Grandma and Grandpa were really worried about me when Helga left. I could see it in their eyes and they started talking much much gentler than usual. Grandpa stopped talking about raspberries and Grandma lost the whole senile-act and behaved like the grandmotherly figure that she should've been the whole time. I always knew she was faking.

After college, they let me move into the Boarding House indefinitely, and they never asked too many questions. I really appreciated that.

When my grandparents were younger, their situation was eerily similar to mine and Helga's. Grandma was the relentless bully that was head-over-heels for her favorite victim, and, in the end, they fell madly in love with each other and had never been a part since. But in their story, they lived happily ever after. I ended up alone. I think they realized the severity of my situation, because I knew they saw themselves in me. They saw what they would've been like if they didn't have each other, and I could feel their pity pour over me in buckets. They saw the bottles. They smelled the whiskey. They caught me, collapsed on my bed on my worst days. They just didn't know what to do, and I don't really blame them.

They died on the same day. Both peacefully in their sleep. Grandpa's last words to me were, "Get some rest, Shortman," and Grandma gave me her final kiss on my cheek when they put me to bed. Every once in a while, they would catch me completely wasted in a room other than my bedroom, and together they would walk me up the stairs with the hopes that I'd have good dreams. I appreciated the sentiment.

The day of the funeral was the last day I saw Helga. I asked Phoebe to invite her, (I don't know her address, or her phone number or anything), but I wasn't expecting her to show up. I thought she still wasn't speaking to me, (her parting words spoke for themselves), but, to my complete and utter surprise, she actually did come with Phoebe and Gerald. She was wearing a long black dress, and her hair brushed neatly and resting gently on her shoulders. She had been crying, but she still looked so beautiful. She had two eyebrows now. I wondered when that had happened. My heart swelled at the sight of her, but then shattered when I realized that she wasn't there for me, and she wouldn't stay afterwards. I knew she wouldn't even come to say hi, or apologize for my loss, or... or anything. She was there for my grandparents, because she loved them and they loved her.

I was the only close family that Grandma and Grandpa had left, so I had to stand by myself right before the funeral to accept the apologies from people I hardly knew. Gerald had hugged me so tight I thought my spine was going to snap and he murmured near my ear, "I'm really sorry, man." I just nodded and let him hug me until he was finished, and when he pulled back his face was so contorted with worry that it almost scared me. I managed a smile. It was shaky and it fell almost immediately, but I had to do something for Gerald's sake, and I saw some relief in his eyes at my gesture. At least I was trying. But then he sighed, and said quietly, so only I could hear, "I'll be over here if you need me."

Phoebe was very teary eyed, and she kept jumping at every little noise, but when she saw it was her turn to give me her sympathies, she nearly leaped into my arms and gave me a hug almost as tight as Gerald's. "Arnold, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

I patted her on the back and said "S'okay."

She held me for a bit longer before letting me go, checking my face briefly to make sure I wasn't crying, and then scurrying off after Gerald.

I looked to see who was next in line and my heart nearly stopped. My brain froze, and my blood ran cold, and every other bad thing that can happen to a person without killing them happened to me. I thought she'd hang out in the back of the church and wait for the service to begin, but no. She was standing right before me, rubbing one of her shoulders nervously, and her feet crossed in front of her. My mouth opened and closed in shock, before I finally managed out, "H-Helga?"

Helga glanced at me briefly, before looking in the direction that Phoebe had gone off in. She didn't say anything for a moment, but then her icy blue eyes suddenly flicked back to me and she said in a shaky voice, "Hi, Arnold."

Without thinking, I took a step forward and pulled her thin frame into my chest, wrapping my arms around her as tight as I dared. Tears poured down my cheeks and it was so hard to breath. I was so happy that she had come to see me, and that she was inside of my arms again, that I could almost smile, but then it registered... Helga wasn't hugging me back. She was just... there. She was just letting it happen. I let go of her slightly so I could see her face, and I was shocked to see that the whole time I was holding her, she had been silently crying. When I caught her gaze, I saw the same sadness in her eyes that I saw... that one particular day, and I realized that...

"Arnold," she said, desperately trying to control her voice, "I'm here for the funeral."

I stared at her. "Th-the funeral?"

Very gently, Helga broke out of my hold and absentmindedly smoothed out her dress. "Yes. It was, uh... g-good to... " Helga swallowed. "It was good to, uh... I'm sorry for your loss, and I, uh..." She took a staggered breath, glancing in the direction of Phoebe and Gerald again. "I'm sorry, Arnold." Her gazed rested on me again. "I'm really sorry."

"That's okay," I said quickly, taking a step towards her and reaching an arm out so I could hold her hand. "Helga, please, it's okay. And I'm sorry -"

Helga took a quick step away from me, like she thought my touch would burn her, and hid her hands behind her back. She averted her eyes. "No, Arnold. I'm here for the funeral and I'm sorry for your loss and, um... oh, God, Arnold, I still lo-" Her breath caught in her throat and she cleared it a few times, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "I'm sorry."

And with that, (despite my cry of, "Helga, wait!"), she hurried away from me.

I didn't really pay much attention to the rest of the funeral. I just sort of followed in the direction of everybody else, and I was lucky that Gerald was by my side the whole time, or else I definitely would've wandered away and gotten lost. I was asked to say a few words as they lowered my Grandma and Grandpa into the ground, side-by-side, just as they would've like it, but I refused. I couldn't get two words out, let alone deliver a heart-felt speech about how much I loved them. I loved them... so much. They were pretty much my parents, and I had just lost them, nine months after I lost part of my soul. It was too much; I couldn't handle it.

After my grandparents were lowered into the ground, and people were dispersing, I caught sight of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I'd recognize that blonde hair anywhere, so I called out, before she could get too far, "Helga! Helga, please wait!" She pretended like she didn't hear me and she started hurrying away faster. "Just a minute, please! Just to say goodbye!" At those words, Helga did halt in her movements, and she slowly pivoted on the spot to look at me with a purposefully vacant stare. I let out a sigh of relief; she was gracing me with her presence, which sounds cheesy, but after nine months without her, I meant the words so sincerely.

I took a few steps forward when an unwelcome woman suddenly jumped in my path. She flung her arms around my neck and buried her head in my chest, saying in a woeful voice, "Oh, Arnold! I'm so sorry for your loss! I tried to find you in the Church, but you weren't anywhere!" I was frozen in shock, but when I recovered, and pushed the bitch off of me, Helga had already made a beeline in the opposite direction. The last thing I saw was a flash of blonde hair and then she was gone.

I blinked a few tears away. I lost my chance. She was giving me a chance, and I lost it because of the most unwelcome person I could've ever imagined: Rachel. Rachel, the bitch Helga hated back in high school. Rachel, the bitch that was always on the hunt for unsuspecting guys to fuck and flee. Rachel, the bitch that ruined my life. I scowled fiercely at her, and shouted, "What the hell do you think you're doing? And why are you even here?" I'm sure I attracted some attention, but nobody came to intervene, which I guess, technically, was a bad thing, but that moment was too satisfying that I couldn't begrudge anybody for not stepping in.

Rachel smiled at me. "I'm here to support you." She leaned forward and whispered, "Your grandparents passed away," as if it were some huge fucking secret between her and I, but I just barred my teeth at her.

"They were both almost a century old. As sad as I am, it wasn't exactly unexpected," I snapped at her. She didn't look bothered by my yelling at her. In fact, it looked like her smile actually grew at the fact that I yelled at her, and that just made me angrier. I'd never felt more dangerous in my life, and, before I even realized what I was doing, I took a step towards her. I felt the daggers in my eyes and I said, "Enough pleasantries. You're the reason I lost the love of my life." I had never hated a human being more than I hated Rachel in that moment. And every moment afterwards. She deserves to rot in hell.

"What, Helga?" She scoffed and I wanted to bash her brains in. "Look, Arnold, I know you're grieving, and I really am sorry that your grandma and grandpa are dead, but you were not that attached to Helga Pataki. Remember Valentine's Day?"

I took another step towards her, the rage building in my veins like my blood was some sort of freak scientific screw-up. "Yes, I remember. That was the day you ruined my life. She never forgave me, even though it wasn't my fault. You're the one who kissed me."

"Please, don't act like you didn't like it, Arnold," she said, with a wave of her hand. (Gerald scowled. He knew what Arnold was about to do, and he wholeheartedly condoned it, even if he was about five years too late.)

"I didn't like it. In fact, I found it absolutely revolting. And you wanna know why?"

She smirked. "Please."

"Because I don't like swapping spit with sluts," I answered, my hands balling into fists at my sides. I felt my mouth twist into something ugly and I was seeing an alarming shade of red. My face felt so warm, even though it was a fucking cold day in early November. "And you, Rachel, are the biggest slut I have ever met."

Rachel's mouth opened and closed in shock. She'd known me for four years-all throughout high school-but she'd never heard me curse before. I never used to do it very much; my Mr. Modest title wasn't just limited to sex. I didn't swear, I hardly ever drank, and I had only ever kissed one girl, before my lips were assaulted by the Bitch Queen. And that one girl was Helga. I wanted it to stay that way; I wanted to be able to kiss her good morning, and kiss her good night, and kiss her whenever one of us came home from work. I never wanted to stop. I wanted to be with her forever, but Rachel took all my hope away in two seconds.

"I think you should leave," I said, in a forced-calm voice. "Before I start getting very, very angry, and I promise you, I'm on the brink."

Rachel blinked a few times before cocking her head to the side. "The brink of what, exactly?"

I'm pretty sure I actually growled at her. "Get out of my sight. Now."

A hand suddenly clapped my shoulder, but I didn't look over to see who it was. I heard the voice of my best friend say in a confident, but gentle voice, "Hey, Arnold, everything's being cleared up. You want to head back to the Boarding House?" I was trembling under Gerald's hand and I didn't look away from Rachel for a second. She was still standing there. She wasn't leaving. I don't know what she wanted from me, but whatever it was, she wasn't going to get it. I guess Gerald followed my eye, because I heard him say in a confused voice, "Rachel Williams? From high school? What are you doing here?"

Rachel smiled and I felt the sudden compulsion to punch her right in the face. "Oh, I just came to give Arnold my apologies."

"Oh, how thoughtful," the delicate voice of Phoebe said. "Well, we're going to drop Arnold off at the Boarding House, did you need a ride?"

"No, she doesn't," I answered coolly. "She's going to waltz right back to hell where she came from."

There was a pause in conversation, but I only had eyes for Rachel. I was trying to tell her with my gaze that she needed to leave before I physically hurt her, but she didn't seem to be getting the message. She just quirked her eyebrows like some fucking psych-ward patient, and didn't say anything.

"Uh, Arnold?" Gerald said in a cautious voice. "Maybe we should get you home." He tried to steer me away towards his car, but I wrenched myself from his grasp. Rachel still hadn't fucking left, and, even though I was about to leave, it still disturbed me that she refused to leave. I was about to go fucking mental at the sight of her just standing there, smiling at me.

"Rachel," I said in a low voice, stalking up to her so I was right in her face. "Why the fuck are you still here?"

She smiled at me. "Like I said, I was giving you my apologies-"

I didn't wait for her to continue. My right arm acted on its own; it came backwards to gain leverage, and then powered forward, colliding into the side of her face with a disgusting crack, and the pain that shot through my knuckles told me that I was going to bruise later on. "Fuck," I hissed through my teeth, shaking my hand to try to get the stinging to go away, but Rachel was much worse off. She was knocked out cold, laying in the wet snow, with blood trickling down her nose. I'm pretty sure I broke it, but Gerald had pulled me back and rushed me into the car as fast as he could, so I didn't get to see.

"Arnold, man, what the fuck was that?" he demanded. I never told Gerald the reason why Helga broke up with me. I thought I'd keep it to myself, so he didn't know why I hated Rachel so much, but I was in no mood to explain it to him. I stayed quiet, only cradling my right hand in my left and staring at the floor of the car. "Arnold," Gerald said in a more calm voice, settling into the car beside me. "Talk to me, man. What happened?"

I glanced up at him, trying to extinguish the flame in my eyes, but, judging by Gerald's blink in surprise after we made eye contact, I don't think I was successful. "I told her to leave, and she didn't."

"Okay," Gerald said slowly. "But... why did you punch her?"

I glared at him. "Because. Can you just take me home, please?"

Gerald looked at me for a few more seconds before sighing deeply, and put the key into the ignition. He quickly sent a text to Phoebe, who looked over from where she was standing and gave him a thumbs up, before he pulled out of the cemetery parking lot. Gerald's eyes flicked to me briefly and he said, "Buckle up. If I get in a crash the passenger seat's the first one to go."

I rolled my eyes, but knew that this point was too trivial to fight him on, so I conceded. It wasn't the time to die, anyway.

He was driving for a few minutes before I felt his eyes on me again. I pretended like I didn't feel it; I just hoped he'd look away after a while and leave me alone with my thoughts. Probably not the best place for me to be, nor the healthiest by any means, but it was much better than reality.

I guess Gerald knew I was waiting for him to say something, because he sighed and said, "Arnold, I'm not going to let this go. You just sucker-punched a girl in the face, and, when we left her, she was bleeding in the snow. Something had to've provoked that, and I don't believe you did it just because you told her to leave and she didn't. I know you, man, and you'd never hit a girl. Hell, you'd never hit anyone! You're too... Arnold for that."

I glanced up at him. "What the fuck does that even mean? In high school, I was too Arnold to drink whiskey and too Arnold to swear. What makes you think I'm too Arnold now to punch someone?"

Gerald let out a very deep, very patient sigh. "What did she do to make you so angry?"

I folded my arms in front of me and stared out the window. The conversation was over. He wasn't getting anything else out of me.

"Arnold." Gerald's voice was firm now. "I want to help you, but I can't if you don't talk to me." He finally pulled up to the curb next to the Boarding House, put the car in park, and turned to face me. "What happened? You used to tell me everything, but now you won't say five words to me."

I unbuckled my seat belt, and put my hand on the door handle, but he grabbed my arm. He was expecting an answer. I lifted up a hand and counted off, "Fuck. You. And. Leave. Me. Alone. Look, there you have six. Goodnight." I wrenched myself out of Gerald's grasp and left the car, slamming the door angrily and hurrying into the Boarding House as fast as I could.

It was empty. I mean, really, really empty. All the boarders were still at the cemetery, doing who knows what. I always thought the Boarding House was a little eerie when there was no one inside. It used to be so full of life. All the animals that usually came bursting through the front door whenever it was opened were long gone; since Grandma dropped the crazy, there was no need to keep stray cats and sled dogs. Abner got run over by a bus when I was a seventeen, so he hadn't been in the Boarding House in a while. Grandma stopped mixing up holidays, which meant no fireworks on Thanksgiving, and no Christmas trees on April Fools' Day. Everything was mundane, but I liked it that way. Now, running my fingers along the wooden walls made all those exciting, and yet unorthodox traditions seem so... normal. I realized in that moment that I missed them. Missed them so much, my heart began to ache even worse. I guess, in only those nine months after Helga, before my grandparents, I took advantage of that and didn't appreciate it. Because now... well, it was gone.

There's this little cabinet in the kitchen that I keep padlocked. Nobody knows what's in it. Well, maybe my grandparents did, and maybe Gerald does, but none of the boarders have a clue. They accept that I need privacy and they give it to me. It's my own personal liquor cabinet, where I keep back-ups in case I'm on the verge of a breakdown but don't have a human mediator to soothe the pain. I usually force myself to leave the house to get my whiskey; it's one of the only productive things I'm capable of, but on that particular day, I was working through so much turmoil that I couldn't leave the house again. I needed the relief, and soon.

I fumbled with the key that I kept on a necklace at all times, inserting it into the little key hole with trembling fingers and aggressively pulled the door open. I didn't even really look to see what bottle I grabbed; I just seized the first one that my hand could wrap itself around, slammed the door closed, managed to remember to re-lock it, and left the kitchen.

I was tempted to go to my bedroom, but I decided against it. I needed to be with Grandma and Grandpa. I just wished that need was with me before... well, before. The only thing I could think of to get even remotely close to them was to go to their bedroom. I almost didn't want to, but I knew that I needed to.

I slowly opened the door, almost hoping that I'd see them just lying in their bed, sleeping, and that I had just awoken from some terrifying nightmare, but the bottle in my hand, the glass cold against my sweating fingers, was my proof that I was alone. Finally, truly alone. (Gerald sighed. "Dammit it, Arnold..." was all he managed to say.)

I closed the door behind me, looking around the room for a few minutes. There were pictures of Grandma and Grandpa on the wall, and the bookshelf with their memory books was right beside Grandma's bed, as I always remember them being, but I realized something. There was something... missing. Something that should've been in my arms, but wasn't. Something that I desperately needed to cling to, but couldn't, because it wasn't where it should've been.

And then it hit me: Helga's pink poetry book.

I laid the bottle down on Grandma and Grandpa's bedside table, sprinted up the stairs to the attic, and flung open the door. There, on my bed, right where I left it, was the poetry book that Gerald always told me I should get rid of. I picked it up, held it to my chest for a moment, and then sprinted back downstairs, making sure to close the door behind me. I didn't think anybody would expect me to be in Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom, so I figured it served two purposes: allow me to more vividly remember two of the most influential people of my life, and to also conceal my location from anybody who'd want to "help" me.

A few minutes, or hours, or days, I don't fucking know, passed, and I was just curled on the floor in between Grandma and Grandpa's bed. I tried sitting down on Grandpa's mattress, but it felt wrong, and so did Grandma's, so I just collapsed on the hardwood and pressed my back up against their bedside table. I was well on my way to finishing the bottle, and Helga's\ pink poetry book was pressing painfully against my chest, but I didn't loosen my grip. I couldn't let it go; I needed it.

I heard a knock on the door, and I groaned but otherwise stayed quiet. I needed to be alone.

"Arnold, come on, man, it's me! Gerald!" Gerald's voice said on the other side of the door. "Please let me in." He knocked on the door again.

I didn't answer him, but the sound of the door finally opening and a gasp found my ears. After a moment of silence, in which I took another sip from the bottle and pretended Gerald wasn't there, the guy in question suddenly said in a quiet, almost terrified voice, now that I think about it, "Shit, man." At that, I glanced up through wet eyes, and he was just standing there, dumbfounded, taking in the whole pathetic scene of me. Sitting on the floor. Drunk on whiskey. The poetry book from a fourth grader tightly held in my arms. My knuckles bruised, possibly broken, from punching a girl in the face. What a memory. "What happened?" He made a move forward to help me off the floor, but I pressed myself further into the bedside table, the edge digging into my skull, and I took comfort in the pain of it.

"No, Gerald!" I said, my voice slurred and louder than normal. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that," Gerald said, walking towards. "You're going to end up hurting yourself."

"Then let me hurt myself. I don't care," I said, letting my head crash painfully against the hard wood, the lamp on the top surface rattling at my sudden collision.

Gerald let out a deep sigh and took another step forward. "Come on, man, don't talk like that. I'll help you into bed."

"No," I said, pressing my back further into the table behind me, as if that would do anything. I tried to take another drink from the bottle, but Gerald took it out of my hands. "Just leave me here. Go to Phoebe. Be with your family. Have kids and teach them how to speak Japanese, but please leave me here. Let me die."

Gerald gripped my wrists and he pulled me to my feet. I was so exhausted and heartbroken, and I felt so worthless and finished with the world that I let him man-handle me into my grandfather's bed. I knew Gerald cared about me. I know he still does care about me, but in that moment, I couldn't trust anyone and I didn't believe anything anybody told me, so I said,

"Please let me die, Gerald. I don't have hardly anything left. It wouldn't matter to me." He finally had me laying down on my side, but I reached my hand up and grabbed the side of his face, staring desperately into his aching eyes. "Gerald, please."

Gerald took my hand off his face and shook his head. He thought I'd blacked out; he thought I wouldn't remember, I could tell by how he was reacting. If he had known I was serious... "I'm not going to let you die, Arnold. What would Helga say if she saw you like this, hmm?"

A laugh escaped me. I couldn't help it; the thought of the bitch herself caring what happened to me was so hilarious that I couldn't keep it to myself. "Helga? Helga G. Pataki? Caring about me? That's bullshit, and you know it; she probably planned this, ever since preschool. She probably thought that she'd get me to fall in love with her so that she could just take it all away, and it's be the funniest fucking joke in the world." I sat up slightly and shouted at the top of my lungs, "You hear that, Helga? You won! You beat me!"

Gerald planted a hand across my mouth and lowered me back on the bed. "Calm down, you're going to pop a lung. Arnold, you're drunk and delirious, and you're talking nonsense. You need to get some sleep." He tried to take the poetry book from my tense hands, but I gripped it even tighter and spat at him,

"This is all I have left of her! Don't take it away!"

Gerald glanced down at the book briefly and he sighed. "Arnold, you're going to have to get over her at some point."

I rolled away from him, burying my face into a pillow that smelled like Grandpa and said, "No, I don't."

Gerald straightened up and took my pathetic image in as a whole. "Look at you, man; pining over her isn't a solution; it's killing you!"

I drilled myself deeper in the bed, the pink book digging into the skin over my heart. I wanted to run away, but Gerald would've caught me in my tracks, and even if he didn't, I wouldn't have made it past the front door. I took a staggered breath and mumbled, "I know. But I don't care anymore. I just want it to be over."

Gerald didn't miss a beat. "Well, I don't want it to be over. I care about you, man, and I'm worried about you."

I groaned. "Don't. Just give up. I've lost everything."

After a pause, Gerald's voice grew soft as he said, "You haven't lost me. I'm your best friend, and I'm not going anywhere."

I caressed the spine of the pink poetry book with my index finger and said, "Then you're stupid. I'm a lost cause, and I'm fucking done talking about it." Finally, Gerald fell silent, but he didn't leave the room. He wanted to... make sure I was okay, or something equally fucking stupid, but I ignored him, hoping sleep would take me.

The morning after that, neither of us talked about what happened, but I could see the conversation in Gerald's eyes. I pretended like I didn't remember, and I'm pretty sure Gerald believed me, but I remembered. I remembered the whole thing.

Gerald swallowed, looking up from the book at blinking a few tears away. "He... really remembered all that?" He let out a long, labored breath, rubbing at his eyes, before he muttered irritably, and melancholy, "I need a drink."