Helga's POV

She was running as fast as her legs and the wind could take her. Her lungs and throat were on fire, but that wasn't going to stop her. Everything inside her body screamed and begged her to stop and rest, but she kept running. The raindrops felt like she was being stung repetitively, but she just kept running. She wasn't running anywhere in particular, just anywhere but back to her god-for-saken hovel she could barely call a home. The rain and dark night masked the fact that she was crying, bloody, and bruised. All she wanted was sanctuary. All she wanted was comfort. She was beginning to turn cold, and broken.

Arnold's POV

Rain was pouring down, and it stung. "I just want to be home…" he thought to himself, running down the block with arms full of grocery bags. The rain started falling while he was in the grocery store. "Why did grandma need to make watermelon, and raspberry jam tonight?" he loved his grandmother dearly but she was kooky in many ways and a bit off to him, he never truly understood why though. His legs hurt but he kept running, while the rain kept on pouring down on him. Suddenly, Mighty Pete came into his view and a smile crossed his face. "Why Not?" he decided as he approached the tree. With all his strength he held his groceries on one arm while using his hands to climb the tree to safety.

Arnold was greatful for the tree's easy-step ladder, and huge cover. He knew he was safe here, and would wait out the storm. He set down his groceries in a corner and scanned the medium sized room. A dark figure in the corner suddenly came into view, which shocked Arnold. Quietly, he approached the figure, thinking it might be some hobo in need of a hiding spot from the rain. He knew Karate, so he knew he could fend for himself if the figure attacked. However, what he saw wasn't even a man.

Lying on the hard wooden boards of the tree house was a bloody, bruised, wet, shivering and sleeping 16 year old Helga Pataki. Arnold let go of a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding in. "It can't be Helga... She's a fighter… who could do this to a girl?" Granted Helga had never been close to him or nice for longer than 5 minutes, but he did care about her since she had lightened up on the torment during 6th grade in middle school. Arnold had no clue as of what to do. His personal tormentor/frienemy lay in a corner of a dark and wooden room of a tree house bloody, and defenseless. "How long has she been here?" he wondered to himself as he took a moment to observe her.

Her hair was down, her usual gray beanie (that he had won for her at the cheese festival at the beginning of 9th grade) was beside her and her once thought to be gone pink bow was drooping in her hair, her clothes looked beyond soaking wet, and if he wasn't mistaken they were covered in blood stains. Helga rolled over in her sleep and with the help of a cut-out window, Arnold noticed she had a bruise on her left cheek the size of a palm-print. What made Arnold cringe the most was that there was a handprint very dark and prominent on her neck. Arnold, being a gentleman, wanted to know if there were marks anywhere else on her. Just the idea made his blood boil. Bully or not, Helga didn't deserve this.

They were three weeks away from starting their Junior year of high school, and Helga was tough, but he knew she would lose it if anyone saw her like this. He sat down in a corner close to her with his head in his hands. He was so mad because he had a good idea of whose handprints those were, and slightly mad at her for not coming to him with her problem. He wanted to cry for her, and panic was quickly overtaking him that he was beginning to feel frozen. Suddenly Helga's figure started to stir.