The characters here are not mine, they are Craig Bartlett's. I'm also writing about them as 17-year-olds.
I hated this.
It had been a long night. We were at a friend's house. His parents were out of town and a party was being held without their knowledge. Music was raging from the speakers, empty beer cans scattered the modest looking home, the intoxicated danced and stumbled about, and many others were being equally obnoxious. I watched Helga drink the punch, then a beer. She then took a few shots; all of which were vodka. She was tipsy, well, maybe a little more than tipsy.
She was the most drunk I've ever seen her. She lost all her inhibitions. She was constantly flirty, raunchy, and annoying. She yelled instead of talking at her usual pitch. She was incapable of walking straight and her shoes had mysteriously disappeared. I kept an eye on her as I stood talking with a group of boys from my school. It was Harold, Iggy, Stinky, Sid, and Gerald to be exact. As we were in the middle of our talk, Helga and I made eye contact. She stumbled to me and interrupted our conversation about baseball.
"Arnold?" she asked leaning on my arm. "Do you like my tits?"
My eyes widened in shock. "What?" I asked. My cheeks turned a rosy shade of crimson.
"I asked," she smiled seductively, "do you like my tits?"
"Haha. Wow, Helga." Gerald laughed.
"Helga," I stuttered, "I don't think that that's appropriate to-"
"Maybe you should get another opinion," Sid drunkenly interjected "You should show them to us. We'll tell you what we think."
"Sid!" I growled warningly. He took a step back.
"I can see where this is going," Gerald looked away uncomfortably.
"C'mon, let's see them." I shot Harold a death glare before I realized that Helga's hands made their way to her midriff clutching the bottom of her pink shirt. In a flash, she exposed her waist and her perfectly perky b-cups. I was no longer the only person who could appreciate the cute little mole that resides below her left nipple. Her shirt was off completely and her bra was caught in her hair. Without thinking, I grabbed her covering her chest with my forearms.
"Ooh, Awwnold's getting to second base!" Harold erupted in laughter. I turned Helga towards me, away from the others, and quickly forced her to wear the plaid collared shirt I wore over my t-shirt. Aside from Harold and Sid, the other boys looked shyly away from Helga and me. This situation must have been awkward for them.
"Helga! What the hell?" I roared grabbing her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. I said it louder than I should. She looked at me and her sweet blue eyes started to water. I must have scared her because she turned around and ran up the stairs.
The party was leaving a loud ringing sound in my ears. Even going upstairs, the music was deafening. I checked the nearest door; it was just an empty closet. Then I peeked into the next door revealing an empty bathroom. After that, I found another bedroom. Which was, unfortunately, not empty. Two teenagers were tangled together on a twin bed, their bodies were mostly exposed. I quickly slammed the door shut. The girl I was looking for wasn't in there. It's going to be hard to get that image out of my head, I thought to myself.
The final room seemed empty at first. I could tell it was the master bedroom and I assumed that any party-goers may have been hesitant to enter it. The lights were off and the streetlight cast a soft glow in the room. Without that, I wouldn't have seen the little blond head rocking back and forth behind the bed.
I quietly took a step in the empty room. As I shut the door, the sounds of lame pop music were replaced by my girlfriend's quiet sobs. I slowly made my way to her. She was rocking back and forth on the cold hardwood floor of the bedroom. "Helga?" I spoke softly.
"I'm just like her, I'm just like her!" she sobbed.
I bit my lip, this wasn't the first time I've heard her say these words.* My mind instantly remembered that rainy day, during our sophomore year. She held the same insecurities that she had when our relationship temporarily came to an end around the time of her mother's death. She was drunk, which made her weak. When she was weak, her insecurities could kill her.
I sat beside her. I tried to wrap her in an embrace but as I touched her, she jolted back as if I was on fire. "I'm a slut, I'm a drunken slut. How can you be so forgiving? I betrayed you. I betrayed our love. My inability to maintain control shouldn't be forgiven so easily. You deserve better than me. You deserve a woman as perfect as you are." She held her head up, looking me in the eyes. "I am at fault here. I can't blame my mother for being just like her. I can't blame genetics either. This was entirely my fault. I'm such a stupid, brainless slut." Despite being inebriated, she spoke this beautifully and eloquently.
How could she put me on such a high pedestal? Where did she obtain this idea that I was perfect, a saint! These feelings for me have always intrigued me since I first learned of them that night on the FTi rooftop. Nobody is perfect, especially not me.
"I love you, and I love this." I wrapped my arms around her. I paused for a minute, trying to find the right words. I wasn't as good at it as Helga. "I don't care about your weaknesses. In fact, I love them! I love every thing about you. Your passion and love for me are all I need." I sighed and brushed a tear from her cheek. "I have faults too. Please realize that. I love yours like you love mine."
She seemed so tiny in my plaid shirt. She used the extra fabric at the end of her sleeves as a handkerchief to cry in. "Just don't forgive me so easily. It's okay to be mad at me," she spoke softly. "Let's figure out a way I can make up for this in the morning."
I liked this idea. I immediately thought of all the English homework she could do for me. Naw, I can't take advantage of her like that, I thought."Don't worry about it. This was just a drunken outburst. It's no big deal."
She smiled apologetically. "Thanks. I love you, Arnold."
I smiled, "I love you too."
*I'm referring to a fanfic I wrote earlier. Check out Chapter three of Sweet Hostility.
-This is why I don't drink anymore. Because when a girl is tipsy and put into the wrong situation (which my friends usually create for my girlfriends) It's really hard for her to control those drunken "slut urges." Even for me, (and I'm a fairly modest lady) fire water makes me want to take my clothes off. Thank god that's never happened in public.
I know this is a perverted fanfic but I can't help but write it. Arnold and Helga's characters seem so real to be that it's easy to put them in these real situations.
Anyways, I'm about to post another story. It's already finished. It's related to this one and it's called "Arnold Gets Drunk." I hope ya'll enjoy.
-Twelvepercent :3