Disclaimer – I don't own 'Hey Arnold!'

Disclaimer – I don't own any of the song title, or CD's or bands.

Chapter Two: Everything Sucks

I stood in the doorway, frozen. Just staring out into the empty hallway. I was too scared, too weak to really move. He was home now, everything was going to be different and not for the better. At that moment I wanted to fall to my knees and cry like a small, helpless child. The thoughts invaded my mind, working against me, trying to break me down into nothingness. Would it work? Not if I helped it, but I doubt I could help it. It hasn't even been a full hour yet and it feels like this had all happened days ago. Too much for time to consume, I guess. Or maybe it's just me.

I felt my breath leave me; it was thick and shaky as I listened to his thumping around the stairs or maybe that was my heart against my chest. He called my name. I didn't respond. I didn't know how to, my brain was completely shut down for the time being, words were beyond me right now. He repeated my name again then half of a question before stopping. He saw her, I didn't need to tell him what the emergency was, he knew. I tried to move and my legs cooperated. I walked to the head of the stairs and rested my head against the wall, listening to him. He was quiet; I didn't know he was capable of being quiet. Silence fell, I was listening to nothing. It was almost as if he didn't even come home, it was almost peaceful because if I wanted to, I could pretend that my mother wasn't dead on the couch, I could pretend that nothing had happened, I could pretend that all was okay. But that is called denial and right now, as bad as my life seems to be at the moment, I like living in reality.

Papers rustled, almost making me jump, it was like they were right next to me, crumpling in my ear but it was coming from down stairs, far away from me, in the living room. He was reading the letter, or maybe he was putting it back, it didn't really matter, all that mattered is that he was finding out all that happened, that this was going to be one of the worst days of his life, that he was going to be brought down into nothingness, brought down into a hole so deep that as much as he tried, he wouldn't be able to find his way out.

His footsteps were soft as he made his way to the phone and dialed a number. Calling emergency? No, he had to wait before anyone would pick up, he was calling somewhere else first, like it was more important.

Work before family. "Yeah, Erika." He started, his voice was raspy, tears thick in his throat, but he wasn't crying, not yet. "Uhm, I won't be in for the rest of the day." A pause, she was telling him something and he was listening, rational Bob. "I know—I know, Erika. It—It's a family emergency that I prefer not to talk about." His voice broke as he said the words. Wow, he—he had feelings. "Dammit, Erika, I will be in tomorrow afternoon, we can finish the shoot then. I just some time to think." No good-bye, he just hung up. Not even a full day to think about what was happening to his life.

He was amazing, he could front anything, act like nothing is wrong. I wanted to help him, just go down there and embrace him, to tell him that I will still be here, that I would try to do my best to be a good kid and help out around the house, do you think he would accept that? Nah, probably not. Olga was his favorite, I am just second best, not even that.

Bob picked up the phone again, the soft push of buttons then his voice, "I need an ambulance." He paused, listening. "My—My wife—" His voice broke once more and tears welled up in my eyes. He tried again after he cleared his voice, making it sound strong, more sure of itself. "M-my wife, she's dead." Quiet again, but what the person on the other side said must have been asinine, Bob raised his voice, "Well, let's see, she cold, stiff, and not breathing, those seem like keys signs of being dead, Buddy!" Another pause, small, abrupt. He seemed to let out a breath of relief. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, like he was never angry in the first place, never even upset. They spoke for a few moments then he passed on our address then a few more words then the click of the receiver hanging up.

My face felt warm, hot. Over heated, feverish, it hurt, felt like my face was going to catch ablaze. My face scrunched up until it felt small, until it hurt worse than it already did. Tears flowed to my eyes in hot pools, burning my eyes. I took in a shuddering breath and turned swiftly, running to my room. I leapt onto my bed and buried my face into my pillow, muffling my painful sobs. The same thoughts echoed through my brain. Why me? Why my family? I knew we were going to fall apart, but why like this? No answers, the only thing I knew was that this was the way life was. Not fair in any kind of way.

I continued to cry, it seemed like I never would stop, every time I tried to stop another pessimistic though would come to mind and I would cry even harder. I cried until I felt ill all over again, until I fell asleep and that was peace for me.

- - -

I cracked open my eyes, it felt like opening a fresh wound, it hurt. My eyes were stiff from the crying and didn't help the pain any. My vision was blurry; everything was hard to focus on.

I rolled over onto my back and coughed, it was painful. I was so soar, just from crying, I don't think that is good thing. My throat felt like all the lining was scraped out, like if I coughed again, it would all be blood. I sat up on my bed, resting back on my arms, I still felt weak, sleeping in the middle of the day did that too me. I lifted my hand to my eyes and wiped them free of sleep and blink a few times before looking around. Everything was crystal clear, but it all seemed surreal, like if I touched anything, it wouldn't really be there.

The room was completely dark, almost pitch black except for the light of the sky spilling through the window onto the empty floor. I felt like I slept for days, just hours though. I glanced over at my clock radio, half past nine. Six and a half hours of sleep, pretty good. But it made everything that happened seem like a bad dream, like it had never happened, but I knew the truth, I couldn't sit and lie to myself.

I stared down into my legs, thinking and sighed heavily. I leaned over and switched on my lamp. The light was bright, blinding, making my eyes force shut to block it out. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head away and opened my eyes cautiously, slowly. My eyes narrowed a little, still sensitive, but I would live.

I continued to sit in thought. Should I go downstairs, see if Bob was still here, to see how he was handling all this? Yes. But the real question was: did I want to? No, but I needed to. That was that, my mind was made up. Then why wasn't I moving and why was I still contemplating it all? Because I was too confused for my own good. I slid out of bed and staggered to the open door. The hallway seemed to be long a tunnel, like it would take forever to get to the end.

I was walking slowly, taking my time, no need to rush, no need at all. I got to the top of the stairs and looked down. I was so high up. Note to self: No more sleeping in the middle of the day. I walk down the stairs, griping the railing, balancing myself. I walked a little faster and realized that that seemed to be the best. I walked into the living and looked around, couch first. The knit blanket lay there unattended, no body to cover, she was gone and that hurt worse than before. I swallowed hard and flinched, it still hurt. I was staring at the couch for too long, images dancing in my head, images of her, flashbacks. I sighed and forced my eyes away from the couch the big man sitting quietly in the chair next to the couch. He was staring off into space, deep in thought.

I watched him and didn't know what to say, my eyes were just staring hard into his. "I saw her, Helga." His voice broke the silence; it was so quiet and soft that it broke my heart in two. I think this was first time he had gotten my name right, but I don't think it was possible for him right now to even mix my name up with Olga.

I looked down then back up, almost confused, "What?" I understood him, but I didn't understand what he meant.

He glanced up at me, his grey eyes not as intense as usual. "I saw her, girl, lying there this morning. I—I thought she was just resting, she looked so peaceful that I couldn't bother her, I just wanted her to have that small moment of peace." His voice began to crack, tears glistening in eyes. Oh, God . . . he was blaming himself. No! No, it wasn't his fault. Why couldn't I tell him that? Because it wouldn't mean anything, he wouldn't buy it. Once stubborn, always stubborn. But I could always try.

I walked over to his chair and knelt beside him, resting my chin on the arm, my blue eyes looking up at him. Silence, thick and heavy. Awkward. Then, "I saw her, too, Dad." I said, looking away as he stared down at me. "B—but I lifted her arm as a joke to see if she would wake up, but she didn't. I touched her dead body; if I weren't so well set then I would be mentally and emotionally traumatized right now." I let out a small laugh, it was bitted and quiet. "I came home without any warning to her death; I didn't know what to do, so I called you. I had to let you know, but I was not brave enough to tell you what you were going to walk in to, but at least you had a warning. I guess this speech is just a round about way of wondering: How am I taking this better than you? Of wondering: Why are you blaming yourself? You know it's not your fault." I looked back up at him, my face free of emotion.

Bob's face was still blank, but he understood, it was in his eyes. He nodded, it was faint but still there. "Thank you, Helga." His voice was dry, husky. Bob blink and stared down at the ground. "Hey, why don't you go get some rest, you have school tomorrow." I started at his words. Did he really just say that to me?

Taking in a deep breath, I sat up straight on my knees, looking up at him. "I am not going to school tomorrow." I shook my head in protest, tears in my eyes, why was I crying again? "I don't understand you, Dad." The words squeaked from my mouth, shrill. "You—you come home, don't freak out, you sit here and act like nothing is wrong! For God's sake just realize that nothing will be all right! Admit it! Because the more you lie to yourself the worse it's going to be!" Tears slid down my face like small rivers, telling him that made me feel a little better, but I don't think he understood me at all.

He looked down at the ground in front of him, "But it will be all right, kid." His hand ruffled through my blonde hair. I wanted to spit in his face. Maybe that would knock him out of his trance. I ducked out of his touch and stood up, looking at him for a second, shaking my head, tears still rolling down my cheeks. I turned around in disgust and walked up the stairs. Angrily I stalked to my room to my room, slamming my door behind me. So, it was childish, I am a child. I walked to my nightstand and flung open the drawer, almost knocking everything off and pulled out my long neglected tiny pink journal. A pen rested inside, I made a promise to myself that I would only write in this when I was upset or really happy. It's been so long.

Roughly, I flipped to an empty page, almost tearing everyone I turned. I haven't been this mad in so long, it was foreign. I put my pen to the paper and began to write all that happened, as much as it hurt.

Sunday, June 09

Olga finally wrote us after avoiding us after a few years. She's married to Military Man "Stephen Erickson", he tells her what to do, because she cannot make her own decisions, because she the freakin' smartest person I know other than Phoebe. Note: If you haven't done this yet, emphasize my sarcasm. She married Stephen last October, good for her . . . only wish I meant it. Mr. Erickson got her pregnant with twin. Twins!!! How the hell is she pregnant with twins? It must come from his side of the family. From all that she told us, which wasn't that much, her husband seems like he is a royal jack-ass. He tells her what she can do, and who she can see, and probably what to wear and how to act. Man, she sure knows how to pick 'em, just like the last guy she was engaged to. This guy won't let her see us because he thinks we won't be supportive, we won't accept him. How would he know? He won't even give us a chance. But, you know, it really wouldn't matter because they are always moving, but wait . . . He has enough time to supported by his family, to see his family, he has major issues and needs help. I, personally, think he abuses Olga, he sounds like he would, or maybe he's worse than that, I don't know, but I am finding myself really caring for her. I don't want to her hurt, but what can I do? Good ol' Catholic man my ass, he is a horrible person. Well, Mom read the letter Olga sent us and drank herself to death, literally. My mother killed herself because she lost her little girl, and that is why Stephen is a horrible person. I found her on the couch after staying the weekend a Phoebe's, wonderful welcoming, nothing can beat coming home to a dead parent, especially after you touch them. Yes, I touch my mother's dead body, the feel will always be with me, it was like nothing I had ever experienced. I had to call Dad and tell him about Mom, but I couldn't because I am a chicken shit, I didn't have the guts, so I just gave him a warning, I didn't go down stairs to tell him when he came home either, I let him find her on his own, he is now in the beginning stages of denial. He told me, when I was freaking out on him, that everything will be all right. Yeah, like he really believed that. And I feel like I will go insane if I keep all this inside, but who am I going to tell? Nothing like this ever happens in Hillwood. Arnold is the only person who anything like this happen to him, but that was when he was young, he is well adjusted. Man, I wish I could just tell somebody, but . . . no one would understand. Ending note: Everything Sucks, Life Sucks.

The pain is forever killing,

Forever chilling,

Forever hurting and tearing.

My life is a pit of nothingness

My heart is a slit of emptiness.

Everything old is disappearing and rearranging,

Everything is going the wrong way and sinking.

I am dying deep inside,

I don't know what to do, so I just hide.

Don't care to find my way out,

Have nothing to really care about.

All is gone and won't return,

I feel I still have so much to learn.

No one left to care about,

So I just walk around, whine and shout.

Hating my life,

Hating everything around me,

Hating people,

Hating me.

Life goes on, for better or for worse,

So I guess I will have to learn to deal with it,

Guess I will find out how everything works.

The paper was damp with my tears, ink smudged slightly. I reread what I wrote and settled my journal back in its home. I leaned over and turned on my radio, the hardcore music flowed out and surrounded me, calming me a bit. I turned off the lamp and lay down, staring up at my ceiling, just taking in the only sound in my room, my music. I was too afraid to fall asleep, too afraid to dream of her. Earlier was lucky but now, I don't know, I just had to keep awake.

Authors Note – Yeah, this chapter was kinda boring, sorry. But review please, I would some feedback. Much Thanks!!!

Authors Note - Sorry about the formatting, I don't know how to change it.