken-now)
-- better than she used to be.
She is selfish, but she will never be able to get what she really wants out of life, because she can’t remember what it is that she wants after all and she’s too old anyway. Too old, and he probably wouldn’t even recognize her anymore and if he did, it’s not like he’d care, because she’s Helga and not anyone else.
(and being just Helga seems to mean a lot less than it used to)
“Baby, you’re all I need.” The man beneath her gasps out as he writhes beneath her touch. She chokes back a laugh and puts a hand over his mouth. All he ever does is talk and all she wants to do is fuck. Even if its only because his hair is the perfect shade of blond.
She takes and doesn’t give, because there isn’t much left of her to hand out anyway. She’s given so much already and feels lost because of it and she deserves to be selfish – she does.
(he left her on a Sunday and she still drinks herself into a stupor every week - her own nameless religion)
He comes before her and it’s not like she expected anything else, because how can she be expected to get off to nothing but a cheap imitation? He attempts to call out her name, but her delicately powerful fingers are still covering his lips and all that comes out is a garbled sound, a mockery of the power her name used to hold.
(once she was the toughest girl in school)
She untangles herself from him and rolls off the edge of the bed. He eyes her wearily and reaches out a hand towards her.
“Where are you going?”
“Smoke.” She says shortly and walks out the door.
Outside the moon is grinning down at her catlike and cruel. She scowls at nothing in particular, but that’s not really out of the ordinary. She came out of the womb frowning after all.
(but she had been happy once - she swears it)
She checks her watch. 12:03 on Sunday. Damn.
Another week without.
She’s starting to get lines under her eyes and she can’t move like she used to. Her knee has been making a bunch of cracking sounds when she bends and she feels very old. Time goes by slowly in a world without love, but it still goes by. She sits thinking of something she could say when she goes back inside the room. He’ll be wanting to talk about next time, but she knows there won’t be a next time. Helga Pataki may live in lies, but even she isn’t stupid enough to pretend that there’s more to this relationship than convenient sex and decent wine.
Speaking of which, it’s early Sunday morning and right about time to get shit-faced.
(he left her. he left her.)
She takes another drag of her cigarette and then puts it out. Phoebe calls to yell at her every other week and tell her that she’s wasting her life away. ‘Helga,’ she says, her voice shaking with emotion, ‘you’re gonna get yourself killed this way. You’re dying.’
And Helga just laughs, because she knows that already.
Phoebe is worried, because Phoebe loves her. Best friends forever.
But that doesn’t stop Helga from doing what she wants. So instead of going inside, she lights up just one more and looks for an easy out.
(coward)
There’s a railing nearby which she can just barely touch when she leans over the edge of the balcony. She climbs up onto the ledge to get closer and wraps her hands around it and then slowly scales down the wall. She thinks of fire escapes and baseball games and tries not to cry, but god if this isn’t a familiar scene.
Helga is selfish, because she has spent her life trying to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons. Helga is not a good person. Helga does not like people. She does not like being nice. Helga wants to hurt the world and make it bleed and pretend that she’s tough as nails, when she’s really just three years old and soaked to the bone.
(you can’t find an umbrella in a world without)
She had been good for him. She did right by him. But now he’s nowhere to be found and so Helga finally woke up.
The nearest bar is a mile away, but she doesn’t mind. The air is good for her. She ignores the men’s stares and glares at them when they get too close. She is no fool and she is not a nice person. They see this in her eyes and don’t get any closer than they ought to and Helga has learned to appreciate all the years spent perfecting her scowl.
She gets there in just under twenty minutes, chilled to the bone. She looks up at the neon lights and for a second wonders if it’s even worth it. But the doubts fade a moment later and she heads in.
Inside the bar it is hazy and warm and almost comforting. But there’s a very faint smell that makes her stomach churn. Something of vomit and tobacco. Not an unfamiliar smell, but still unpleasant.
She ignores it and heads towards the bartender where she orders a Manhattan and tries not to think about how she left her best bra behind her.
She does her best to blend into the counter. For the first time in a long while she has absolutely no interest with the few men who come up to make small talk with her. She doesn’t bat her eyes, she doesn’t pretend to enjoy the attention. She merely glances at them, before ordering another drink - just one more.
(and more and more and more….)
Two hours later there is a man sitting next to her, breathing heavily against her neck and she is laughing just a little too loud and the alcohol is all throughout now. He puts his hand on her thigh and the world is right and the world is good and aren’t his eyes the prettiest shade of green? Just like someone, somewhere, someone and and and. -
(he left her, but she left him first really. how can you love someone who’s too afraid to look you in the eye properly? how can you love someone who keeps pushing you away?)
She damns him to hell. Arnold and his blond hair and his green eyes and his stupid little football head that she loved (LOVES). She damns him and how not even he was brave enough to really and truly look for her. He was so close. So close to finding the good, but she was also so far from letting him in. How can she blame him for how messed up she was? How messed up she is.
And the man’s breath on her neck is too warm and she is too cold and Helga Pataki is still selfish.
He kisses her and she kisses him back, but all she can taste is tobacco and all she can see is another fake. This is not Arnold.
It’s not.
It never will be.
She screams and pushes him away. He let’s out a startled yell as he lands hard on the floor. He swears at her as she stumbles out of the bar and limps down the street. She can feel tears on her cheeks, but doesn’t remember crying. She chokes down a small sob and fumbles in her pockets for a cell phone. Her fingers feel swollen and useless as she desperately tries to hit the right numbers. She messes up the first time and gets an angry: “Never call here again.”
On the second try the phone rings and rings for what seems like forever.
Her head is pounding and her shoulders are shaking.
She begs the stars for someone to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Phoebe.” Helga mumbles, finally allowing herself to slide down the wall, letting her back rest against the cool concrete. “Phoebe.”
“Helga? Helga is that you?”
Helga laughs, all light and hiccupping and ridiculously drunk. Her nose is running and she is crying. Phoebe’s voice is soft and inviting and smells like home. God, she misses being home.
“Pheebs. I’m sorry.” She says through snotty tears. Her hand trembles as her eyes droop. She is just…so tired. And so alone. But, though she is selfish, she doesn’t want Phoebe to worry.
“Bar. Somewhere near…I don’t know…Fifth - no. Main street. I’m…Phoebe - I’m scared.” But not for the reasons Phoebe thinks she is. She is scared that this will never end. That she will always be alone. She is not young anymore. She is not happy anymore. She is not Helga anymore. “Phoebe. I miss him.” And on that note she lays the phone down on the sidewalk and cries herself to sleep.
Helga Pataki wakes to soft voices somewhere in the distance. She opens her eyes, expecting to see pavement and a lot of incredulous stares, but instead she is greeted by blue curtains and a soft breeze against her cheek. The sun is coming up.
Phoebe’s house.
She snuggles back into the covers and heaves a sigh of relief. The sheets smell like cinnamon and fabric softener and it’s the closest she’s ever come to being home.
She almost falls back asleep when she remembers the voices.
They’re muffled, but she thinks she can hear her name being repeated quite a bit. Though she regrets it, she forces herself out of the bed and creeps towards the door and opens it just a crack - enough to let her listen.
“This is ridiculous Phoebe. I know she’s your best friend, but honestly. Arnold doesn’t pull this kind of shit on me.”
Gerald, Helga thinks through clenched teeth.
“Gerald, I’m sorry, but don’t you think it’s a little unfair to judge her on a scale of one to Arnold? She didn’t ‘pull’ this on me. She just needed someone and, like you said, we’re best friends.”
Good ol’ Pheebs.
She can hear Gerald sigh.
“I just…it’s unfair that you always get involved with this. I worry about you. You’ve been so stressed about her lately and…it’s not good for you to be upset all the time.”
Silence and then…is that a sob?
Phoebe…
“No Gerald - stop worrying! I-I’m okay. I just…”
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
Helga closes the door, wiping tears out of her eyes.
This is stupid.
Helga is selfish. Helga is selfish and she does not regret. She will not regret.
…but still she can’t help but feel like the most terrible person in the world.
“I am so stupid.” She whispers to herself.
Helga has spent years convincing herself that she deserves to be selfish. Helga has spent decades pushing away everyone who cared about her. Helga is a fool. And she is tired of being a burden.
“One more escape then.” She mutters as she heads towards the window. The sun is shining. “A good day to start over.” She says out loud as she steps onto the ledge.
She reaches out for a tree branch as the door opens behind her.
“Shit.”
“Helga?”
She freezes, back still towards the room. But that voice. It isn’t. It couldn’t…
She turns.
It is of course.
“Arnold.”
They don’t move for a couple of seconds, both locked in some ridiculous staring match. Helga is still perched on the windowsill and Arnold still has one hand on the door. She raises her chin a little and scowls. Same old Helga.
“What do you want?” She resists the urge to add in a football head, but honestly, the insult had lost it’s meaning a long time ago. No longer a scathing remark about his head, but almost a term of endearment.
He raises an eyebrow and finally steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“I really have missed your kind welcomes.”
She rolls her eyes at him.
“Whatever. Look, since you’re here, could you stall Phoebe for a bit, while I get the hell out of here?”
“Running away again?”
Helga freezes. There’s something in his voice, something almost challenging. She narrows her eyes and glares at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She growls. He shrugs his shoulders and sits down on the bed.
“Nothing. Just stating the obvious I guess. You always run away when things start to get rough.”
And just like that Helga is off of the windowsill and right in Arnold’s face. She places her hands on either side of his hips and glares at him with all the anger and all the hatred and rage that’s been building up inside of her since the dawn of time.
“Don’t you ever talk to me about running away! You - you…hypocrite! I’m not the one who left. You were! You left me, Arnold! So just shut-up about things you don’t know! I’m leaving for good, I’m doing Phoebe a favor. So SHUT-UP.” She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, but dammit if she is going to cry here, in front of him.
Rage coursing through her, she pulls back a hand to slap him, but he catches it in his own. She starts swearing at him and tries to pull out of his grip, but he doesn’t relent.
“Arnold - stop it! Let go!”
“No. I’m not letting go, Helga. So stop being so damn stupid, okay?” He pulls her forward so that she almost loses her balance.
“Shut-up you asshole - you stupid - you you you….FOOTBALL HEAD!” She screams and she’s so angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid fucking world and it’s stupid fucking cycles. And she hates what she’s become, even though it’s who she has always been.
Something builds inside of her, something half-forgotten and starved. It’s screaming in the back of her mind and his stupid hands are wrapped tightly around her wrists and he is looking at her with his stupid green eyes and she hates it. And she loves it. And the thing raging inside is pounding against her forehead and she is selfish.
But more than that...
She is Helga G. Pataki.
She presses her lips against his. He’s surprised enough that he drops her wrists, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and push him backwards farther onto the bed. He relaxes beneath her, before suddenly tensing up and pulling away.
“Helga, why -?”
“Why’d you come back Arnold?” She asks.
“I-I was worried. Phoebe called and said that you weren’t doing so good and I wanted to come and make sure you were all right. I wanted to try and help. I know you hate it when I meddle but - “ He’s forced to stop when Helga kisses him again. This time, she breaks away first.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers as she runs a thumb along his cheek. She bites her lip and closes her eyes. “I messed up.” Messed up the relationship. Messed up her own life. Messed up everything. But she’s gonna fix it somehow. She swears.
She can tell that he’s got a lot of things he wants to ask, but the best thing about Arnold is that he always just knows when to let things go. So he bottles those things for later. There’ll be time to talk.
“What made you come back?” He asks.
“Stupid football-head.” She clucks her tongue and lays her head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady and they are both alive. “You should already know the answer to that one.”
“Humor me.”
“I came back because you are the only person in the whole wide world..."
Helga is selfish. But Helga is home.
"Who has never let go."
a/n: I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR MONTHS. I'M SERIOUS. I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED IT. D:
It's a little over 2,500 words. Can you believe I used to be able to crank out things that were near 5,000 words before? D: D: D:
Fandom/Universe: Hey Arnold!
Character(s): Helga, Arnold, Phoebe, Gerald
Rating: Teen
Helga is selfish. She knows and she doesn’t regret, because it means she can twine her fingers in his hair and not feel the slightest bit guilty (even though his wife is out of town and she is the other woman). She can’t feel guilty, because she knows that she deserves to be selfish, because she’s given up so much and it’s about time that the universe repays her.
She lives in riddles and lies and untruths and never bothers to think about the blending points anymore, because she is older now and wiser now and --
(drunk-and-stoned-and-broken-now)
-- better than she used to be.
She is selfish, but she will never be able to get what she really wants out of life, because she can’t remember what it is that she wants after all and she’s too old anyway. Too old, and he probably wouldn’t even recognize her anymore and if he did, it’s not like he’d care, because she’s Helga and not anyone else.
(and being just Helga seems to mean a lot less than it used to)
“Baby, you’re all I need.” The man beneath her gasps out as he writhes beneath her touch. She chokes back a laugh and puts a hand over his mouth. All he ever does is talk and all she wants to do is fuck. Even if its only because his hair is the perfect shade of blond.
She takes and doesn’t give, because there isn’t much left of her to hand out anyway. She’s given so much already and feels lost because of it and she deserves to be selfish – she does.
(he left her on a Sunday and she still drinks herself into a stupor every week - her own nameless religion)
He comes before her and it’s not like she expected anything else, because how can she be expected to get off to nothing but a cheap imitation? He attempts to call out her name, but her delicately powerful fingers are still covering his lips and all that comes out is a garbled sound, a mockery of the power her name used to hold.
(once she was the toughest girl in school)
She untangles herself from him and rolls off the edge of the bed. He eyes her wearily and reaches out a hand towards her.
“Where are you going?”
“Smoke.” She says shortly and walks out the door.
Outside the moon is grinning down at her catlike and cruel. She scowls at nothing in particular, but that’s not really out of the ordinary. She came out of the womb frowning after all.
(but she had been happy once - she swears it)
She checks her watch. 12:03 on Sunday. Damn.
Another week without.
She’s starting to get lines under her eyes and she can’t move like she used to. Her knee has been making a bunch of cracking sounds when she bends and she feels very old. Time goes by slowly in a world without love, but it still goes by. She sits thinking of something she could say when she goes back inside the room. He’ll be wanting to talk about next time, but she knows there won’t be a next time. Helga Pataki may live in lies, but even she isn’t stupid enough to pretend that there’s more to this relationship than convenient sex and decent wine.
Speaking of which, it’s early Sunday morning and right about time to get shit-faced.
(he left her. he left her.)
She takes another drag of her cigarette and then puts it out. Phoebe calls to yell at her every other week and tell her that she’s wasting her life away. ‘Helga,’ she says, her voice shaking with emotion, ‘you’re gonna get yourself killed this way. You’re dying.’
And Helga just laughs, because she knows that already.
Phoebe is worried, because Phoebe loves her. Best friends forever.
But that doesn’t stop Helga from doing what she wants. So instead of going inside, she lights up just one more and looks for an easy out.
(coward)
There’s a railing nearby which she can just barely touch when she leans over the edge of the balcony. She climbs up onto the ledge to get closer and wraps her hands around it and then slowly scales down the wall. She thinks of fire escapes and baseball games and tries not to cry, but god if this isn’t a familiar scene.
Helga is selfish, because she has spent her life trying to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons. Helga is not a good person. Helga does not like people. She does not like being nice. Helga wants to hurt the world and make it bleed and pretend that she’s tough as nails, when she’s really just three years old and soaked to the bone.
(you can’t find an umbrella in a world without)
She had been good for him. She did right by him. But now he’s nowhere to be found and so Helga finally woke up.
The nearest bar is a mile away, but she doesn’t mind. The air is good for her. She ignores the men’s stares and glares at them when they get too close. She is no fool and she is not a nice person. They see this in her eyes and don’t get any closer than they ought to and Helga has learned to appreciate all the years spent perfecting her scowl.
She gets there in just under twenty minutes, chilled to the bone. She looks up at the neon lights and for a second wonders if it’s even worth it. But the doubts fade a moment later and she heads in.
Inside the bar it is hazy and warm and almost comforting. But there’s a very faint smell that makes her stomach churn. Something of vomit and tobacco. Not an unfamiliar smell, but still unpleasant.
She ignores it and heads towards the bartender where she orders a Manhattan and tries not to think about how she left her best bra behind her.
She does her best to blend into the counter. For the first time in a long while she has absolutely no interest with the few men who come up to make small talk with her. She doesn’t bat her eyes, she doesn’t pretend to enjoy the attention. She merely glances at them, before ordering another drink - just one more.
(and more and more and more….)
Two hours later there is a man sitting next to her, breathing heavily against her neck and she is laughing just a little too loud and the alcohol is all throughout now. He puts his hand on her thigh and the world is right and the world is good and aren’t his eyes the prettiest shade of green? Just like someone, somewhere, someone and and and. -
(he left her, but she left him first really. how can you love someone who’s too afraid to look you in the eye properly? how can you love someone who keeps pushing you away?)
She damns him to hell. Arnold and his blond hair and his green eyes and his stupid little football head that she loved (LOVES). She damns him and how not even he was brave enough to really and truly look for her. He was so close. So close to finding the good, but she was also so far from letting him in. How can she blame him for how messed up she was? How messed up she is.
And the man’s breath on her neck is too warm and she is too cold and Helga Pataki is still selfish.
He kisses her and she kisses him back, but all she can taste is tobacco and all she can see is another fake. This is not Arnold.
It’s not.
It never will be.
She screams and pushes him away. He let’s out a startled yell as he lands hard on the floor. He swears at her as she stumbles out of the bar and limps down the street. She can feel tears on her cheeks, but doesn’t remember crying. She chokes down a small sob and fumbles in her pockets for a cell phone. Her fingers feel swollen and useless as she desperately tries to hit the right numbers. She messes up the first time and gets an angry: “Never call here again.”
On the second try the phone rings and rings for what seems like forever.
Her head is pounding and her shoulders are shaking.
She begs the stars for someone to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Phoebe.” Helga mumbles, finally allowing herself to slide down the wall, letting her back rest against the cool concrete. “Phoebe.”
“Helga? Helga is that you?”
Helga laughs, all light and hiccupping and ridiculously drunk. Her nose is running and she is crying. Phoebe’s voice is soft and inviting and smells like home. God, she misses being home.
“Pheebs. I’m sorry.” She says through snotty tears. Her hand trembles as her eyes droop. She is just…so tired. And so alone. But, though she is selfish, she doesn’t want Phoebe to worry.
“Bar. Somewhere near…I don’t know…Fifth - no. Main street. I’m…Phoebe - I’m scared.” But not for the reasons Phoebe thinks she is. She is scared that this will never end. That she will always be alone. She is not young anymore. She is not happy anymore. She is not Helga anymore. “Phoebe. I miss him.” And on that note she lays the phone down on the sidewalk and cries herself to sleep.
Helga Pataki wakes to soft voices somewhere in the distance. She opens her eyes, expecting to see pavement and a lot of incredulous stares, but instead she is greeted by blue curtains and a soft breeze against her cheek. The sun is coming up.
Phoebe’s house.
She snuggles back into the covers and heaves a sigh of relief. The sheets smell like cinnamon and fabric softener and it’s the closest she’s ever come to being home.
She almost falls back asleep when she remembers the voices.
They’re muffled, but she thinks she can hear her name being repeated quite a bit. Though she regrets it, she forces herself out of the bed and creeps towards the door and opens it just a crack - enough to let her listen.
“This is ridiculous Phoebe. I know she’s your best friend, but honestly. Arnold doesn’t pull this kind of shit on me.”
Gerald, Helga thinks through clenched teeth.
“Gerald, I’m sorry, but don’t you think it’s a little unfair to judge her on a scale of one to Arnold? She didn’t ‘pull’ this on me. She just needed someone and, like you said, we’re best friends.”
Good ol’ Pheebs.
She can hear Gerald sigh.
“I just…it’s unfair that you always get involved with this. I worry about you. You’ve been so stressed about her lately and…it’s not good for you to be upset all the time.”
Silence and then…is that a sob?
Phoebe…
“No Gerald - stop worrying! I-I’m okay. I just…”
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
Helga closes the door, wiping tears out of her eyes.
This is stupid.
Helga is selfish. Helga is selfish and she does not regret. She will not regret.
…but still she can’t help but feel like the most terrible person in the world.
“I am so stupid.” She whispers to herself.
Helga has spent years convincing herself that she deserves to be selfish. Helga has spent decades pushing away everyone who cared about her. Helga is a fool. And she is tired of being a burden.
“One more escape then.” She mutters as she heads towards the window. The sun is shining. “A good day to start over.” She says out loud as she steps onto the ledge.
She reaches out for a tree branch as the door opens behind her.
“Shit.”
“Helga?”
She freezes, back still towards the room. But that voice. It isn’t. It couldn’t…
She turns.
It is of course.
“Arnold.”
They don’t move for a couple of seconds, both locked in some ridiculous staring match. Helga is still perched on the windowsill and Arnold still has one hand on the door. She raises her chin a little and scowls. Same old Helga.
“What do you want?” She resists the urge to add in a football head, but honestly, the insult had lost it’s meaning a long time ago. No longer a scathing remark about his head, but almost a term of endearment.
He raises an eyebrow and finally steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“I really have missed your kind welcomes.”
She rolls her eyes at him.
“Whatever. Look, since you’re here, could you stall Phoebe for a bit, while I get the hell out of here?”
“Running away again?”
Helga freezes. There’s something in his voice, something almost challenging. She narrows her eyes and glares at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She growls. He shrugs his shoulders and sits down on the bed.
“Nothing. Just stating the obvious I guess. You always run away when things start to get rough.”
And just like that Helga is off of the windowsill and right in Arnold’s face. She places her hands on either side of his hips and glares at him with all the anger and all the hatred and rage that’s been building up inside of her since the dawn of time.
“Don’t you ever talk to me about running away! You - you…hypocrite! I’m not the one who left. You were! You left me, Arnold! So just shut-up about things you don’t know! I’m leaving for good, I’m doing Phoebe a favor. So SHUT-UP.” She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, but dammit if she is going to cry here, in front of him.
Rage coursing through her, she pulls back a hand to slap him, but he catches it in his own. She starts swearing at him and tries to pull out of his grip, but he doesn’t relent.
“Arnold - stop it! Let go!”
“No. I’m not letting go, Helga. So stop being so damn stupid, okay?” He pulls her forward so that she almost loses her balance.
“Shut-up you asshole - you stupid - you you you….FOOTBALL HEAD!” She screams and she’s so angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid fucking world and it’s stupid fucking cycles. And she hates what she’s become, even though it’s who she has always been.
Something builds inside of her, something half-forgotten and starved. It’s screaming in the back of her mind and his stupid hands are wrapped tightly around her wrists and he is looking at her with his stupid green eyes and she hates it. And she loves it. And the thing raging inside is pounding against her forehead and she is selfish.
But more than that...
She is Helga G. Pataki.
She presses her lips against his. He’s surprised enough that he drops her wrists, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and push him backwards farther onto the bed. He relaxes beneath her, before suddenly tensing up and pulling away.
“Helga, why -?”
“Why’d you come back Arnold?” She asks.
“I-I was worried. Phoebe called and said that you weren’t doing so good and I wanted to come and make sure you were all right. I wanted to try and help. I know you hate it when I meddle but - “ He’s forced to stop when Helga kisses him again. This time, she breaks away first.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers as she runs a thumb along his cheek. She bites her lip and closes her eyes. “I messed up.” Messed up the relationship. Messed up her own life. Messed up everything. But she’s gonna fix it somehow. She swears.
She can tell that he’s got a lot of things he wants to ask, but the best thing about Arnold is that he always just knows when to let things go. So he bottles those things for later. There’ll be time to talk.
“What made you come back?” He asks.
“Stupid football-head.” She clucks her tongue and lays her head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady and they are both alive. “You should already know the answer to that one.”
“Humor me.”
“I came back because you are the only person in the whole wide world..."
Helga is selfish. But Helga is home.
"Who has never let go."
a/n: I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR MONTHS. I'M SERIOUS. I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED IT. D:
It's a little over 2,500 words. Can you believe I used to be able to crank out things that were near 5,000 words before? D: D: D:
