A/N: Hellllooooooo beautiful people of ff! Here I am! Next instalment of HA! right here, delivered straight to your computer. Unfortunately, the next chapter might be a while. I have exams and assignments GALORE over here, so, unless I use HA! as a procrastination, you might have to wait for the summer holidays.

That's right. Summer holidays. It's spring right now, and come December it'll be summer. What'cha gonna do?

WARNING: Anyone who has read this far shouldn't really need a warning. It's not so bad yet, but look out next chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own HA!, although I think the people that do are better off not knowing this story exists, don't you?

ENJOY!

Helga rushed downstairs, a mass confusion of emotions clinging to her like foil. Only one thing was going through her mind. Arnold just kissed me she said to herself over and over as she frantically searched for Phoebe. True, she had kept her secret about Arnold under wraps for so long, but hey, Phoebe already knew, and she had to tell someone. This was too big not to talk about, and with Dr. Bliss gone, Phoebe would have to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching she found her best friend on the couch with Gerald. Without so much as a word, Helga had a hold on her arm and was dragging her outside someplace quiet.

"Helga, what on earth are you doing? I'm trying to…"

"Arnold kissed me,"

"He… he what?" Phoebe exclaimed, readjusting her glasses.

"He kissed me Phoebe. Just then. Just then, he kissed me. Kissed me. Right then. Arnold,"

"Yes, Helga, I understood you," Phoebe said, placing a hand on Helga's shoulder to calm her down.

"Well… what does it mean?"

"Oh, gosh, I don't know Helga. Usually when people kiss each other it means they like one another, right?"

"Right, usually, but there's an excuse for drunkenness, right?"

"Helga, please, calm down," Phoebe tried to soothe, but Helga couldn't calm down. Too many things were swimming through her mind to be calm.

"I can't calm down, Phoebe. Everything is messed up. Over ten years of obsession and suddenly, with absolutely no warning, a kiss? Phoebe, what am I supposed to make of this? Tell me!" She almost yelled, but Phoebe simply gave her a warm smile to cheer her up.

"Don't worry, Helga. Everything will sort itself out. You probably just need to talk to Arnold about it, it'll be fine!" she beamed, and Helga slumped her shoulders.

"Yeah, maybe, if he remembers it,"

"Helga, Arnold was drunk, but he wasn't that drunk. Was it any good?"

"Good?" Helga repeated, thinking back. The softness of Arnolds lips, the smell of his hair, his breath, the tightness of his grip around her hand as he pulled her in closer, green eyes closing only moments before his lips pressed against hers…

"Yeah," Helga sighed, the memory sending her further and further into confusion. "It was good," she dreamed, before looking back to Phoebe and blushing slightly.

"Heh, well, anyway, you'd better go back and find Gerald. And I want details, in the morning!" Helga said, ushering Phoebe back in the house. Phoebe gave her a smile over her shoulder, winking as she did.

"And I guess this conversation never happened?"

"You know it, Pheebs," Helga tried to smile, and Phoebe nodded before weaving her way into the crowd to find Gerald.

Helga hadn't particularly wanted Phoebe to go, but she was getting nowhere with her. She needed to vent, that was all she knew. She looked around the party. Rhonda was nowhere to be seen, not that she really wanted to talk to Rhonda anyway, Nadine was with all her science-geek friends, not that she wanted to talk to her either…

As Helga continued scanning the crowd, she realised there was absolutely no one she was interested in speaking too. Instead, she rushed upstairs to Rhonda's room, knocking loudly on the door before swinging it open.

A mess of exclamations emitted the moment the door swung open, and Helga heard scrambling in amongst the bed, most likely a desperate search for clothes, and Helga grabbed her bag before slamming the door behind her and running out to the balcony patio, where she knew it would be quiet and peaceful.

Once outside, Helga turned on the lights and settled in a chair by the small coffee table. The balcony was on the other side of the house, but still well within earshot of the noise downstairs. She knew, at least, that she shouldn't be bothered out here, and the yellow couch by the door would do for sleeping, she decided.

Carefully, Helga rummaged through her bag and pulled out two books; a pink and a blue one, and a pen. Quickly checking behind her to ensure no one was around, she opened the pink one and began writing.

So new, and everything is crazy.

My love taunts me, that is all I know

For years, life grieved me as we were enemies.

The closer we became friends, the happier I felt.

But it was always just a game, a laugh, nothing serious ever to happen

And in ways that was worse than being enemies.

I was there to guide him through all his heart aches. Did he ever know how I felt during that time?

Does he know now?

At times I think he does.

At times I think he has known ever since that moment atop the FTI roof. Or was it just suspicion I read?

Now, all I know is that the idol of my daydreams has kissed me.

And I don't know what to make of it. He was drunk, and a male and I cannot deny that men have a tendency to let their testosterone get the better of them. I learnt that all too well, didn't I? And what now, do I speak to him about it? Wait for him to speak to me?

And what if he does like me? I am so unworthy for him. Especially after what happened.

Oh Arnold, will I ever be happy in regards to you?

Why do I only see this kiss going no place but downhill?

No pun intended, of course.

…unfortunately.

Helga placed the pen down and closed the book. It wasn't poetry yet, but at least it was something. She hadn't written in Arnold's book since the Ryan was all of what, two weeks ago, was it?

Helga's posture slouched further and further as she realised, since the stroke of midnight, it had been two weeks exactly. Tears threatened at her eyes and she quickly opened the blue book, burying the pink one deep inside her bag once more. Her pen hovered over the page a moment before she set it down.

It almost seems like it'll never be right. Will I ever stop seeing things? Every time something happens I'm sent into spirals. Even a dress sends me awry. Every time a memory floods into my mind I feel like I die a little inside. Every day I remember a little more than before, something he said to me, the way his arm felt draped around me. Every day, the haze clears a little more and I can see a little clearer.

But I wish it wasn't so. I don't want to remember it, a thing about it. I just wish it was gone and buried, forgotten forever in the depths of time. After all, no one knows about it, and so the moment I die, the moment Ryan dies, the secret will be buried away with us.

I wonder if Ryan thinks about it like I do. I mean, of course it's not like I do. The man is obviously a monster. Of course he doesn't slink about avoiding the gazes of women who even slightly look like me. Chances are he doesn't even remember a thing about me. Perhaps he's moved on to other women targets and abandoned me in his mind for good. And in that case, I hate myself for not doing something immediately. Not doing something now. But I know the rules, the idea. I'm a Pataki, and what do we do with our problems? We sweep them under the rug.

Besides, I'm becoming more and more aware that it was nothing but my own fault. I shouldn't have let him buy me so many drinks. I shouldn't have been stupid and let him charm me. I'm shouldn't have worn such a slutty dress! I definitely deserved what I got, didn't I?

More and more is coming. I remember how we met, clearly. He spilled drink on my slutty, stupid dress, (I have to wonder if it was a planned event) and he bought me what, a thousand more drinks to make up for it? He laughed at what I said, kissed my cheek, took me dancing. Then what? I know we left thanks to the bouncers, made it to his house somehow…

Oh, I don't know.

But it's become much worse. What was supposed to be the best thing ever, a kiss from the man I could never stop loving, and a kiss from him, not a kiss from me to him, a kiss from him, and I'll admit, at the time, I was happy. He was kissing me. But then Ryan came back. The feel of Ryan on my lips, the smell of beer on Arnold a reminder to the smell of bourbon on Ryan.

I hate him. I hate myself.

Oh Arnold, will you only help me through this? I need him, oh how I hope the kiss doesn't ruin a thing. How I hope we can be friends forever. The same way you helped me on the very first day of preschool, your umbrella protection from the rain, the way I need you to help me now.

A thought occurred to me; Ryan spilt bourbon all down my dress. He practically soaked it, I remember that part so clearly now. And Arnold, he went out of his way to keep my dry.

I'm still soaked, and it's raining. But at least I have Arnold and his umbrella.

Helga set down the pen once more, and stared at the page.

What was that? That last line. Arnold wasn't supposed to appear in Ryan's book, but there he was a little light on an otherwise dark page. Helga kept staring, was this… was this the road to recovery?

Helga checked the time, almost two o'clock. Gradually, she packed her book back into her bag and curled herself up on the big yellow couch, hugging the bag for comfort, a decorative throw serving her as a blanket from the bitter cold.

Helga did her best to sleep, but couldn't. She wasn't tired, but she really didn't want to party.

All she could think about was Ryan, and the kiss from Arnold. The thoughts consumed her in a swirl of panicking colours, keeping her awake until the sun began hinting at rising hours later.

And when she did sleep it was full of nightmares. A looming face above hers as sweat trickled down a veiny neck and splashed onto her skin. The smell of his sweat and cologne flashed through her mind, not just as she dreamt, but well into her waking hours the next day.

She might be on the road to recovery, but she had a long way to go yet.

A/N: a shorter chapter than normal, isn't it? I feel obliged to say that it isn't just men who can't control their testosterone, women can rape people too, and men can be raped. Just wanted to make sure no one would get angry.

And now you should feel obliged to review. Go on. Button is right there. Do it.

P.S. Fan fiction appears to be experiencing a little trouble, hopefully this is all okay.