"I just don't get her," Gerald said, looking over at where Helga was standing. Arnold looked over to see who he was talking about. He always felt bad when Gerald said something negative or bad about Helga. He knew that she was lonely. Very lonely. He did what he could to make her happy. But it wouldn't help when Bob Pataki would boast about some accomplishment of Arnold's, while ignoring hers.. It was like she went from the shadow of her older sister, to the shadow of her "brother". And it must have hurt all the more because Arnold wasn't even blood.
He was, however, the boy Robert Pataki had always wanted.
"She's just having a rough time at the moment," he said defensively.
"That girl is always having a "rough time" man, why do you keep defending her?" Gerald demanded. "How does someone as nice as Phoebe hang around with her? She deserves better than Helga Pataki for a "best friend"."
"Just shut up about it, Gerald," Arnold grumbled. He loved hanging out with his best friend. But not when he started speaking negatively of Helga.
He and Helga had been raised together in the same household. When they were introduced to people they were introduced as brother and sister.
Yet they were so different.
Helga was quiet, and reserved, though Arnold knew she had a flaring temper that was quick to ignite, whereas his was slow. Arnold was outgoing and made a lot of friends easily. Helga had two best friends in the world. Him and Phoebe. Even then, Arnold sometimes wondered if Helga even liked him, or just tolerated his existence because she had no choice. When they were little, not long after he arrived, they were joined at the hip.
Then, when they started middle school, they started to drift apart a bit. Helga started to retreat, sometimes to the point where Arnold would wonder if she really existed, or was a figment of his imagination. It was only when others spoke of her that he realized that, no, she wasn't part of his imagination, but real. Just quiet.
And sarcastic and snarky as all hell.
When she did "break out of her shell", people usually immediately regret it, and wished for her to retreat again. She always knew what a persons raw nerve was, and always hitting it hard, she could make even teachers cry, and had done so. One had even quit after a particularly nasty show down with her. Not that many children complained. She was a nasty woman to have, and no one really liked her. One day she decided that she would pick on Helga. Helga put up with it for two weeks, before she went on the attack. A very vicious one. The teacher had left in tears and not returned, though Helga was called into the office. And Bob was called.
Arnold could still remember the ride home vividly.
"Why can't you be more like your sister, or your brother?" Bob berated her. "I never get called into the office for Arnold. And never met the Principal at all while your sister was there. Unless you count the times I saw him from a distance as she got a reward. Speaking of which, I put up another shelf for you boy."
Bob kept Arnold busy. Sports mostly, though he pushed him in academics as well. Arnold often went to Helga for help. Sometimes she would help him. Other times not. He had trophy's, ribbons and certificates, all on their own shelves and boards in the Trophy Room. The most recent one had been second place for BMX.
Sometimes Arnold would look at all, and wonder why he had so many, while Helga seemingly had none. Helga was almost non-existent in the house. She would leave a very little mark on the family. The only photo's she was in, were family ones. And she always looked . . . separate . . . from them, like she didn't belong. Which always seemed weird, considering he was the adopted one, and yet looked more like he belonged than she did.
That was the day Helga finally shut him out. She stormed up to her room and slammed her bedroom door. Arnold had gone up later to talk to her, but she refused to open the door, and when he looked in, she threw a book at him, and he quickly backed out and closed the door. She didn't even come down for dinner that night.
"Nothing but problems with that girl since she was conceived," Bob muttered. "Remember the morning sickness you used to get with her Miriam?"
"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, morning sickness, terrible," Miriam would mutter, then take a bite from her food. Arnold frowned at her. Something always seemed off with her. Helga had called her a drunk.
"That's horrible, Helga, why would you say that?" Arnold had asked once. Helga had looked him straight in the eyes, and sneered.
"Because it's the truth, Football Head," she'd said, and stormed off to ballet. Arnold later looked up what she meant by drunk. Okay, so maybe she was . . .
That day had been two years ago. Although they talked, and Arnold knew more about her than most people would have, she still refused to really talk to him.
"Look, I'm just saying-"
"Well, dont," Arnold snapped.
Fourteen years old, and in their first year at high school, the boys had been through a lot together. Hormones were starting to kick their butts. Both had resorted to using products to hold back the acne. So far so good. Helga had laughed when she had caught him using her stuff.
"Nothing will make you look good, Football Head, so why bother?" she'd sneered at him.
"Better than having a jungle growing on my face," he quipped back. "When are you planning to harvest it?"
His hair turned pink the next night after a shower. Lesson not learned though. He wasn't going to be bullied by her! Again though, it was Helga who was punished, while Arnold got away with it. Helga stood silently, glaring at the wall, as Bob yelled at her for her "antics" and forced her to apologize to him.
It was always the way, and it was getting to a point now, where Arnold felt quite smug when it happened.
He watched as she walked across the cafeteria and took a seat next to one of the most reknown freaks in the surrounding high schools: Thaddeus Gammelthorpe, known as Curly.
Arnold knew Helga and he took ballet together. He had gone to one show once, because Gerald wanted to impress Phoebe, by showing he could be "cultured".
Strange feelings had nudged their way to the surface, while Arnold watched Helga and Curly dance together. He had left feeling hot and nearly out of breath. And when he went to sleep that night, it was restless. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Helga dancing.
He saw her look his way and smirk, then she started to talk to Curly. Arnold looked away.
"I'm gonna do it, man," Gerald said.
"Do what?" Arnold asked, looking up.
"Ask Phoebe out."
"Really? Minus spilling your soda down her back this time, right?" Arnold asked, not being able to help himself, as a laugh escaped.
"Man, that is not cool," Gerald said, sending him a glare. "Just have my back, okay?"
Arnold smiled. "I'll even hold your drink!"
"Just hurry up and finish eating so I can do this before I lose my nerve," he said. Arnold smiled and scoffed down the last of his food.
"Come on then," he said.
They both made their way over to the table where Phoebe sat, with Helga and Curly. Just as he was about to say something two other kids joined the group. Arnold rolled his eyes. Gerald was going to chicken out for sure, now. He gave him a push.
All five of them looked up and Gerald and Arnold.
"What?" Curly asked, "May we do, for you?"
"Go out with me!" Gerald blurted out. It was quiet for a moment, before everyone at the table laughed. Curly leaned back and smirked.
"While I'm flattered, I must decline. You're not my type," he said. There was a little more laughing at the table.
"Good thing he didn't mean you, you freak," Arnold butted in. "He meant Phoebe. You're too much psycho for Gerald's taste. Plus it's rumored you have a dick."
"He was joking Football Head," Helga said suddenly. "Sometimes I think you have nothing but air in that head of yours."
"Makes the moniker more ironic, doesn't it love?" Curly said, turning to her.
"Shut up," Arnold snapped. He turned to glare at Helga.
"What are you going to do, Arnold?" she asked. "Run home and tell daddy?"
Before Arnold could say anything, Gerald looked at Phoebe and asked her again.
"Of course, Gerald," she answered.
"Oh, brother," Helga said, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, Helga, what is it?" Arnold asked. The way those words came from her mouth and made him feel made him feel edgy. Something wasn't right here. Helga glared at him.
"Go away Arnold."
...
...
Things didn't get any easier as they got older. When they were fifteen, Bob finally gave Helga permission to convert the basement into a mock ballet room. She had a barre put in, and mirrors. She did begin to pluck her brow, but still kept them thick, though shaped. She was tall and lithe. Arnold would covertly spy on her as she danced.
He needed a distraction.
It didn't help that his best friend was dating her best friend. It often meant they were hanging out together. That summer Arnold really realized something was wrong. Watching her in her bikini, he'd gotten . . . aroused. His dreams were often filled with her. It was getting to the point where he needed a release.
Enter Lila Sawyer.
Lila was nice to people she liked, not so nice to people she didn't. But she did it in a way where you couldn't hate her for it. She was polite about her dislike of people. She was also completely different from his sister . . . yes, sister, that's how he needed to think of Helga. After all, isn't that how they were raised.
"There's no blood, there's no blood," a voice would whisper in his ear. "You can have her, you know you can. Without blood, it's not incest!"
"Bob would kill me," he would answer back to the voice.
"Then dont. Get. Caught."
Once he and Lila started dating, Helga hung around with Phoebe less and less, until they were barely speaking.
This suited Arnold just fine. The only time it became a problem was when he was at home. But really, these days, the only time he saw Helga was at dinner times. After dinner she would seal herself up in her room. Arnold had snuck in there to get a CD she had, that he wanted to listen too.
He saw a book sitting under her pillow and pulled it out.
Lady Chatterly's Lover.
Arnold put it back, but went to his room and looked it up. He smirked. He now had a pretty good idea of what Helga was doing alone in her room. But instead of giving him reason to mock her, it made his urges worse. The idea of her, lying in bed, reading erotic literature, maybe touching herself . . . he decided to spy on her one night, and hid his wireless computer camera in her room. He knew it was risky and he could be caught. But he was just curious . . .
He settled in to watch the show.
Helga went and had a shower before going to her room. Arnold watched as she dropped her towel on the floor and dropped herself down onto her bed. She laid there for a moment, before sitting up. The hair down there was a few shades darker than the hair on her head, and she had been keeping it trimmed. Instead of doing anything interesting, Arnold saw her getting her sleepwear out of her drawers and singing.
"Days like these, lead to, nights like this, lead to, love like ours," and Arnold swore she looked straight at the camera when she said the last words. "You light the spark in my bonfire heart."
Arnold slammed the lid to his laptop down.
The next morning he found the camera sitting on his bedside table with a small note.
Enjoy the show?
...
...
