Authors Note: I thought up this whole drawn out story years ago while listening to the song Chasing Cars, and now it is finally making its way to the interwebs for your enjoyment.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold.
"Don't act like you're surprised Bob!" Helga shouted at her father. "You and Miriam have been getting calls from the schools about this my whole life." He glared down at her and opened his mouth but she wasn't about to let him speak.
"No. You've always known who taught me to act like this. It's no wonder you never loved me! Whenever you look at me all you see is everything that's wrong with you!" His face was purple. She knew she should stop, she also knew she couldn't.
"Congratulations Bob. You fail at being a parent." She glared at her mother who sat at the table. Helga was shocked to see she wasn't passed out at this point in the day. She shook her head.
"And don't even get me started on my pathetic, drunken excuse for a mother." She heard the slap before she felt it. Then suddenly the left side of her face was on fire. She didn't care. She couldn't do anything but stare into Bob's angry eyes.
"Never talk about Miriam like that!"
"Bob-" Miriam mumbled. He didn't wait for her to finish.
"Get out of my house." Helga took a step backwards and glanced at her mother.
"She's just a kid B."
"OUT!" Helga turned and ran. She wasn't sure where she was going but she wasn't stopping until her lungs and legs refused to work, which unfortunately wasn't very far. Helga was a very lean and tall teenager, but she had no endurance when it came to running. She rested her arm against someone's stoop, leaned over to catch her breath, and brushed at a few strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Once she was breathing normally again she stood up to see where she was, and immediately turned and started running.
Crimeny! Of all the places in the whole city I run to Arnold's house? In her hurry to escape she ran directly into someone. The last person she wanted to see. He looked amazing, as always, in his blue T-shirt and jeans. He had finally grown into his head sometime in that last four years and he was even more handsome for it. She stared at him for a few seconds before speaking.
"Geez! Watch where you're going football-head!"
"Helga," he snapped, "you're standing in front of my house. I think you should watch where you're going." He shifted the bag of groceries he was holding to his other arm and looked down at her.
She took a step back and stared. He'd only spoken to her like that once or twice in her whole life. It seemed like everyone had had enough of her. Even Arnold. The thought made her want to cry. She shook her head and turned to run back the way she came. Even spending eternity in her hell hole of a house was better than Arnold being angry with her.
She was jerked to a stop when something grabbed her wrist. She stared at the hand holding on to her. Arnold's hand. The relief was overwhelming.
"What's wrong Helga?" Somehow she know her flaxen haired angel wouldn't let her down. She looked up at him preparing to respond with an insult but was stopped by the way his eyes widened.
"You've been crying." She had? Her free hand rubbed her eyes and sure enough her eyelashes were wet. She was suddenly angry that something her asshole of a dad had done made her cry. Since when did she care what Bob and Miriam did? Suddenly Arnold released her wrist and grabbed her chin.
"Helga your face . . . " He stared so intensely at her she felt completely naked. She closed her eyes and turned her head. She didn't want him to see her. She didn't want him to know what a messed up excuse for a person she really was. She couldn't give a rat's ass what anyone else thought of her. But if Arnold knew how broken she was it would kill her. She heard the rustling of his grocery bag and felt his other hand gently caressing her cheek. She probably would have fainted at the sensation of Arnold touching her so lovingly if it didn't hurt to realize that after all she'd done he still cared so much.
"Helga," his voice was a whisper, "did somebody hit you?" The question echoed around her head several times before she finally grasped it. Yes. Her own father hit her. It meant one of two things. Either he had never loved her, or he was capable of hurting someone he loved. Helga hoped he'd never loved her, because if he could hurt someone he loved, she could too. An image of her slapping Arnold across the face rushed into her mind. She forced her eyes open and there he was, his green eyes staring into her, waiting for an answer. She tried to hold back the sobs that were demanding release but she couldn't, not anymore.
He wasn't surprised to see Helga standing in front of his house looking confused. It had happened before and was likely to happen again. He wasn't quite sure why, and didn't think he ever would. Yet another item on the list of things he would never understand about Helga.
He wasn't surprised when she ran into him, nearly knocking him down. It had been a daily occurrence until this year, their first year of high school. It seemed she was no longer willing to go completely out of her way torture him anymore.
He wasn't surprised to hear her yell at him to watch where he was going. He wasn't surprised at how quickly he snapped at her. Today had been hell and the last thing he needed was Helga standing in front of his house yelling at him.
He was surprised when he caught a glimpse of the tear stains running down her cheeks.
"What's wrong Helga?" When she looked up at him he stared. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked terrible. Well as terrible as she could look. She'd changed a lot since fourth grade. She now had two perfectly shaped, perfectly groomed eyebrows. It had taken him a week to figure out why she looked so different all of a sudden. She still wore pink everyday. In fact today she was wearing a white shirt and pink jumper very similar to the one she had worn all the time in grade school. The style looked a lot better on her now, falling nicely on the curves that had mysteriously shown up one summer. The jumper too short to wear as a dress, so she wore as a shirt with a pair of tight jeans.
"You've been crying." He added when she still hadn't responded. She reached up and rubbed her eyes then stared at her hand in confusion. It was quickly replaced by anger. He noticed how red her cheeks were then realized it was only the one cheek. With furrowed brows he released her wrist and gently grabbed her chin, turning her face slightly.
"Helga your face . . . " It was red and starting to bruise. She shut her eyes and turned her head giving him an even clearer view of her wound. Both of her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. He probably should have stepped back in case she decided to hit him, but he stepped closer and set his groceries down.
It must really hurt. He thought as he stared at her cheek. Now that he could see the whole thing it was obvious what had happened. It was a hand print. Fear swept through his entire body as he ran his fingers across the large welt. He couldn't think of anyone stupid enough to try to hit Helga Pataki. He couldn't think of anyone she would let get away with it. But someone had, so he asked.
"Helga," his voice came out so soft he could barely hear it, "did somebody hit you?" He watched her for a moment as she fought some battle within herself. She flinched, threw open her eyes, and after a few tense, quiet seconds, began to cry.
No, she wasn't crying. She was shaking with sobs so violent Arnold was afraid her body would tear itself apart. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He was shocked when she returned the embrace. She rested her head against his shoulder, her bangs tickling his neck.
He marveled at how soft her long blond hair was. It would probably go all the way down her back if she didn't keep pulled up all the time. Arnold was left to stare at the pink ribbon she'd tied around her ponytail as a replacement for the oversize bow of their childhood.
She cried for a long time, her fingers gripping his shirt so tightly he was afraid she'd rip it to shreds. He was starting to worry that she would never stop.
"Helga?" She slowly released his shirt and stepped back. He glanced down at the wet spot her tears had left.
"Sorry. I should go."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No!" She spat. She took a step away from him.
"Maybe you should come inside for a while."
"What for Arnaldo? So you can tell everyone that Helga really does have feelings? So you can play school counselor and try to get me to talk out my problems? So you can make my life all sunshine and rainbows? Well sorry to break it to you bucko but not even you can fix this!"
A day ago he would have believed it, he would have walked away and let her deal with it herself. Ten minutes ago he would have relied on the belief that Helga was strong, unstoppable, and untouchable. But the wet spot on his shirt and the welt on her face told him otherwise. Her eyes were begging him to ignore what she was saying and . . . he wasn't sure, but he decided this time he wasn't going to let Helga G. Pataki and her temper get the better of him.
He shook his head, wondering how he expected to live through this. Considering what she'd been kicked out of school for this morning, it was a miracle he'd survived this long. He picked up his grocery bag and took her hand.
"You really should come inside." He stared at her hoping today his gaze would have it's weird effect on her. Sometimes if he just looked at her long enough she'd actually listen. He'd discovered this shortly after Gerald and Phoebe decided to go public with their relationship and the four of them had started eating lunch together.
Every now and then he would catch her staring at him with this dreamy look on her face. He wondered if she still liked him. After her confession of undying love in fourth grade she hadn't shown any signs that she even liked him as a human being but, then again, she hadn't before then either. These days she appeared to merely tolerate him on Phoebe's behalf. Yet another item on the list.
Whatever her reasons his plan worked. Her expression began to soften and she nodded. He pulled her up the stairs and stopped. He released her hand and reached around her to open the door. Several animals he wasn't even sure belonged to them went scurrying through the opening. Arnold swept his hand toward his home.
"Ladies first."