"Regret"
Shortaki Week 2016 - Day 8
You know that saying, "you don't know what you've got until it's gone"? Of course you do. Well, its ringing true right now. So true it's painful. Crimeny!
Look, I know I'm stubborn. I know I'm heard-headed. I despise change. I'm queen of forming opinions at the drop of a hat, getting jealous because of the tiniest things, and rush headlong into things without stopping to pause and contemplate things. One of the attractive traits I get from my dad. (Thanks a lot for that, Bob.)
If only I knew how to slow down. If only I knew how to stop myself before making diving in obstinately and making huge mistakes. If only I knew how to stop myself before hurting people who care about me...who legitimately want what's best for me and are only there to help me.
I know I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have lied. I shouldn't have gone through with that evil scheme. I shouldn't have caused so much hurt. I'm lucky it wasn't much worse...I'm lucky the consequences were what they were instead of what they could have been. But I wish I hadn't done it at all.
Stabbing at the canvas fabric in my hand with a sharp needle, I clench my teeth in anger. Anger and hatred at myself. Why'd I have to go and hurt her? Why'd I want her to leave. No one has ever put that much time into me my entire life (well, except Arnold, of course, but he helps everyone). I miss having actual food in my lunchbox. I miss having someone care enough to iron and press my clothes...even if they were ridiculously frilly clothes. I miss having a real dinner...not just some frozen dinner Miriam throws in the oven and forgets to cook properly. I miss having someone put flowers in my hair, causing Arnold to notice me and say that I look "kind of nice" for once. And most of all I miss that she wanted to help me be a better person-a happier person. And I miss that she cared enough to try.
She's right, you know. I am an angry girl. And for some reason, that even I don't understand, I won't let anyone help me. And I do...I live with my unhappiness and the consequences of my unhappy decisions...just like she said.
In frustration I throw the needlepoint away and stare at the postcard on my side table. Tentatively, I pick it up and read again:
Dear Helga,
It is wonderful to be back in the alps. I trust everything in your house is the same as always.
Inga
Sighing and swallowing my guilt and regret. I pick up the needlepoint and begin working again. Inga was right...needlepoint is good for me. A soothing distraction from the unhappy consequences I'm ever bringing down on myself.
A/N: I know this isn't exactly Arnold/Helga...but this is where the prompt took me and there was *some* Arnold in there. Haha...hope you can forgive me and enjoy it either way!
Arnold's Love
