Ripples
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to us. We're just borrowing the characters. ^^
~~~chapter two............truth~~~
"Baby's black balloon makes her fly
Almost fell into that hole in your life
And you were thinkin' about tomorrow
'Cause you were the same as me
A thousand other boys could never reach you
How could I have been the one?
I saw the world spin beneath you
And scatter like ice from the spoon." -Goo Goo Dolls, Black Balloon
Even though his deepened voice was soft and wary, she could still hear what he uttered just seconds before.
"It's me." Nothing but a mere whisper escaped her lips.
She encouraged this thought with a hesitant nod. But what if he didn't believe who she was? After all, she was supposed to be dead, swallowed up by a watery grave in the prime of her youth, or something like that. It didn't help that she had been running from the government, either, and was now standing, cold and naked, save the towel, in his bedroom.
Meanwhile, he was staring at her like she had five heads.
It didn't take her long to realize that his knees, even though he wore baggy blue jeans, were shaking slightly.
"Is it that hard to believe that I'm here?" she asked quietly, casting her glance off to one side. Years of ...imprisonment had made her more subdued, or so she thought. The hellcat temper that she'd possessed had faded away while she had been held hostage in a place that smelled of bleach and cleaner. Plus, with those demonic bastards in white oogling you all day, who would have any dignity left at all?
They'd liked her because she was unusual and for reasons vaguely unknown to her. She had guessed that was their fascination, at first anyway. As she had matured beyond the childish age of fourteen they became interested in her body.
The atmosphere was tense.
Somehow, it fell down to that very second, where she silently waited to see if he would turn her in and live a happy life, or if he would keep his promise and hide her.
His rain-soaked Cubs jacket moved with every breath he took...
"No..." he finally responded, although she could easily tell by his eyes that disbelief was prominently on his mind.
He was so tall...
Her left hand held the towel tightly, the soft but damp fabric balled up in her fist. She knew he wasn't a huge believer in miracles, but she felt stupid standing in the middle of his room, with nothing on.
He really had changed...
The awkward silence was killing her, and she just couldn't put up with it anymore.
"Aren't you going to say anything else?" she asked, trying not to sound demanding. Tears sprung fresh in her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd cried, considering that she'd gotten used to the treatment, the abuse, and the constant raping since she was fourteen.
"Where have you been for all these freakin' years...?" Arnold asked, closing his icy blue eyes to try and collect himself. A few stray strands of dirty blond hair were plastered to his forehead from the rain.
Helga tilted her head back some, letting a curtain of long blond hair spill over her shoulder and onto her chest. The anguish that had built up in her soul for all those years was finally letting itself out.
He couldn't believe it...
It was just so stunning that he felt time had suddenly stopped. The feeling of seeing her again was just so dizzying that it made him light-headed. She had been gone for ten years, and suddenly here she was, naked and alone in a world she hadn't seen for a decade. He still stood with his back against the door, his cheek still feeling tingly from the gesture of... what was it? Was it affection?
His head swam with excuses and other things that made him doubt.
But a strange gut feeling, which he had learned to trust, knew that it was her.
Helga was still alive. And hell, she was beautiful.
"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble. It was barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he took a cautious step towards her.
She looked frightened for a minute, and he could see an unnatural glaze reflected in her eyes.
Was she crying?
Slowly, he edged away from the door, praying in his head that no one would kick it open. He unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off to reveal a ribbed, long-sleeved dark gray shirt that clung to his thin frame and made him look unbelieveably skinny.
She had turned her head to the side, trying to hide the evidence that she had tears mingling with the sweat on her face.
"Helga..." he said, surprised at the gentleness of his own voice. A raised hand instinctively reached out, to make contact with her bare shoulder.
She flinched. Arnold was taken aback.
The famous Helga G. Pataki he had known would never shy away from someone's touch; rather, she would punch whoever was trying to make the move. This woman who stood in his room couldn't be the same person... but it was.
What had happened to her? The brash young teenager that was permanently burned onto the surface of his mind now failed to exist, and in it's place was an exotic human who had seen true, unrelenting pain. He felt something of an indescribable rage filling his chest. Who had made her like this?
"You... you aren't going to hit me... are you?" she managed to squeak out, her tone of voice distorted because of her clenched throat, her untrusting of him, and her fright.
Quickly, so she wouldn't object, he wrapped his long arms around her trembling shoulders, drawing her close, bending down slightly because of his advancement in height.
"It's me, Helga. Why would I ever hit you?" he demanded softly, in her ear. "Would I ever hurt you?"
He felt her thin arms embrace him in return, felt the towel slipping down to the floor. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder, all her surviving pride disintegrating and collapsing into dust.
Together they sank to the floor, Arnold sealing all of his depression into a compassionate mask. Helga was clearly in need of more comfort at the moment, so he gave it to her, despite the fact that she had no clothes to save her dignity. Her green eyes, filled with tears, seemed empty and desolate, the absence of pupils making them alien to him. He was at a loss to decipher every nuance of her expressions.
At last, after an hour of muffled silence, she had cried herself to sleep. And when he was sure that the undying embrace of slumber had claimed her, Arnold buried his face in her hair and cried too.
Author's Note: Erin: Hi y'all, sorry about the wait. The second chapter stumped me for awhile, and I went ahead and wrote most of the story already... x.o;; Yup yup. I'm the queen of procrastinating. That's me!
Well, if you want to see a picture of Arnold and a picture of Helga from this story, please email me at:
ErinKOC@aol.com
Or, if you have AIM, contact me at:
Boogiepop12
They were done of MS Paint, but they are not crappy, I assure you. XD Note: Arnold's picture is actually from before I completely redesigned the characters. Well... almost completely... Arnold still has the same hairstyle and stuff, but different eyes and face shape. Helga went through MANY designs. I finally found one I like. XD Also, I seem to have this fetish for putting Arnold's long layers back in a ponytail, exposing the REALLY short hair underneath. Eee. @_o Enough of my crazed ramblings! Chapter three is coming a few days. It's already edited and everything, I'm just being evil and making you wait... mwaha. And this story is taking me out to the ballgame on angst. Woo -wee.
...CrimsonSorrow...
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to us. We're just borrowing the characters. ^^
~~~chapter two............truth~~~
"Baby's black balloon makes her fly
Almost fell into that hole in your life
And you were thinkin' about tomorrow
'Cause you were the same as me
A thousand other boys could never reach you
How could I have been the one?
I saw the world spin beneath you
And scatter like ice from the spoon." -Goo Goo Dolls, Black Balloon
Even though his deepened voice was soft and wary, she could still hear what he uttered just seconds before.
"It's me." Nothing but a mere whisper escaped her lips.
She encouraged this thought with a hesitant nod. But what if he didn't believe who she was? After all, she was supposed to be dead, swallowed up by a watery grave in the prime of her youth, or something like that. It didn't help that she had been running from the government, either, and was now standing, cold and naked, save the towel, in his bedroom.
Meanwhile, he was staring at her like she had five heads.
It didn't take her long to realize that his knees, even though he wore baggy blue jeans, were shaking slightly.
"Is it that hard to believe that I'm here?" she asked quietly, casting her glance off to one side. Years of ...imprisonment had made her more subdued, or so she thought. The hellcat temper that she'd possessed had faded away while she had been held hostage in a place that smelled of bleach and cleaner. Plus, with those demonic bastards in white oogling you all day, who would have any dignity left at all?
They'd liked her because she was unusual and for reasons vaguely unknown to her. She had guessed that was their fascination, at first anyway. As she had matured beyond the childish age of fourteen they became interested in her body.
The atmosphere was tense.
Somehow, it fell down to that very second, where she silently waited to see if he would turn her in and live a happy life, or if he would keep his promise and hide her.
His rain-soaked Cubs jacket moved with every breath he took...
"No..." he finally responded, although she could easily tell by his eyes that disbelief was prominently on his mind.
He was so tall...
Her left hand held the towel tightly, the soft but damp fabric balled up in her fist. She knew he wasn't a huge believer in miracles, but she felt stupid standing in the middle of his room, with nothing on.
He really had changed...
The awkward silence was killing her, and she just couldn't put up with it anymore.
"Aren't you going to say anything else?" she asked, trying not to sound demanding. Tears sprung fresh in her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd cried, considering that she'd gotten used to the treatment, the abuse, and the constant raping since she was fourteen.
"Where have you been for all these freakin' years...?" Arnold asked, closing his icy blue eyes to try and collect himself. A few stray strands of dirty blond hair were plastered to his forehead from the rain.
Helga tilted her head back some, letting a curtain of long blond hair spill over her shoulder and onto her chest. The anguish that had built up in her soul for all those years was finally letting itself out.
He couldn't believe it...
It was just so stunning that he felt time had suddenly stopped. The feeling of seeing her again was just so dizzying that it made him light-headed. She had been gone for ten years, and suddenly here she was, naked and alone in a world she hadn't seen for a decade. He still stood with his back against the door, his cheek still feeling tingly from the gesture of... what was it? Was it affection?
His head swam with excuses and other things that made him doubt.
But a strange gut feeling, which he had learned to trust, knew that it was her.
Helga was still alive. And hell, she was beautiful.
"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble. It was barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he took a cautious step towards her.
She looked frightened for a minute, and he could see an unnatural glaze reflected in her eyes.
Was she crying?
Slowly, he edged away from the door, praying in his head that no one would kick it open. He unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off to reveal a ribbed, long-sleeved dark gray shirt that clung to his thin frame and made him look unbelieveably skinny.
She had turned her head to the side, trying to hide the evidence that she had tears mingling with the sweat on her face.
"Helga..." he said, surprised at the gentleness of his own voice. A raised hand instinctively reached out, to make contact with her bare shoulder.
She flinched. Arnold was taken aback.
The famous Helga G. Pataki he had known would never shy away from someone's touch; rather, she would punch whoever was trying to make the move. This woman who stood in his room couldn't be the same person... but it was.
What had happened to her? The brash young teenager that was permanently burned onto the surface of his mind now failed to exist, and in it's place was an exotic human who had seen true, unrelenting pain. He felt something of an indescribable rage filling his chest. Who had made her like this?
"You... you aren't going to hit me... are you?" she managed to squeak out, her tone of voice distorted because of her clenched throat, her untrusting of him, and her fright.
Quickly, so she wouldn't object, he wrapped his long arms around her trembling shoulders, drawing her close, bending down slightly because of his advancement in height.
"It's me, Helga. Why would I ever hit you?" he demanded softly, in her ear. "Would I ever hurt you?"
He felt her thin arms embrace him in return, felt the towel slipping down to the floor. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder, all her surviving pride disintegrating and collapsing into dust.
Together they sank to the floor, Arnold sealing all of his depression into a compassionate mask. Helga was clearly in need of more comfort at the moment, so he gave it to her, despite the fact that she had no clothes to save her dignity. Her green eyes, filled with tears, seemed empty and desolate, the absence of pupils making them alien to him. He was at a loss to decipher every nuance of her expressions.
At last, after an hour of muffled silence, she had cried herself to sleep. And when he was sure that the undying embrace of slumber had claimed her, Arnold buried his face in her hair and cried too.
Author's Note: Erin: Hi y'all, sorry about the wait. The second chapter stumped me for awhile, and I went ahead and wrote most of the story already... x.o;; Yup yup. I'm the queen of procrastinating. That's me!
Well, if you want to see a picture of Arnold and a picture of Helga from this story, please email me at:
ErinKOC@aol.com
Or, if you have AIM, contact me at:
Boogiepop12
They were done of MS Paint, but they are not crappy, I assure you. XD Note: Arnold's picture is actually from before I completely redesigned the characters. Well... almost completely... Arnold still has the same hairstyle and stuff, but different eyes and face shape. Helga went through MANY designs. I finally found one I like. XD Also, I seem to have this fetish for putting Arnold's long layers back in a ponytail, exposing the REALLY short hair underneath. Eee. @_o Enough of my crazed ramblings! Chapter three is coming a few days. It's already edited and everything, I'm just being evil and making you wait... mwaha. And this story is taking me out to the ballgame on angst. Woo -wee.
...CrimsonSorrow...