Music was blaring, assaulting the eardrums of every student crammed into the gym. Flimsy decorations hung from the rafters, looking even worse in comparison to the smoke and lights show taking place overhead. The room smelled of orange soda, bubblegum, vanilla perfume, and sweat. Teenagers, ranging in size, race, and style were all crammed in, pressed against each other. Oh, yes, and gender. It's doubtful that a single adolescent present was unaware of the opposite gender at that moment. As a slower song started, each persons eyes focused a little more, and they desperately attempted the maneuver their way through the crowds which crushed and writhed around them, searching for the object of their affection. Arnold leaned against a wall near the corner, observing them nervously, anticipating what would come next. It would be the same as always, he knew. Breifly, he debated whether to run, or to seek her out himself. But that wasn't how it worked. Helga found him when she was in the mood, and he complied, because he was too in love with her to do anything else.
"Hey Football head!" that goddamn familiar voice rang out. "Wanna dance?" He looked up slowly, from the ground to her eyes. Knee length leather boots. Short, tight black skirt. Black tube top, and a leather jacket. Oh, shit. He shouldn't have come here tonight. Cursing himself for being so weak and stupid, he looked at her face, perfectly applied make-up, under the guise of being just another girl. She knew she wasn't, of course. She know how she made his blood course through his veins, the sound blocking out everything else, making him dizzy. A natural high. And she knew how to use it to her advantage, he supposed. Though, even know, he couldn't see how it worked to Helga's advantage. She could have any goddamned guy in the school, though they wouldn't all admit it. And, she said he was good and everything, but, still...
Arnold's train of thought was cut off as she stopped dancing quite so passionately, and looked at him pointedly. He nodded, and immediately felt like an idiot, because it's not like she was waiting for his approval or anything. Watching as she walked out of the gym, he counted to twenty mentally before following her, wondering if he projected the same air of self assurance. It was doubtful. He was, after all, just her toy. The mindless nobody who let Helga Pataki fuck him whenever she wanted, because he loved her too much to say no.
He followed her all the way to his car, where she was waiting, putting out a cigarette as he approached. He opened her door, before getting in, and started driving immediately. "So," he started awkwardly "Where are we off to, your Grace?" She didn't answer. Instead she looked in the side mirror, and reapplied her make-up, harsher than anything he would have preferred on her. She looked good, that was painfully obvious, but sometimes just seeing her like this made him want to cry. This was -Helga-, not some jailbait whore. Sex with Helga could never be right like this, she deserved chocolate and silk, not blood and leather. But this was what she offered, and he took at greedily, afraid that she might snatch it back at a moments notice. As she slipped the tube of lipstick back into the pocket of her jacket, her hand slid up to his knee, almost casually. Looking down, he noticed the stark contract between her pale skin, and the blood red nailpolish she wore. And the clean black of his jeans. She was so damn pale.
-----
I hate him.
Which sounds strange, because of course I love him. But not like this. Not this little boy he lets me use him, do things to him which I know he cries about, fuck him - because I know this can't be making love. Making apathy is more like it. Since, of course, hate is not the true opposite of love. I learned that by the fourth grade, during escapades to grow closer to 'my football headed love'. Gods, how I miss him. The way he took on responsibilities no nine year old should have to, making everybody's happiness his personal goal. The way he sat, thinking, and looking at him you just knew he was thinking something deep, important, something that could change the world, and would - because he would make it. Somebody who had too much respect, for himself and the entire world, to compromise his morals for anything, anyone.
That person is dead. Sometimes I think I killed him.
The person who sits beside me right now is different in too many ways to count. A shell of my childhood obsession, a piece of garbage I probably should throw away but haven't gotten around to it yet. I'm too scared to give up the tenuous hold I have on him yet, I still dream about him too often. Flesh, and the meeting of such is highly overrated, but if the idealistic saviour of my past is gone, then what else can I cling to? There's nothing else to fill that void, there's never been anything for me but him, and I have him - not the way I want, but in a way nobody else does, so who am I to give that up? To give up Arnold. Just thinking of it makes me tremble, feel sick to my stomach. I wish things could be different, yes, but I don't know how to. Not yet.
At first I tried, you know. I tried gentle teasing and flirting to bring out the part of him that the entire world can't help but respond to - but it didn't work. Because I'm still Helga, and he's still Arnold, and nothing can change that, nothing. We both wear these masks, and I was stuck in my role, unable to slow the frantic dance we're trapped in. I couldn't slip from my lines, perfectly rehearsed by somebody I didn't know. And so, I wore leather, and smoked weed, and got suspended, and use Arnold like he was worthless to me when nothing could be further from the truth.
I remember the first time I approached him like this. During class, actually, Algebra, second period. It wad been a sweltering day in May, the kind of scene that comes from movies, where bored teenagers sit on the grass, already tired of life, helping each other through the rough times, and all. Personally, I think it's damn sad to be tired of life before the age of 20. Not that I can't relate, of course. Anyways, I was walking through the hallways, past his room, when I got a good look at him, for the first time in ages. He was sitting by the window, sun filtering through and weaving through his cornsilk hair, casting disjointed shadows across his face. It was almost too much, too surreal. He was too beautiful to look at, so I turned around, and thought about him. Arnold, and everything I associated with the boy. God, how I still longed to feel his skin under my fingertips, to taste his presence, be sure he was real. And so I decided to seduce him, that simple. I simply grew tired of waiting, anxious glances across the room, idly blowing smoke rings as he walked by every day, pretending not to be affected by anything. Stuck in my timeless role. So I waited for him to walk out of the class, looked at him, smiled, and slowly walked away. He followed, of course, and as soon as we were out of the school, I turned and kissed him. There was very little talking, me telling him how long I waited to do that, and such. Before I knew it I was telling him I knew a place we could go, and he was agreeing, and there was Arnold, and his hands and mouth and the scent of cologne. It had been my first time, though I doubt he knows that. And I left, without saying much more, because I'm Helga.
I managed to avoid him for some time after that, until I started craving another fix of my past - and current - obsession. So I approached him, nearly the same as before, only right after school this time, and again he followed. It was thrilling, realizing I had him, he was mine, whenever I wanted him. I was too intoxicated by my newfound possession, one I'd coveted after my entire life, to notice as he melted away. He started to seem dependant, eager to please, you know? He started waiting around for me a little, and soon our games got more violent, me the aggressor, and him the innocent, beautiful man who needed more than I could give. Again, stuck in our mind games, where I had to dominate, or nothing would be clear to him. I let it happen. I was too giddily in love to give him up, to find fault in this oasis from reality. And so, it perpetuates, and every day I grow farther and closer to him at the same time.
----
Moonlight streamed through the windows of the car, breaking through gaps of steam, casting iridescent light over skin, as fires are stoked, ignoring caution, begging for pain. Two eternal lovers, so jaded and filled with pain, deluded into believing their love is one sided. Shallow breaths and mumbled words fill the penetrating silence, the pattern broken by occasional gasps and screams. Working closer towards an undeniable urge, shared by the both of them. Moans, begging screams, and finally echoing silence once again, as articles of clothing are donned once again, and placed are taken in the front two seats. He starts the engine up once more, eyes on her as she reapplies her lipstick, once again. Making a U-Turn, he takes her to her house, where she exits, not looking behind her once. However, inside, she watches the car drive away, trying to ignore the pain bubbling within her, to concentrate on anything other than that.
Unable to stand it, she sinks to her knees on the plush carpet, and sobs quietly, hiding her face in her hands. 'Oh, Arnold...' she thinks quietly, as everything fades to black.
Authors Notes: *ducks rotten fruit, vegetables, baby cactuses, etc* I know, short and pointless and cold, hmm? But I was just reading, and listening to Tool (Yesh! Blame Tool! Mwahaha!) And I started thinking and I can up with this. It seemed nifty in my head and everything. There might be a sequel, I'm not sure yet, any criticism, compliments, future plot ideas, death threats, etc. are appreciated. Except the death threads ^_^ So, yeah. Review. You know you want to. I'm just testing the waters of HA! Fanfic, and I need all the advice I can get. Too dark, and melodramatic? I know, I know. But I don't really mind reading fic like this, so none of you are allowed to either ;D Seriously though, do let me know what you think. Bai!