(This fanfic is not intended to glorify or make suicide seem like an answer)
The bath water was warm. She opened her eyes and saw that the water was turning pink where she could see. She smiled and closed her eyes again. She could hear banging and yelling on the door to the bathroom, but ignored it. Then she closed her eyes again. It sort of stung, her lungs burning, screaming for air, but she ignored it all, then silence and peace.
Then coldness. Freezing coldness and noise again. She felt a stinging on her left cheek and opened her eyes. Her father's terrified, yelling face real close to hers. She closed her eyes again and took a breath. Her lungs were delighted. Her eyes fluttered open again and there were other people, one pulling her father back and forcing him out the door, where Olga stood frozen, a look of horror on her face. Miriam was still as a statue and just as white.
Helga felt herself being lifted up from the cold floor and then carried, but then everything went dark and silent again.
Miriam was left to clean up the mess of blood and water left all over the bathroom floor.
…
"Hey you guys, you won't believe what I just saw!" Eugene called out to the group setting up for baseball. "Helga was taken away in an ambulance!"
He tripped as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
"Really?" Gerald asked. "Wonder why?"
"Oh no," Phoebe said, dropping her mitt and taking off at a run.
"Phoebe!" Gerald called out to his girlfriend, but she ignored him and kept running. He sighed, dropped the bat he was holding, waved to the others and took off after her. Phoebe and Helga had recently had an argument. He knew what she was probably thinking. It was her fault, whatever it was. When he finally made it to where Phoebe was, she looked ready to faint. She wasn't unfit, but she wasn't fit-fit either. She was out of breath.
"Pheeb's, come on, we'll go to my place and drive," he said to her. She shook her head. He sighed and settled into a jog beside her. When they finally turned down Helga's street and her house came into view, Phoebe stopped. Gerald stopped just passed her and turned to look at her. Then she slowly walked across the street and up to the house, where Olga was sitting on the stoop in tears, and a neighbour was trying to her to take a drink.
"I'm telling you, I don't blame the poor girl at all for taking her life," Phoebe heard one woman say. "I'm surprised she lasted this long."
"Sad thing it is, but let's face it, she was never a happy child," an old man said. "Always scowling, and sulking-"
"Well if Big Bob Pataki and a drunk were your parents, wouldn't you be?" asked another.
"It was only ever going to end one way for that girl. Guarantee you the older one will be next, all the pressure they put on her."
Phoebe felt tears spring to her eyes. She looked towards the speakers. One of them nudged another and pointed at her. She did the most un-Phoebe thing in her life. She gave them the finger, then made her way to Olga.
….
Big Bob sat in a waiting room. Where had he gone wrong? What had he done wrong? 'You know what you did wrong,' his voice kept echoing in his head. 'She's been crying out for help for years and you ignored every cry.' He shook his head. He had always been a busy man. First when he had his beeper business, then after that went bust he moved on to working in another business, and was now trying to work his new one up. Helga had told him a long time ago to get with the times and invest in something other than beepers.
He never did pay her any mind. She always said he'd regret it. And he did. But not because of the business side of things. He'd always ignored her when it was inconvenient. They'd poured a lot into Olga, and then along came Helga. She had been a surprise. Bob had been delighted at first, because it meant Miriam had no choice. She had to give up the booze. But then Helga had come along and it became a very different story. The reflux, the colic, the immature bladder, the bowel problems. Always getting this or that medicine, for some problem or another. They put so much work into her, and then there was their eldest daughter, that they were exhausted by the end of the day. Once Helga was "better", Bob was back at his beeper emporium everyday, sometimes seven days a week, thirteen hours a day. Miriam had gone back to drinking, Olga had her extra-curricular activities, and Helga . . . Well, she did whatever it was toddlers did before going to kindergarten.
Kindergarten. Bob often kicked himself when he remembered the call he got from Urban Tot's that day. They had tried to call Miriam, but had no luck, so had tried him at his work. Apparently she had shown up wet, with no lunch, and distressed. He had apologised profusely and lied saying he had been at work and that it was Miriam's job. The truth was he had been paying attention to Olga playing the piano. The threat of social workers being called in if it happened again was enough to wake them both up. For a little bit. But once elementary school came along, it went back to the way it was. Bob always at work, Miriam always doing whatever it was Miriam did. He didn't pay to much attention, even after his youngest daughter was sent to a therapist.
He frowned. This was a wake up call of the worst kind.
…
Miriam never dreamed that she would be cleaning her daughter's blood from the bathroom floor. It was not what a mother should have to do. She cried silently. She didn't even know why she was doing this. Where was Olga? Why wasn't Olga helping? That girl never was good when it came to real problems.
Miriam got up off her knees and went looking for her oldest daughter. She was holding back the scream that had caught in her throat at the sight of her youngest daughter floating in a bath of blood and water, razor blade at the bottom.
She made her way downstairs and opened the door to find her eldest with her head on a neighbours shoulder crying and holding a mug of steaming liquid, while Helga's little friend . . . Uh, Petra? Polly? Francie? Whoever she was, was rubbing her back and talking quietly. Everyone turned to look up at Miriam who stood over them all, looking down at them.
"The least you could do is help me clean up the mess inside, Olga," Miriam snapped. She looked over at the other neighbours. "What are you all looking at? Have a good gawk, go on. You can all go to hell!"
She glared down at Olga, who looked stunned, like a deer trapped in the headlights.
"Well, hurry up, Olga. Close your mouth, stop looking like a stunned possum and help me for God's sake, help me!" she screeched. Then she moved inside and slammed the door. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass and her sherry and poured. Then she just stared at it. This wasn't going to help, she realized. She would drink this, she would pass out, she would forget, but eventually she would awaken from the stupor, feeling worse, and her daughter, her little baby, would still be lying in a hospital. She let out a roar, picking up the bottle of sherry and throwing it at the wall. Then she went on a rampage. Any bottles she could find, hidden and in view, were smashed against the walls, the benches, the door, the table. All the while she screamed and raged.
When Olga finally entered she saw her mother's legs and hands were bleeding, and there were scratches from glass on her face. Glass was everywhere, which explained her mothers injuries. The kitchen smelled like a brewery. She slipped on the liquid, but gingerly made her way over to Miriam and picked her up under the armpits, and helped her to her feet, and led her into the lounge and to the couch. Then she went upstairs, deliberately not looking into the bathroom. The carpet in the hall outside was wet, and she could still hear the tap running. Had her mother not turned it off? The door was broken on it's hinges from where he had smashed his weight against it til it broke down.
She opened a suitcase and took out her first aid kit she kept there and hurried back down the stairs to tend to Miriam.
…
Phoebe and Gerald's walk to her place was a quiet one. Everything she had said to Helga over the last two days kept playing in her head. From what she had gleamed from Olga, Helga had gone into the bathroom, filled the tub, and slit her wrists, then let herself sink under the surface. Bob had walked past and hearing the tap running had yelled at her to turn it off. He'd gotten no answer. It was a few minutes later when Olga and Miriam really heard him yelling and banging. They got up there he was throwing himself against the door. When it finally gave, she said the look on his face was one she'd never forget. He'd screamed over and over for them to call nine-one-one. And had lifted Helga out of the bath himself.
Phoebe sobbed as quietly as she could. She should have known something was wrong. Arnold had broken Helga's heart, again, and this time, Phoebe over it had been less sympathetic to her. Told her that was what she got. That she asked for it, and that she was tired of hearing about it all the time.
"Hey, do you want me to wait with you a while, at least until your parents get home?" Gerald asked. He too was in shock. The biggest, meanest, bully had committed suicide. Or attempted. They didn't know yet if Helga Pataki was dead, but judging by the blood on Miriam's dress and the state of Olga . . . He shook his head. He had a fair idea of what would have been the last straw, but only he, Phoebe, Helga and Arnold would actually know, though Helga would know the most.
"No, I just want to be alone," she said quietly.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "You had a big shock. It might be better if I hung around, you know?"
She shook her head.
"Okay fine. Can I hang around you? Because man, I'm freaking out here," he admitted. Phoebe looked at him and saw he was telling the truth. She gave a sad, small smile.
"Okay."
….
"I wonder what happened?" Sid asked everyone around him. No one said anything. They never started the game.
"I don't know," said Eugene, "But they had one of those mask things over her face to help her breathe and everything. Bob was all scared and was crying and jumped into the ambulance with her."
"Big Bob Pataki was crying?" Arnold asked, shocked.
Eugene nodded.
Everyone looked at the ground. That couldn't be a good sign. A niggle of guilt bit into Arnold's conscience. Was he responsible for this? Gerald had warned him, Phoebe had told him, he himself knew how Helga felt. And he had used that. He bit his lip until he could taste blood. It was the third time Arnold had played this game with Helga. But the previous times she had bounced back, and been there for him when it all fell apart. He had expected the same this time. He hung around with her, going to the movies, fairs, just generally acting like boyfriend and girlfriend, and kisses were exchanged, then some pretty girl would come along, and show interest in him, and for some reason he would show interest back. It was only ever skin deep, never anything truly serious. The latest had been Lila. Again, only skin deep. Thinking back, he had been selfish. Whenever a guy showed interest in Helga, he would dump the girl he was with and hang around Helga again. He didn't want her all the time, but he would be damned if he would let anyone else have her at all.
"I'm heading home," he told everyone.
"Me too," Harold said. "I don't feel like playing anymore."
Everyone else who was there murmured in agreement, and they all went their separate ways, to try and make sense of what had happened.
When he reached the boarding house he didn't announce that he was there. He just went straight up to his room, closed the door, laid down on his bed and stared at the sky through the skylight. He knew his parents and grandparents would think he was still out with his friends, and wouldn't come looking for him for a while. He closed his eyes to hold back tears. His chest suddenly felt like it was being ripped apart, like everything was trying to rip it's way out through his skin or something. It was an actual physical pain.
When his parents finally did find him, he was asleep on his bed. By now all the parents had heard what Helga had done to herself. His mother threw a blanket over him then kissed his forehead, and quietly left his room without waking him.
…..
The phone ringing broke through the silence of the Pataki house. Olga jumped from fright at the sudden intrusive noise. Looking down at her sleeping mother, she made her way to the phone a picked it up.
"Hello?" she asked.
"She's alive," was all her father said, before hanging up.
Olga sobbed. Her baby sister was alive!
