Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any of its associates.
Author's Notes: I really forgot how much I enjoyed writing this, so I figured another chapter was in order. NSFW chapter, although I don't think this story is at all anyway.
...
Coming home, the city was sweltering hot, leaving his clothing wet with both toilet water and sweat, a smell even the dogs wandering the streets would not come near. The cuts along his arms were stinging, a sign of possible infection.
Filth, covered in filth, their hands on me, cutting into me...
Panic set into Curly's mind as he felt flashbacks to all the touches on his skin, imagining the hands as bloodied, leaving fingerprints and marks on his skin. He began to scratch at his arms vigorously as he kept walking, finally getting home. He slipped off his clothing and stepped into a shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand and scrubbing madly at his skin, his eyes seeing the blood seeping into his skin and poisoning him.
"It burns, it burns..." He repeated to himself, his flesh becoming pink and raw. After an hour, he finally exited the shower, patches of his skin actually bleeding now from having been torn at. The boy stopped in front of the mirror and looked at his nude figure, covered in various wounds and blood. This didn't seem to phase him though. He seemed almost pleased, seeing them as spear wounds, whips along his back, his blood being shed for them.
"Curly, Curly are you there?" His father said through the closed door. "Yes, I am, Father." He said, regally. A pause, then he spoke again. "Well, I'm just saying bye. I need to get to the airport. The Peterson business deal, remember? I love you son, please be careful. We'll talk more to your school about all this when I get back." As the footsteps faded, Curly pressed his body against the mirror, feeling the cool glass against his burning skin. It felt as good as cool water over him and he couldn't help but grind his boyish hips into the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. Laying out on his frayed bedsheet, his hand reached into the drawer, pulling out a faded yellow shirt that had the remnants of "Curly's Girl" on the front, bringing it to his face and breathing in the scent, a bare wisp of Rhonda's perfume still on it. He shuddered and clung to it.
"Oh, Rhonda, maybe I'll let you off the hook if you let my bury my face into that snow white neck of yours and make you mine..." He pressed himself into a pillow, thinking of her. His fantasies started off normal, but became more and more twisted, letting out a cry as he quickly shuddered against the pillow, the image of Rhonda's blood on the floor throwing him into esctasy.
He lay there in the silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the city outside and the cool air against his stinging skin. He sat up and tossed the soiled pillow to the side, the shirt in his drawer and walked through his house to his father's bedroom. Opening the closet, he found his desired. A very large locked chest. He kneeled and stroked his hand over it, a twisted smile on his face, inserting a wire into the lock. After a minute, it clicked and the lock fell into his hands, revealing the treasure within.
This is my word, what I will use to split the ground and wash away all their sins...
...
Arnold woke up a few nights later in a cold sweat, looking around his room frantically. The sound was ringing in his ears. It had to have been real. Throwing the covers off of him, the young boy raced down the stairs of his bedroom, into the upstairs hallway. Everything was perfectly fine. No, it couldn't be. He dashed down to the first floor, breathless when he found that everything was as it should be downstairs as well, his grandmother combating a fly that had found its way into the kitchen.
"Arnold, what's wrong? You look like you were hunting the beast of the plains! Hiyah!" She took a swipe at the fly, snapping as it evaded her grasp, but letting it go for now as she walked over to her grandson, who had tears in his eyes.
"Grandma, I heard a sound, a shot, I thought someone, you or Grampa..." He panted, near hysterical. Her arms came around him and held him close as Arnold's eyes closed, trying to breathe normally. After a minute, he spoke once more.
"Grandma, I'm scared and I don't know why. Something feels really bad."
"Pay attention to those feelings, Arnold. You might have someone telling you something you need to know." She ruffled his hair. "I need to get back to the hunt and you, to bed."
"Okay, Grandma." He sniffled, walking out of the kitchen, hearing a few glasses break as she kicked at the wall to smash the fly. Arnold's nerves were still tingling and his chest ached from how fast his heart had been beating. He'd never been so terrified in all his life. What was happening to him? He couldn't even remember what he had dreamt, just the ear splitting sound. Even thinking about it made him tremble in fear.
When he made up back up to his room and laid out on his bed, he looked to the sky above him, little splatters of rain beginning to sprinkle on his ceiling. The rain was calming, but Arnold still felt chilled and wondered if his Grandma was right, that someone or something was trying to tell him something, that something was going to happen.
