Chapter 27

Evening Encounter

Another hour dragged by. And another. And another. Helga lay on the floor, too weak from hunger to move.

"I can't give in," she thought. "I can't let him know I'm here. I'll die before I'll let him know."

Another hour ticked by.

"I wish I'd just hurry up and die, so I could stop being hungry. Maybe I could wake him- NO! I can't let myself think that. I'll survive. I don't need his help."

Two more hours came and went. Helga lay huddled against the wall.

"Help," she quietly sobbed. "Somebody help." She struggled to sit up. "I-I'll get Arnold. He'll help me," she whispered, half delirious.

"Arnold?" she whispered, peering through the crack. "Arnold?" she tried a bit louder. He moaned and rolled over.

"Arnold!" she cried out loud, as she started to sob uncontrollably.

"What? Who's there?" Arnold asked, sitting up.

Helga gasped and stopped crying. What had she done? What was he going to do? She didn't care. She was too hungry. She just wanted to get out.

"Who's there?" Arnold asked again, as he grabbed a flashlight. He quickly shone it around the room.

"A-Arnold?" Helga whispered.

"Where are you?"

"B-behind the couch."

"Behind the couch?" he asked, walking over to it. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

"Help," Helga murmured softly.

"Who are you?" Arnold asked again, as he shined the flashlight into the crack.

"Arnold, help."

"HELGA?!" he cried, as he peered into the space.

"Um…hi."

"Helga?! What are you doing here?"

"I'm trapped in here," she said, ignoring his question.

"How'd you get in there?"

"Arnold, please get me out."

"But-"

"Arnold!" she cried helplessly.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out," he said, picking up the remote. "Just hang on. Okay, here," he said, as he pushed the button which brought the couch into the wall. "Are you on?"

"Y-yes."

"Okay," he said, as he pushed the button again, which sent the couch rocketing out again. Helga fell off the couch and lay on the floor, her eyes closed.

"Helga?" Arnold said, kneeling beside her. "Are you okay? Helga?"

She opened her eyes. "Arnold?!" she gasped, forgetting for a second where she was.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, trying to sit up and falling back again. "No."

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Help."

"O-okay. I'll help," he said. He helped her up and half carried, half dragged her over to the sofa. He sat down next to her. "Now will you tell me why you're here? And why you were behind my couch?"

"Food."

"Food?"

"Food. Bring me food. I haven't eaten in two days."

"No wonder you're so weak! Stay there, I'll be right back," he said, before going downstairs.

"I'm dead," Helga thought. "Or I'm going to be. There's no way I can escape this one. He'll find out. Somehow, he'll find out."

Arnold came back into the room.

"Here, eat this," he said, handing her a bowl of lasagna.

She didn't need to be asked twice. She devoured the meal in one minute flat. Arnold waited patiently until she was done and had placed the bowl on the floor.

"Are you okay now?" he asked, his voice still edged in worry.

"A little." Actually, she still felt pretty bad, but she was too worried about what Arnold might ask to do anything about it.

"So…" she said, looking at the ground.

"So."

They were silent for about a minuet before Arnold finally asked, "What were you doing in there?"

Helga glanced at him for a second, seeing only by the dim glow of the flashlight that had been left on the floor.

"Well, this is it," she thought. "My worst nightmare come true."

"I-I, um…I can't tell you," she whispered.

"Boy, that sounded lame. He'll never let me go with that," she thought in dismay.

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Helga, I just found you behind my couch! Don't you think I have a right to know why?!" he shouted at her.

"Yes," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "B-but I can't tell." One tear trickled down her cheek.

Arnold was shocked. He hadn't meant to make her cry. "I'm sorry, Helga," he said quickly. "You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to."

"Criminy, why am I crying?" Helga thought, as she desperately tried to stop. "I'm Helga G. Pataki. I don't cry. At least, not in front of anyone. I can't cry in front of anyone. They wouldn't understand. They wouldn't care. Nobody cares." With this thought, she finally gave into her tears. They streamed down her face, as the rain outside fell onto the roof.

"Please don't cry, Helga," Arnold said softly, as he wrapped his arms around her. "Please don't cry."

If this had been under normal circumstances, Helga would have pushed Arnold away and told him not to touch her. She had done it many times before. But these weren't normal circumstances. It was three o'clock in the morning. She was tired and weak and all around miserable. Right now, she didn't care what Arnold thought. Right now, she just wanted him. She rested her head on his shoulder and softly cried. How could she push away the one thing that could comfort her?

"It's okay," Arnold said, stroking her hair. He was too tired to really realize what was going on. For now, he just wanted to make her stop crying. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," she sobbed. "Nobody cares."

"About what?" he asked softly.

"Me. Nobody cares."

He was surprised to hear these words coming from her. He never knew she felt that way. He supposed it made sense. She was constantly saying how much her family hated her. And at school she was basically feared by everyone. Everybody respected her, but no one really liked her. But he never really thought she cared. He had tried to be nice to her before, but she always lashed back at him. It seemed that she liked things the way they were; everyone stayed out of her way, and she'd stay out of theirs. He had never realized how lonely she must feel.

"I care."

"No, nobody cares," she sobbed.

"I do, Helga. I care."

"No, you don't. You hate me."

"I've never said that. I know we've always fought and stuff, but that doesn't mean I don't like you."

"You like me?"

"Of course."

"He likes me," she thought happily. "He really likes me." She continued to cry, but this time for a different reason. This time she was crying for happiness.

Arnold tightened his hold on her. "Of course I like you," he said drowsily. He continued to hold her, stroking her hair, until she stopped crying and her breath became soft and even.

He brushed her hair, damp with tears, out of her face and looked at her. He slowly traced his finger down her cheek.

"Goodnight, Helga," he softly whispered, before he gently kissed her cheek.