The final chapter, wow, I can barely believe it! Actually, Ruthless might not necessarily be over. I've been juggling a few ideas for a sequel, or a way to continue it. It might just be an add on, or I might start a new story from this one. Don't get your hopes up; I change my mind all the time. Anyway, as of now this is the final chapter for Ruthless, and I'm very happy with it. Hope you are too.
Warning 1: I am terrible with endings…so please don't hurt me if you throw your computer off of a building after reading this.
Warning 2: I hate (HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE) writing kissing scenes…I, just hate 'em. So, don't get mad if this sucks. Cuz, it will. Rather badly. Thank You.
Chapter Twelve: Round Trip
I'm lifting you up,
I'm letting you down,
I'm dancing till dawn,
I'm fooling around,
I'm not giving up,
I'm making your love
This city's made us crazy
And we must get out…
Maroon5: Must Get Out
"Hey, Hey wake up. Let's go…"
After her tiring trek out of a window, across a lawn of similarly drunk twenty-something year olds, and then a block in a half, the last thing she needed was to be nudged, or hit rather. Helga had waited exactly seven minutes and twelve seconds for Gerald to arrive, and after only three minutes, and fourteen of them, she found herself asleep on a nearby bench. It was too early for anyone to be in the club, and so the music that permeated the wall was barely audible outside.
Blinking hard for a few minutes, Helga deemed herself ready to face a dark, dizzy, and overall scary world. Leaning on the bench for support, she was able to stand up straight and take a few steps before using light posts and mailboxes for support. Phoebe hadn't told Gerald why he had to go pick up Helga, just saying that she couldn't find her way back. So, evidently, he had a few questions.
"So…what's the deal?" he asked, guiding her in a straight line down the cracked sidewalk. He could easily tell that she wasn't quite herself, but he didn't want to jump to the most obvious of conclusions.
"Deal?" Helga asked, already confused, and not prepared for any riddles. She seemed to be gaining some control of her movements, but limped even after being able to walk relatively upright.
"Your walking like your drunk, you smell like alcohol…and what's wrong with your leg?" he asked, watching her hindered gait as she continued down the street.
Even though it was pretty dark out, the perfectly parted streetlights provided her enough light to clearly identify the stain seeping through her ripped pants. She'd sent a long tear up the thigh of her jeans, and along with it a stretched, jagged cut almost as long. She cringed at the sight of it; she could tell it had been there for a while. The only time she could remember feeling very much of anything was when she crawled out the window of the bathroom. She fell backwards twice before successfully getting out, and the second fall was onto the bathtub faucet. It was too dark to see, but she could feel something wrong with her leg. Instead of waiting and trying to figure out what the cause was, she continued out of the window, only worsening it, and across the back lawn.
"Nothing, I'm fine." she replied, trying to steady her limp, hoping the hotel was someplace close.
"Okay, what about the other stuff?" Gerald asked, persistently. He'd already put two and two together in his mind, but hearing it from her would only solidify his assumptions.
"Gerald, I'm really not in the mood to be inter…intro…asked questions, okay?' Helga responded, a little louder than needed. "Plus, if Arnold found out about this, he'd have my head."
"Found out what? Everybody gets wasted now and then." Gerald said, obviously not understanding the intensity of the situation. Helga made no reply, and seeing the hotel not far off, figured she wouldn't be able to properly explain in time. Not that she really wanted to, but until she was able to get to Phoebe, it would have been nice to confide in somebody.
"You have no idea…"
"I'm not staying in this room, waiting for her to get back…"
At first, Arnold was inclined to keep his thoughts inside his head. But with Helga out of the room, he figured it was safe to voice his feelings as loud as he liked. Of course, he'd added his two cents to the quarrel, but he felt that her walking out was overly dramatic, and childish. But worse, he couldn't get the echo of her words out of his head:
"Not everybody needs you, Arnold."
It was never Arnold's "style" to toot his own horn, and he never felt as though he was really needed by people. Though his naturally openhanded manner may have been necessary to some who knew him, but not quite needed.
Whatever the case, Arnold thought it worse to stay in the hotel room and ponder, and proceeded to grab his coat, though not really needing it, and shut the door angrily behind him, ignoring the lights. In the elevator, Arnold slumped against the back wall, and waited for the doors to close.
"Wait…wait, can you hold the door please?"
Arnold positioned his hand in between the cascading doors, and as they parted, he saw Phoebe coming around the corner, with both crutches under her arms. She walked (or hobbled, rather) into the elevator, and leaned her crutches on the opposite wall.
"What are you doing? You should be in bed." Arnold said, forgetting where his previous smidgen of advice got him.
"I'm so sick of that room, I had to get out." Phoebe said jokingly. She knew what was going on already, but didn't have so much of an idea as to how and why it happened. But before she could ask her question, Arnold had voiced his.
"So, where's Gerald?"
Phoebe hadn't thought up an answer for this. Unlike lying for someone like her mother or her next-door neighbor, she was lying for Gerald, someone Arnold knew just as well as she, did if not better. Nevertheless, she and Arnold did share a mutual knowledge about Gerald. His appetite.
"Well, I was waiting for him to bring me something to eat. So, that's where, he, um he is, getting food. Because I asked him to get some food. Because my ankle, and all." Phoebe thought that this was a good place to stop yammering. Anymore and she would accidentally mention something about parties, or worse, Helga. Steering the conversation back to him, she revealed a question of her own. "Everything okay with you?" she asked, knowing well that everything wasn't.
"Sorta. I just had a fight with Helga…" he replied, leaving Phoebe to put the rest of the puzzle together, which she often did anyway. 'Yeah', his conscience reminded him. 'If just having a fight is two hours ago…'
"About anything in particular?" she asked. She knew it may have been seen as prying, but this was her best friend, and prying into the goings-on of your best friend isn't prying. It's taking an interest in.
"I think I may have said something stupid." Arnold answered, as the elevator doors opened, revealing the gorgeous hotel lobby. The fully furnished sitting room that neither of them had been in since their first night at the hotel was completely empty. Phoebe sat her self down in the middle of a recliner, and lazily laid her crutches on the ottoman in front of her. She watched as Arnold, took the seat adjacent to hers, on a long brown leather loveseat, sitting to the farthest right.
"Okay, let me clear something up for you…" Phoebe began, maintaining her relaxed composure, but her voice becoming sharp. "She may not always act like it, but under pressure, Helga is like wet tissue paper. If you try to back her into a corner, she falls apart."
Of course, Arnold had seen Helga at her "less than better" times. But imagining Helga as truly vulnerable wasn't quite as easy. Even when it was clear that she was hurting, she could always convince the world, that whatever was going on would soon pass. She effortlessly downplayed every bad occurrence in her life, and did so with the best painted on smile.
Phoebe would have elaborated, but without any prior warning, Gerald came through the rotating door, with Helga in tow. Helga had a firm grasp on the handle inside of the door, and it took her about two full rotations to get out without making a sound. Phoebe turned back to Arnold, who stared silently at his shoes.
"Okay, I think what you should do is, just sit here, and think. Clear your head, for a while, okay?" she suggested, making motions to get up. Arnold attempted to help her, but as long as his back was to the current situation, Helga was safe.
Not noticing that Phoebe was limping away with her crutches in the opposite direction, towards an elevator on the other side of the hotel lobby, Arnold remained seated as persuaded. Intercepting Gerald and Helga, Phoebe motioned towards Arnold's back, and directed both of them into the elevator. Helga didn't make any real protest; she certainly was in no condition to do much of anything. Inside the elevator, Helga slumped to one side and halfheartedly listened to Gerald and Phoebe's conversation, but not understanding much of it.
"Has she been like this since you found her?" Phoebe asked, the speed of her words increasing, as they often did when she got nervous, or agitated.
"Kinda, when I found her she was asleep on a bench." Gerald said. "Was that Arnold you were talking to in the lobby?" Gerald asked, worried that Phoebe's plan would fall apart.
"Yeah, I think I bought us, at least an hour, but we need to get her into her room by then." Phoebe said, thinking out loud. "I need you to get her into my room. That okay?" Phoebe asked. Another aspect of her speech was during a moment of seriousness or crisis, her grammar either got better or worse.
As the elevator doors opened, Phoebe exited first, followed by Gerald, half carrying, half dragging the barely conscience Helga to Phoebe's door, where she was opening the door. The strain on Gerald's arms was near unbearable, and because of such, Helga's meeting to the floor was earlier and far less warned than anyone in the room had expected.
"Gerald!" Phoebe said, looking back at Gerald, then Helga who showed unmistakable signs of waking up. Gerald would have promptly apologized, had Phoebe not interrupted him. "Oh well, it'll easier to ring her neck this way."
"C'mon sleepyhead…" Gerald said, motioning to the corner of the room.
Phoebe's room was relatively similar to Arnold and Helga's, except for the one large bed in the middle, and the ottoman placed in front of the large armchair.
In the bathroom, Phoebe turned on the bathroom faucet. Placing her hand under the running water, she made sure it was the right temperature before turning it off and pulling the small knob on the faucet upwards until it was stationary. Gerald sauntered in, after a minute of struggling to lift Helga, and hoisted her in the bathtub.
"Should we take her clothes off??" Gerald asked, not noticing the gaze Phoebe had aimed at his head. Disregarding the question altogether, Phoebe placed her hand on the water handle and turned it sharply to the right. Cold water flowed from the showerhead, soaking Helga to the bone, and making her sit up straight in the tub. Gasping for air, as though drowning, Helga looked up frantically, to Gerald and Phoebe, chuckling at her. Slightly confused, and completely drenched, Helga remained seated, until Phoebe turned off the water, and Gerald leaned forward to speak.
"Sober yet?"
Helga sat up on Phoebe's armchair, draped in a towel, and waited to be brutally questioned. Even if her parents found out, they couldn't chew her out as hard as Phoebe, who was one of the few people who expected more out of her.
Helga was forced to wear Phoebe's clothes for the time being, which were about two sizes too small. The T-shirt was a dull orange color and showed a large portion of her stomach, and the pants were taking a toll on her hips. She planned on changing back to her own as soon as she was sober and they were dry enough.
"Helga, what exactly happened? It be most advantageous for me to know the circumstances before I interrogate the sanity out of you…" Phoebe said, astonishingly calm. That wouldn't last long.
"It's kinda complicated…"
After Helga was pulled, drenched and dripping from the tub and dried to the best of her ability, Gerald thought it best to leave then. If either of them really wanted him to know what exactly was going on, or why he was once again forced to summon his knowledge of Hippie Movies, they would have told him. But then again, knowing Helga had been drunk during their stay in New York, was enough for him. Just as he was about to enter the elevator and return to his own room, a frustrated sigh came from up the hall. Positioning himself in the elevator to see down the hallway, he saw Arnold fumbling with his hotel key, Gerald leaped out the elevator as it was closing. He knew well, that Helga was going to have to get back into that room, and with Arnold there, the situation had no other way to go but down.
"Hey Buddy…" Gerald said, taking Arnold a little by surprise. He did spend the last fifteen minutes in a silent lobby, and wasn't quite used to the sound of too many voices, even his best friend's.
"Hey…" Arnold said, very much ready to go into his room and sleep away the few hours. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked, cursing himself for not being anti-social enough.
"Just, going to get something to eat." Gerald said, quickly.
"Didn't you just get Phoebe something to eat?" Arnold asked, sensing something hidden going on, but masking his curiosity, nonetheless.
"Yeah, but…you know me!" Gerald said. For the most part, Gerald was right. He contemplated picking something up to eat after finding Helga, but walking into Phoebe's hotel room would have been twice as hard with Helga on one arm and a bag full of Taco Bell on the other. "Hey, wanna come?" Gerald asked. After all, his mission was for Arnold to get out of the room, even for a little while.
"The hotel restaurant is closed, I already tried." Arnold replied, secretly hoping to thwart whatever suspicious activity had triggered Gerald's uncontrollable hunger…again.
"Let's get outta this place, we'll be back by eleven…" Gerald said, slowly spinning Arnold into Helga and Phoebe's web of deceit.
Arnold had no choice but to oblige, Gerald wasn't about to give up, and no sooner had Arnold actually figured out how to properly open the door did Gerald convince him to leave. Wonderful.
"Okay, they're gone…" Phoebe said, dashing back into her room as quickly as possible on one foot. Slamming the door behind her, she found Helga lying on her bed, with her head draped over the front end, staring at the carpet. She could sense her hurt, and maybe even her anger, but Helga did have the tendency to over exaggerate certain situations. Especially when she was in the wrong.
"I think I did something stupid, Phoebe…" Helga said, without looking up.
"Hmm, stubborn minds think alike…" Phoebe said, thinking out loud again.
Helga's head popped up for a moment, but not catching quite what Phoebe said. Either way, Helga was waiting for Phoebe's all knowing voice of reason to enter the conversation. Instead, Phoebe's voice or reason, sounded a lot like Helga's. "I think you know what to do, Helga." Phoebe replied, silently directing her to the door.
Helga sighed, and pulled her own pants over Phoebe's shorts. At the moment, she was tired, confused, and only partially sober, and trying to change in this state would have been redundant and pointless. Muttering a thank you before leaving, Helga slipped into her pants pocket, which now hugged her hips and thighs in a very moist and uncomfortable way.
"Am I really that dense?" Arnold asked, one time too many. He'd barely touched his food, and performed two actions the entire night: talked about his fight with Helga, and looked at his watch.
Gerald was getting a little tired of beating around the bush as well. Every time Arnold asked him a question, he would give his expected best friend reply, which usually consisted of a "Don't beat yourself up" and "Everyone has his or her days". But after fifty or so attempts, even friendly falsehoods got old.
"Yeah."
"What?" Arnold was a little taken back by the reply he got from Gerald. Of course, he wanted an honest answer, but there was a thin line between honest and brutally honest, and Gerald was hanging on the border.
"You are a little dense sometimes." Gerald said, finally finishing with his food, although it was hard to tell there was anything on the plate from the remnants (or lack thereof) in front of him.
"Really?" Arnold asked again. He wasn't going to drop this conversation until he knew Gerald was certain about his answer. Maybe he ate too much and didn't hear him right.
"Sometimes." Gerald repeated, putting stress on the word this time. Either way, he felt the need to explain. "I get why you'd be mad and everything, but, from what you're telling me, this is the first time you guys have really fought about anything serious."
Arnold wasn't quite catching the message. Whether they fought the first night or the last, the point was that they fought. What's done was done, and he didn't see why the time of its occurrence was relevant. Without much thought behind it, he replied as anyone would who had no idea of what was going on:
"So…?"
"So, if she was really out to get you, wouldn't she have picked a fight with you sooner?" Gerald said, finally applying his level of maturity properly. He may have come off a little strongly, but what he said was true. Helga wasn't completely to blame. "Look, I'm sure she's up in the room right now, doing the same thing your doing now."
Arnold couldn't help but agree with Gerald. Even if he didn't voice it right away. Helga may not have been the most remorseful person on earth, but she could admit defeat just like anyone else. Going back to the hotel would give him some time to prepare how to properly get everything resolved, with the least amount of yelling as possible. Standing up, he silently waved his white flag and prepared for Gerald to lecture him the entire way back to the hotel, which wasn't far.
"Let's go." Arnold said, sighing heavily.
"Good, it's almost eleven…" Gerald replied.
"Eleven?"
10:43.The bright red numbers stood out above the darkness that shrouded the room. Other than the streetlights and whatnot that shined from behind the heavy draperies in the room, there was no other source of light. Helga kept the lights turned off, and stayed in bed. Everything in the room somehow reminded her of Arnold, and in such, she had resolved not to let so much as a single tear escape from their barrier and stain her pillows. Despite the heat that set the room ablaze, Helga only dove deeper into the comforter. The pants she wore so casually over Phoebe's shorts were still wet around the bottom, but overall comfortable. She didn't bother to change out of her clothes (or Phoebe's rather), finding them more of a burden, than a blessing. After getting inside, she removed her shoes and crawled into bed, hoping to remove all thoughts of anything.
10:49. Helga was beginning to worry now. Part of her wondered if Arnold had the same thoughts running through his mind after she'd stormed out, not that her actions deserved any such concern. She'd been self-centered and antagonistic for the past few days, and every recollected moment only made her feel worse.
Rolling back over and keeping her back to the door, Helga buried her face in her pillow, denying the one tear that had broken free. As the near-invisible line made its way down the side of her tilted face, she whispered, barely audible:
"I am so sorry, Arnold."
"We barely made it, man. See ya tomorrow." Gerald said, exiting the now opened elevator, and jetting Arnold back into consciousness. He waved a silent goodbye to his friend and felt the elevator doors cascade inwards and meet before moving upwards. The twelve seconds he spent alone on the elevator were more than enough time to formulate how best he could approach Helga. That was, if she was in the room at all.
She'd left hours ago, and there was no sure fire guarantee that she would be there when he was back. In fact, from his point of view, it was almost impossible that she could even be in there. He'd only been out of the room for a few minutes after talking to Phoebe, and after that, not much more than a half hour out with Gerald. And even so, the restaurant they chose to dine at was a fast food, all night place, which was on the same block as the hotel. There was a very slim chance that Helga could have passed by without him noticing.
Getting into the room relatively quickly, Arnold ignored the lights until after hurling his gray fleece onto the easily visible armchair. Arnold did not remember turning off any lights after leaving, but figured that the maids had dashed in to replace their towels or something. Despite anything that may have occurred during the course of the trip, or what the outcome of the rest of it would be, Arnold still considered this also to be Helga's room. Switching the lights on, Arnold jumped backwards at the familiar crooked lump submerged in the blankets of Helga's bed. Pretending as though she were not there, he resumed his former actions, which proved particularly difficult, as Helga's face peeked out from a corner of the comforter. Instead of changing into his conventional pajamas, Arnold shed only his shoes and returned to the front of the room. As he glanced at Helga, he could have sworn he saw a glint on her partially opened eye. Disregarding the thought altogether, Arnold turned the lights off, blanketing the room in darkness again. Ignoring the covers, Arnold lay himself on top of the bed, and turned onto his side.
Helga traced the silhouette of Arnold against the dim light the window provided from outside. From the way his shoulders slumped to the curve of his neck, she could easily discern that he had his back to her. He couldn't even bear to look at her in the dark. She had right to feel bad. Had they not been paired up, had she not fought about every little thing on earth, there was a little to no chance that they'd be on the terms they were on now.
"Arnold?" Helga said, keeping her tone low, so low she could hardly hear herself. The wait for a reply seemed like eons. She could almost feel his anger permeating the warm air, intertwining with the sudden cold that had overtaken her body, making her clutch the blankets and pull them closer to her. Sitting up straight in her bed, Helga was convinced that it'd be better to apologize and get everything over with before morning. That way, she could sleep with a clear conscience (if she could sleep at all), and on the off chance that she woke up cranky, she'd have little to nothing to worry about.
"Arnold?" she said, projecting her voice more, but maintaining her volume, given the darkness. Helga remained motionless, awaiting some kind of response. A thousand different thoughts filed into her head, most of them revolved around the possibility that Arnold was as well at holding a grudge as she was, and would do so as long as needed. Despite this, Helga continued with her apology, whether or not Arnold was going to hear her out or not.
"I'm sorry…if I ruined your trip."
With that, she plunged back under the comforters, facing the wall of the bathroom. This time, however, she squeezed her eyes shut so hard, the Nile River would have had a difficult time breaking through. Unable to get to sleep, Helga merely listened to the rhythmic sounds of New York at night, inept to enjoy any of it.
"You didn't."
Helga turned, convinced that she was hearing things. She was positive that Arnold was aware of her presence since he entered the room; she'd watched him walk around the room from the corner of her eye while pretending to sleep. She didn't want him thinking she was waiting up for him, even if she was. Either way, there was a very small chance that she'd heard anything at all. Against her instinct, she turned, almost sitting up, and leaning her weight on her elbows.
"Wha'?" she replied. If on the off chance that he did say something, her reply would let him know that she was at least open to discussing their fight. And if he didn't, he hadn't replied to her first outburst, and would, in turn, ignore this one, passing it off as her moving around too much. Just as Helga was about to turn back around, Arnold's voice rang out again.
"I said you didn't. You didn't ruin my vacation."
Arnold couldn't just sit there (or lie there, rather) and not say anything. It wasn't so much that Helga apologized that humbled him. Helga could feign remorse whenever she needed to. More distressing was the tone of her voice that may have sent him over the edge. She sounded as though she were either on the verge of tears, or had just finished shedding tears. It was too dark to justify which was the case. Phoebe said so herself, Helga was usually a strong person. How could he drive her to become so vulnerable?
The ivory colored lamp on the nightstand that separated them was neglected until now. Before, both Arnold and Helga were satisfied with using the light switch to turn on the ceiling lamp, instead of using the one on the nightstand. Arnold reached over to the lamp, and felt around until he found the thin beaded cord that ignited the lamp. The light barely lit up the entire room, but equally shed enough light between the two of them. From under the lampshade, the light came off as gray, sending a weird shadow across the faces of both of the room occupants.
"I didn't mean to…overreact. I was just so angry at you, and I wasn't thinking straight." Helga said, bowing her head, and clutching the blankets with both hands.
"I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that, you just worry me sometimes; you're so unpredictable." Arnold wasn't looking for an excuse for his actions. Helga's attitude changed with the seasons, and was about as predictable as she was redheaded. Her emotions drove almost every action she performed, often making the consequences harder to swallow.
Helga flopped backwards, and stared up at the ceiling. For the first time in days, she was happy to be in that room. For the majority of the trip, Helga wanted to get as far away from room 312 of Ethan Hall Inn as humanly possible. But, at the moment, she couldn't find a more relaxing place to be. "Did you think any of this would happen when we started sharing this room?" Helga asked, remembering the first night she spent in the room.
Arnold had to ponder that for a while. "I wasn't really expecting anything. I mean, this is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me; I wasn't sure what to expect…"
"Well, at least this room wasn't flooded." Helga said, chuckling to herself. At least she was chuckling. Arnold wasn't laughing at all. Helga sensed this and looked over, not anticipating the confused look on his face.
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't remember!" Helga said, sitting up, keeping her legs under the blankets, but propping herself up against the headboard. "The ants, the faucet, that stupid potato…forget it. I'm going to the bathroom." Helga had given up trying to play mental Photo Album for Arnold, and went to put on a pair of properly dry pajama pants. Upon getting up, Arnold noticed the gash in her jeans.
"Helga, what's that on your leg?" Arnold asked, before freaking out about what may have been a simple food stain.
Helga turned, not hearing the entire question, and in doing so, answered it without speaking. The tear in her jeans hadn't gotten any better, and the wound was still visible and stained the frayed ends of the tear.
"What happened to your leg? It's bleeding!" Arnold said, stating the obvious rather loudly. Helga signaled for him to be quiet and took her seat on her bed. Helga wasn't too eager to tell about her "battle scar". But there seemed to be no way out of it.
"I got it after trying to crawl out a window…" she whispered, her tone reverting back to repentant felon.
"A window? Why were you trying to crawl out of a window? Whose window?" Arnold asked, shooting questions off at a mile a minute.
Why couldn't he just settle with that? "I was leaving a party. A frat party." There she said it. She could die without regret.
"What on earth were you doing at a frat party? Do you know what happens to high school girls who go to frat party's?" Arnold asked, sounding more like Helga's father than he would have had he found out that she was at a frat party. And then some.
In her defense, Helga spoke out too quickly, without putting much thought behind her words. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Plus you'd be pretty uncoordinated after drinking that much…oh." Helga dug herself into a rather deep hole.
"You drank? Did somebody do that to you?" he said, pointing to her leg again, and on the verge of truly freaking out. The look on his face was either fear or anger. Or both. Whichever the case, if she were to tell him that it was in fact a who, not a what, that marked her; he was liable to seriously hurt someone.
"No," Helga said, pausing to soak everything in. Helga had to fight just to stay awake. Trying to divulge the correct information was a formidable task. "I was trying to get out, and I guess I wasn't exactly…coordinated."
"At least let me clean it. It might not be infected." Arnold got up and turned on the bathroom light. Running water from the faucet and onto a washcloth. After wringing it out until there was just enough water to suffice the need, Arnold flicked off the light, and carried the wet washcloth back into the center of the room. It took Helga a full minute to notice Arnold's impatient glare.
"What?" Helga asked innocently, suspecting she may have done something yet again to fuel the fire.
"I'm gonna try to clean your cut now, okay?" Arnold said, as though speaking to a truly drunk person. After the mutual apology, Arnold knew better than to say anything that would jeopardize the newly mended friendship.
"Okay…" Helga replied, mimicking his way of speech.
Arnold sighed and rolled his eyes. This wasn't going to be easy. "Helga…I need you to take off your pants." If anything in the world sounded worse than that, Arnold had yet to hear it.
"What is it with the whole world wanting me to get naked tonight!!" Helga said, standing up and throwing her arms up, melodramatically. Calming down, she made her way to the bathroom. "I have shorts on underneath, so don't get too excited." she said, a hint of a snicker in her voice. Movement could be heard from inside, noting that she was having a hard time removing her pants. "It's really not that big…" Helga said, with the creak of the door.
"Let me see it anyway." Arnold replied, motioning over to her bed, where the comforter and woolen blanket lay overturned on one end. Helga sat, submissive, and let Arnold dab the moist cloth on her cut. Her leg was no longer bleeding, but had not completely closed up in some places. As Arnold continued to clean her minor gash, Helga stared at the top of his head. Her guilt only intensified, causing her to speak out, as she often did, without thinking.
"You really should stop." Helga said, looking more troubled than before.
"Stop what? I'm almost finished." Arnold responded, a second before backing away to examine his work. His expression went from pleased to worried. Helga looked as though the world was on her shoulders, and she was about to falter. "You okay?" he asked, taking a seat on his bed, parallel to her.
"I've treated you like crap, ruined your vacation, acted like a spoiled brat, and here you are, yet again, helping me out. Why don't you hate me? Why aren't you ignoring me? At least I'd know I deserve it." Helga said.
Even after all fences seemed to be mended, Arnold could tell Helga was still beating herself up. "I'm not angry at you-"
"Why not?" Helga said, cutting him off in mid sentence. Backing up, defensively, trying to control her emotions. "Every time I screw you over, you just forgive me."
"Would you rather I hold a grudge against you?" Arnold asked, slightly baffled, but not near as high-strung as Helga. She was feeling responsible, and Arnold could understand why. For most, blame had to be assigned to someone to resolve a disagreement, and instead of throwing the burden on someone else, Helga pinpointed herself as the culprit.
Helga avoided Arnold's eyes, and looked anxiously at the floor. Of course she didn't want Arnold to hold a grudge against her. She'd been down that road before, and overall, it was long and lonely. But that he made it so easy for her to mess up and be instantly exonerated, also added to the burden.
"Exactly. Now, I think it's time to go to bed. We're going to enjoy our last day in New York…" Arnold said, reaching for the lamp.
"Thank You…" Helga said, a split-second before the room was once again engulfed in darkness so different from the last. Unlike the former, every sound and movement, inside or outside the room was dangerous and frightening. Helga could now sleep calmly despite any noises, as could Arnold.
"Helga?"
"Yes…" she replied, groggily, even though it had been a mere seconds since Arnold had turned out the lights.
"You never answered my question…"
"What question?" Helga asked. She may have still been partially intoxicated, but she didn't remember any questions.
"If I were to tell you something deep and personal, would you believe me?"
The room was soon draped in silence. Helga didn't reply at all, and Arnold ha already turned back on his side, assuming that Helga had fallen asleep or decided against replying. Thinking the soft rustling was just her getting comfortable, Arnold resumed his sleeping pose. Arnold hadn't realized just how cold the room was until he felt he felt Helga's hands cradling his face, and her lips unrepentantly meet his.
Usually, one's first impulse would be to draw away. Foreign lips charting trails on yours would be enough to unnerve anybody. Instead, Arnold and Helga received and parted mutually. Everything about he moment was perfect, their lips brushing lightly over one another's, even the way Helga's hands remained for an instant after their separation.
Within no time, Helga was back in her bed, blushing so deeply, that she may have burned a hole in the cotton pillows. In her newfound excitement, Helga found it easier and more relaxing to fall asleep.
Meanwhile, Arnold lay staring at the ceiling, which spanned miles tonight, and recapped the past few seconds. Yes, Helga had just kissed him…or was it the other way around. There was no denying that he welcomed it, although unexpected. And wasn't accepting something the same thing as partaking in it?
'Wonderful…' he thought, quietly. 'I really am starting to sound like her…'
You guys…have no idea! I am so happy right now!
That last scene was so hard to write, hope I'd done enough of a good job for you guys, thanks!
I did it! I wrote it!!! Oh, and scratch the beginning, I have one more chapter to go. It'll be short, but I love it I can't believe I wrote this chapter, it was so hard! I was literally up at 3 in the morning trying to soak up all inspiration for the end!! Wow, I'm so happy!! Okay, you read it, now review! G'night!