I hated myself. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I hated myself. I despised my very existence. I was positive that it was because of me that he had done what he did. I had myself convinced. Phoebe wasn't sure, though. She kept getting at me to call him, find out what happened, apologize for what I did. Maybe even tell him how I feel...

Of course, my feelings meant very little at that point. I was growing numb--I couldn't feel anything anymore. With the obvious exception of self-hatred, that is.

"Hello?" It was Susie. Thank goodness it wasn't Oskar. That guy has got to be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

"Yeah, hi, this is Helga Pataki. Can I speak with Arnold, please?"

"Oh, um, h-hang on a second." She set the phone down, and I could hear her walking away. The television was on in the background, and it sounded like Oskar was talking to it. I couldn't make out what he was saying, though.

"Yeah, hi, Helga? He's not here right now."

I sighed. "Oh. Okay. Um, could you ask him to call me when he gets in? He has my number. It's in the school directory."

There was an awkward pause. "Oh, sure hon. I'll let him know. Bye."

I hung up. I was disappointed, yet, at the same time, relieved. I wanted--no, needed--to talk to him, but I was terrified of what might be said. I didn't want to find out that it was me who pushed him over the edge. I didn't want him to hate me.

From the burnt smell coming from downstairs, I guessed it was supper time. I washed my hands, and as I did, I looked at my dad's razor, which was laying on top of the sink. It was just a passing thought, but a thought all the same.

"Yeah, is Arnold there?" I asked, exasperated. It was only the fifth time I'd called in two days. I was eager to hear what lame excuse would be thrown at me today.

"Oh, yes, little girl. Um...no, he's sleeping. I mean, yes, he's here, but he's sleeping. Right over there on the couch. He's so cute when he's sleeping, he looks just like a baby bird. Heh heh heh!"

I couldn't stand talking to this guy. "Fine. Just have him call me. Please."

"Sure thing little girl. Bye."

He was avoiding me. There was no way around it. He was talking to Jarold, to Sid, heck, even to Phoebe, the day before. But he was refusing to even acknowledge me.

I rarely take things lying down. I mean, love of my life or not, I don't take rejection well. And while I wasn't about to plan some sort of sick revenge against him or anything, I had to get things resolved between us as soon as possible.

So I did was I was getting very accustomed to doing lately--I snuck out at night and went to the boarding house.

The walk there was surprisingly cold, especially considering Autumn was still a month away. I was wearing a dark-colored t-shirt and khakis, and I didn't stick out very much at all. That was good, because what I was planning would require me to be absolutley invisible.

I reached the fire escape that led up to the roof of the building. It was huge and menacing that late at night, let me tell you. The rungs were all slippery, too, as it had just stopped raining an hour or so ago. With determination that I didn't know I had, I started to climb.

As I climbed, I began to wonder at my stupidity. Why didn't I just come here during the daytime, and ask to see him then? But I could come up with only one answer for that question: he would never see me. No, I needed to get to him when he was vulnerable and unable to escape. And 12:30 AM was the perfect time for that.

He wasn't in Susie's bedroom. And since it was only a one-bedroom apartment, I assumed that he was sleeping up in his own room. I mean, why wouldn't he?

There he was, lying silently in his bed. The first thing I noticed was that he was wide awake, simply staring through the sunroof. Then I noticed that he wasn't moving an inch. It didn't even look like he was breathing. Without any further ado, I lifted the window open and jumped into his room.

Well, he was fine, since he leapt two feet in the air and fell off his bed. He fumbled around in his blankets and finally managed to reach the lightswitch. He flicked it on.

"Hi Arnold," I said, amused in spite of the situation.

He was shocked, but somewhat relieved that it was me and not some psychotic killer. "What are you doing here, Helga?" he asked, his fists clenched at his sides.

I gulped. Here I was, and I had no idea where to begin.

"I-I need to talk to you. And you haven't been returning my calls, so I figured you were just, like, avoiding me or something. So I figured I'd come at night so you couldn't avoid seeing me."

That all spilled out pretty well. But he wasn't taken in so easily.

"Get out."

Nope, this definitely wasn't going to be easy. I took a step toward him.

"No, Arnold. I-I need to talk to you. Things are crazy. I mean, first your grandparents die, then I find out we're moving, then you try and kill yourself, I mean . . . I don't know how much more I can take!"

He looked at me through half-lidded eyes. "Neither did I."

He walked to his bed and began to remake it, throwing his comforter to the side as he flung his white sheet over the mattress. Then he turned and sat down, resting his head on his right hand.

"What did you want to talk about?"

I nodded slightly to myself, then walked over and sat next to him. I wasn't going to beat around the bush, I decided. I would ask, and that would be the end of my inner wondering.

"Was it me, Arnold? Did I...you know, push you over the edge?"

There, that wasn't so hard.

He sat there for a long time. First he looked at his feet, then straight ahead, then at the stars, then straight ahead again. Finally, he glanced off to the side and said, "No."

I was relieved for a split second, but then I realized he probably wouldn't want to come out and tell me the truth, especially a truth like that.

"Arnold, I want you to tell me the truth," I said, putting my hand on his leg. "Did I cause you to...do that?"

He didn't say anything again, but began picking at a fingernail. Everything around us seemed to fade away, as I watched him sitting there, picking at his fingernail. He was so detached, so distant. He seemed completely withdrawn, if not from everything, then at least from me. I wanted to hold him, but I didn't dare. He was too hurt and delicate at this point.

"It wasn't you. You were just one more thing piled on top of everything else that had gone wrong."

I had been focusing so much that I almost missed what he said. I made sure I had it all straight in my mind, then I replied.

"But I was the thing that pushed you over the edge? I mean, when I slapped you?"

He laughed again, quietly, not bitterly like he had that day, but distantly. "I had hoped . . ." He trailed off.

"You had hoped what?" I urged, looking him in the eye.

"I had hoped you would change my mind. That day, I mean. That's why I wanted to go to the park with you. I hoped that you would say or do something that would make me decide not to do it."

I was shocked. I could have prevented it. Instead, I had just added fuel to the fire.

"I-I'm...sorry, Arnold," I nearly moaned, struggling not to cry. I wasn't acting like myself, and even though he had seen me the way no one else had, I still struggled with showing emotion around him.

But I was right. I had been the cause. Indirectly, maybe, but I was still the cause. And I hated myself even more.

With that, he turned and reclined on the bed, stretching his legs out all the way. "Don't worry about it. I'm not exactly worth worrying about."

"What do you mean, you're not worth worrying about?!" I exclaimed. "You're probably one of the greatest guys on the planet! You're always worried about other people, you're always helping everyone out, giving advice, putting up with jerks like me! I mean, I'm amazed by you sometimes, Arnold!"

Wow, that was more than I had intended to say. Oh well, at least it impacted him a little.

"You-you really think so?" he asked, clearly not quite believing it himself.

"Y-yeah. I do."

I wasn't sure if I was seeing things, but I could've sworn he smiled at me. But just as quickly as it might have appeared, it was gone.

"You'd better get home," he said. "I'll talk to you later."

"Will you really?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure."

The living room light was on when I came in the door. Big Bob was sitting in his recliner, watching television. Actually, he was staring at the blank screen, which was trying to tell him that the station he was currently tuned to was down for the night. But he sat and stared just the same.

"'Bout time you got home, Olga," he growled, standing up groggily and stumbling towards me. "Where the heck did you think you were going so late?"

"Not like it's any of your business, Bob, but I was at Arnold's."

He was drunk. He didn't get drunk often, but when he did, he was actually kind of scary. I wanted to end this as quickly as possible and get to bed.

"You little brat!" He wound up and slapped me across the face, hard enough to knock me off my feet. I lay there on the floor, holding my temple, and trying not to cry.

"Get your little behind up to bed, you hear me?! And no more late nights!"

I was scared. He was a big guy. For once, I did exactly what he said without complaining. My face hurt. Really bad. But I tried not to think about it as I undressed, got into my pajamas, and crawled into bed.

Phoebe came over the next morning. She stepped into my room, just as I had finished getting dressed for the day.

"Good morning, Helga!" Her mouth fell open when she saw my face. I had a huge bruise across my cheek, all the way up to my temple.

"Wh-what happened, Helga?"

I turned a deep crimson, then sat down. "I...uh...j-just fell. Last night. Out of bed. Hit my face on the floor. It hurt pretty bad last night, let me tell ya. But it's fine now, no problem."

I wasn't fooling her. "It was your father again, wasn't it?" I had told Phoebe of one other incident where he had shoved me into the wall in a drunken stupor. She had been concerned enough when it was only one incident, but now she was freaked out.

"You need to do something, Helga! I mean, he can't do that! It's against the law, you know?!"

"Pheebs, chill out! It's just a bruise! It's not like he broke my arm or something! Criminey, you're making a mountain out of a mole hill!"

"I don't think I am, Helga," she replied, then grew strangely quiet about the whole issue. She just dropped it.

It was a day later that D.C.F.S. came and took me. Apparently Phoebe's parents had called and reported what he had done. And they told them that it wasn't an isolated incident.

I soon found myself in a tiny, shabby room, which I would be temporarily sharing with two other kids, both several years younger than myself. It wasn't very clean, or friendly-looking. And despite everything that had happened, I wanted more than anything to be home.